Chapter 27
[Embercrown 31st (8th month), Year 1356 of the Arcane Calendar]
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[Celestara, auditorium ]
10…
The hall held its breath. With every gap in the countdown, the audience's voices rose in unison, a chorus echoing the numbers.
7…
Dain's leg trembled against the floor. Reis' jaw tightened, teeth pressed together.
4…
The number flickered—then froze.
Before it could change again, a hand rose.
Professor Iris. Calm. Deliberate. Her gaze locked on the cipher.
"It's a cipher for long-distance communication."
The students reacted instantly—
-"They almost had it."
-"That's what they get for challenging the professors."
But before the wave of voices could swell further, Leonard's voice broke in, steady and sharp, carrying the weight of judgment.
"Not quite." He leaned forward, pen still poised above his notes.
Leonard's voice cut through the hall like a blade."The cipher may outline a theory, but it does not explain how the information is being transmitted—or received. What is the anchor? What draws the input to the output? Without that, it remains incomplete."
The audience quieted again, the words cutting deeper than any shout could have.
Iris gave a single slow nod, her gaze never leaving me. "He's right. Something is missing. If you can explain that piece…" her eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest curl of challenge on her lips, "…then it's our loss."
The hall seemed to shrink, every breath caught in fragile silence.
I met the professors' gazes and drew a steady breath.
"It's… spirituality," I began. "A person's spiritual essence serves as both their direction and their anchor."
"One thing is utterly unique to every living being: their spiritual signature. No two are the same."
"That uniqueness can guide the messages we send through the cipher. Using it, engineers have already designed tools like the directed compass—an object that, once linked to a spiritual anchor, always points unerringly toward its target. We can adapt this same principle to communication. If we make the anchor interchangeable, one device could connect with multiple recipients, while still maintaining a precise, private channel for each individual."
I let the thought settle before finishing:
"Of course, this remains theoretical. The scope of magical engineering is still beyond us. But the principle is sound—and I believe it's not just possible, but promising."
A hush lingered in the hall, the weight of my words pressing down like a tide.
Iris was the first to break it. She leaned back in her seat, a slow, measured smile tugging at her lips. "We admit defeat. What you've presented isn't just clever—it's daring. To take something so abstract and turn it into a working theory of this scale… that is true innovation."
Leonard, however, sat rigid. His pen tapped once, sharply, against the paper before he set it down with more force than necessary. "Hmph. Incomplete, yes—but even so…" He exhaled through his nose, irritation flickering in his eyes before he finally gave a curt nod. "Even so, it's enough. You've pushed beyond what I expected, and for that—I acknowledge the loss."
The hall stirred, admiration rippling through the crowd as both professors' words settled in. This time, there was no mistaking the respect in the air.
Before the murmurs of awe could even settle, Leonard's voice cut through, brisk and unyielding. He leaned forward, eyes sharp, refusing to let the weight of defeat linger.
"Enough basking," he said, tone clipped. "A wager was made. You've won. Now—what is it you want as your reward?"
His words snapped the hall's focus back to me, every eye waiting to hear what demand I might place upon the humbled professors.
I lowered my gaze slightly, adopting a more measured, respectful tone.
"I… I will think about it, Professor," I said carefully. "May I take some time to discuss it with my club before making a request?"
Iris inclined her head, a small, approving smile on her lips. "Yes," she said, her voice calm and certain.
Leonard, pride still faintly bristling, waved a hand dismissively. "Fine," he muttered, the single word carrying both concession and lingering irritation.
The hall seemed to exhale as we gathered our things, the tension easing, but the weight of the moment lingering in every glance.
The applause still rang in our ears as the host stepped onto the stage, regaining the flow of the program.
"Let's give another round of thanks to the Glyph Society for their incredible presentation!" the host announced, voice carrying easily to the farthest corners of the auditorium.
We began moving toward the back of the stage. Linda's hand fluttered nervously as she waved to the cheering crowd, her calm, motherly composure barely hiding her excitement.
Reis and Dain, on the other hand, basked in the attention, grinning broadly as the audience's admiration washed over them. Every cheer and clap seemed to feed their energy, and I-
"I have the professor's attention now," I whispered
Cornelius — How long would it take to make a working communication device? Two months until Kyzen's birthday. I need this fast.
Cornelius appeared above my head, floating silently. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, as if weighing the problem in real time.
"With the professors," he murmured, "roughly a month. It won't raise suspicion. Off the books… faster, maybe. But you'll need funds, materials, and to learn the engineering yourself. Mistakes will cost time — and risk exposure."
I nodded, the weight of the deadline pressing in. Two months. A month with the professors. Less if we gambled everything.
I drew a steadying breath, letting the thought settle.
Just have to start. No more waiting.
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The crowd's cheers still echoed in our ears, my legs trembling as the adrenaline finally began to ebb. Reis and Linda hovered nearby, their faces lit with pride and amusement.
"You guys pulled through—well, mainly you, Kyzen," Reis said, slapping my shoulder with a triumphant grin.
We shuffled toward the back exit, leaning against walls and pillars for support. Dain's hand clutched a pillar tightly, grounding himself as the energy drained from him, while I gripped another, feeling my pulse gradually slow to a steady rhythm.
True to form, Reis produced a Zestpop from somewhere with a flourish and handed one to each of us, as if to say: we survived—and here's the reward.
Linda bent down, her hand brushing through our hair, her mischievous smile warm and motherly. "You did wonderfully, my lovely juniors," she said, her voice soft but filled with pride. "I'm so proud of you both."
We groaned, laughing despite ourselves, secretly savoring the attention. Pushing through the doors, the sunlight poured over us, bright and golden, a perfect balm after the storm of nerves and tension—a quiet, glowing reward for a job well done.
After a while of feeling dizzy, Linda and Reis decided to celebrate their success by treating us to a nice dinner.
A figure appeared at the far end of the wide balcony-cum-corridor, walking toward us with deliberate steps.
He was tall, scholarly, with wire-rimmed glasses and impeccably pressed robes. Yet the broadness of his shoulders and the calluses on his hands hinted at a life of discipline and labor.
"Kyzen Ashford?" His voice was polite, measured, and carried authority.
Kyzen's eyes flicked to the badge on the man's chest, indicating he was a fifth-year senior.
"Yes, senior. How can I help you?"
The man extended his hand. "Elias Lockhart, Professor Leonard's teaching assistant. He has asked me to convey a message: he wishes to discuss your communication device and related topics further. Would you be available to meet with him tomorrow?"
"I will, yes," Kyzen replied, bowing his head respectfully, the etiquette of Velmora guiding his gesture. "Thank you for delivering the message, Senior Lockhart."
Elias inclined his head in acknowledgment, a faint, courteous smile softening the stern lines of his face, before turning to retrace his steps toward the professor.
Once he had gone, we made our way through the lingering buzz of the auditorium, anticipation and curiosity buzzing in our veins as we processed the request.
Reis broke the silence with a sly grin. "Already marking you, huh? I suppose you figured out what he meant," he said, nudging me lightly. "Getting Leonard's attention… maybe not the best idea, huh?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Perhaps not," I admitted, a nervous anticipation threading through my laughter.
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"Master, do you need anything else?" Her voice carried a polite edge, but there was a flicker of unease beneath it.
A small smile tugged at the boy's lips. "Make sure no one enters the room tonight," he said, calm yet commanding. "I'll lock the doors myself."
"Yes, sir," she replied, bowing slightly. A lantern swung in her hand, casting a warm glow across his face. Shadows flickered along the walls, dancing unnaturally in the soft light.
Her fingers lingered on the handle for a moment longer than necessary, a subtle tension in her shoulders.
The boy's eyes followed her as she hesitated, then slowly turned to leave. The distant sound of a click, the door closing, echoed through the hallway, sharp and final.
Alone now, he walked to his drawer and pulled it open, revealing a reflective surface nestled inside. Turning, he settled onto his bed, stretching the sheets to cover himself.
With deliberate care, he lifted the reflective object—shaped like a mask—and pressed it against his face. The lantern's glow flickered over the smooth surface, leaving the room steeped in quiet mystery.
Closing his eyes, he let the room fall into complete silence. When he opened them again, the space around him had changed.
He rose, completely bare, yet in a fraction of a second, a sleek, black ensemble appeared over his body—tailored and precise, the folds of a fitted coat and trousers falling perfectly into place, every detail sharp.
He held out his empty hand for a heartnbeat.
Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, the mask materialized from thin air—the same reflective shape he had worn before—hovering for a moment before settling perfectly into his grasp.
Placing it over his face, he got up and walked out of the room, fixing his collar to be more comfortable.
A ghostly figure emerged behind him.
"I'll see you later, scoryn"
The man gave him a nod before it disappeared into the lit hallway.
The corridor stretched ahead like a tunnel carved from shadows and stone, ancient walls whispering with the weight of countless secrets.
He walked with deliberate, measured steps, the soft echo of his boots the only sound. After several minutes, he reached a heavy, carved door. Pushing it open, he entered a chamber where three members already waited, their black garments sharp and precise, along with masks reflecting the room.
At the center of the room sat a solitary, empty table. He moved toward his high-backed chair, each step deliberate, commanding attention without a word. As he settled into its dark embrace, his gaze swept over the room.
"How have the past few weeks fared, Mr. Uralis, Mrs. Chaora, and Mrs. Arissa?" His voice was calm, even, yet threaded with authority that made the room still.
Uralis inclined his head, shoulders stiff. "I have completed the tasks you assigned, but there were… unforeseen developments along the way."
"No matter," Scoryn said abruptly, his tone sharp as a blade. "Shall we begin? I assume Cimmera will not be joining us today."
Arissa opened her mouth to speak. "Very well, then. I will start—"
A single finger pressed against Scoryn's mask where his lips would likely be, halting her mid-sentence. He leaned slightly forward, eyes glinting with calculated certainty.
"I cannot guarantee both will be here," he murmured, the words cutting through the tense air. "But one will most certainly join us today."
The chamber fell into an expectant hush. The empty table at the center seemed to absorb the tension, shadows flickering across the walls like silent witnesses.
Arissa eased herself against the table, crossing one leg over the other. Her face rested on the palm of her hand, elbow supported by the high-backed chair, her posture casual yet poised—a quiet contrast to the rigid authority pressing from across the room.
Mr. Scoryn Uralis finally spoke, his tone low and deliberate. "Forgive my bluntness," he began, "but I must say this now, even if they do not fully understand it when they arrive. I possess information regarding an organization potentially involved in kidnapping and trafficking. I require your assistance."
He rapped his right hand sharply against the table, straightening his posture until every inch of him radiated command. "Starlit Promenade, Bristol City. Thirteen days from now. Your first clues will reveal themselves by following the boy who meets your path."
Uralis inclined his head, expression tight with focus, a faint tension in his shoulders easing as he acknowledged the gravity of the information.
"Understood, Mr.Scoryn," he said, voice steady but edged with resolve.
just as they concluded their conversation. Sounds of footsteps followed, becoming clearer by the second. This way? A voice came out, followed by another one, a female, ye
Just as their conversation concluded, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing clearer with each passing second.
"This way?" a voice called out, firm but cautious.
"Yes," came another voice, softer and unmistakably female.
Through the doorway appeared a woman in flowing Greek-style scholarly robes, her expression composed and confident.
Beside her walked a man with flaxen-gold hair, his eyes wide with surprise, clearly unsettled by the presence of the room's mysterious occupants.
Scoryn spoke, Welcome, Mr. Startys, take your seat he pointed to a chair. The boy nodded in agreement.
Both newcomers stepped carefully into the chamber, their eyes scanning the empty table, the high-backed chairs, and the veiled figures seated like silent sentinels. The atmosphere pressed close—cold stone, flickering shadows, and the weight of unseen judgment.
Just as they began to sit, the stillness fractured.
Not footsteps—arguments.
Raised voices echoed from the corridor, growing sharper with every second.
The members turned toward Scoryn for direction, but only Startys broke the hush, his voice low and certain. "It's probably the other one I saw."
The noise swelled nearer, two distinct tones clashing:
"You have to be the most useless system—how do you not even know your own home?"
"I told you, I've been in stasis for thousands of years! The place has changed!"
"Excuses!" the first snapped back, dripping with contempt.
Confusion flickered through the chamber like a ripple. No one spoke—watching, waiting—as the argument spilled closer, the words strange yet oddly familiar.
Then, from the least expected corner of the room, the silence cracked.
Laughter—low, rich, and utterly unrestrained.
"Hahaha…"
Heads turned.
Scoryn's mask tilted slightly, amusement radiating even through its cold, impassive surface.
"Nyxth," he said, his voice darkly warm, "you really will be the only joy left in this boring life of revelations."
A murmur passed through the chamber.
"Ah, I think I remember coming from that direction… yes, left here."
Two more men stepped forward, their presence deliberate, echoing softly across the stone floor. Shadows stretched long behind them, flickering in the torchlight.
Then, from the corridor beyond, a new figure appeared.
White hair gleamed under the flickering torchlight, his posture taut and commanding. Every step was precise, deliberate, and radiating authority. Even beneath the mask, the spirit release of controlled anger was unmistakable.
His voice cut through the tension, sharp and slightly clipped: "First—who broke into my room? And second—who is this, Scoryn?"