The rain had not stopped since morning.
It tapped relentlessly against the creepy arches of Nevermore, each drop a steady reminder that peace, once again, had abandoned the school.
Principal Larissa Weems sat at her desk, perfectly still, a porcelain figure framed in gray light. Her hands covered her face, elbows resting on a pile of papers that had long ceased to make sense.
She wasn't weeping. Larissa Weems did not weep. But fatigue clung to her like a second skin.
The Founder's Vigil- meant to celebrate Nevermore's proud lineage, had dissolved into chaos.
Now, all she could hear was the echo of sirens, the murmurs of terrified students, and the polite but probing questions of the police who had just left her office.
Another scandal, Larissa. Just what the academy needs, she thought bitterly.
Her office bore the scars of the week's turmoil. Files lay open like wounds, incident reports, forensic summaries, letters from parents demanding answers she didn't have. A half-empty cup of Darjeeling sat forgotten, cold.
She straightened slowly, smoothing her skirt out of habit more than composure, and exhaled through her nose.
Frustration would solve nothing. Control now, well, that was her weapon.
Across from her, standing near the fireplace, was Dr. Valerie Kinbott, who had lingered after the officers departed.
(image)
The psychiatrist had been invited to Nevermore at the board's insistence, "for the students' emotional wellbeing," they'd said. It was because several witnesses of the Vigil had shown signs of trauma, nightmares, panic, even a few minor breakdowns in class.
Weems had agreed, of course. Publicly, she'd praised the decision as "a proactive step toward recovery." Privately, she resented the implication that Nevermore could not tend to its own.
Kinbott stood quietly now, arms folded around her clipboard as if it were a shield. "Some of the students are still shaken," she said softly. "Particularly the ones who saw Einar's... end."
Weems's gaze flicked toward her, cool and assessing. "Understandable," she said. "But hysteria spreads quickly in a place like this. I trust you'll be discreet."
Kinbott gave a measured nod. "I'm only here to help, Larissa. Not to interfere."
They all say that at first Weems thought. "Until they realize Nevermore's walls have so many secrets and even more patients."
The therapist's posture was rigid, her fingers tapping the edge of her clipboard. "You look exhausted, Larissa," she said quietly.
Weems's gaze flicked toward her. "I assure you, exhaustion is a luxury I can't afford," she replied, voice calm but brittle. Einar's death, the attack on Valen and Enid, and now Alex's condition… we are one headline away from being shut down.
Kinbott hesitated. "The students are scared. Rumors are spreading faster than you can contain them. Perhaps-"
"Rumors...," Weems cut in, sharper than intended. "Rumors are oxygen here. I've spent years learning how to suffocate them before they burn the school down."
A silence settled between them, heavy with things unsaid.
Weems turned her eyes toward the window, where the reflection of her own face stared back stern, pale, and older than she remembered.
She thought of Einar, not as the monstrous figure from the Vigil, but as the boy she'd once known.Einar Rask.Sharp-minded. Proud. Bitter.
Back when they were students at Nevermore, he had always carried that quiet resentment, especially toward the Eidolons, that peculiar group who prided themselves on purity of lineage and strength of heritage.
Weems could still remember it, Einar standing at the edge of the courtyard, jaw tight, eyes cold as he watched the Eidolons mock his theories in alchemy. He'd hated them, deeply, almost irrationally, though back then, it had been dismissed as rivalry.
They had all moved on. Or so she'd thought.
After graduation, Einar had returned to Nevermore years later, calmer, older, even gracious in his own reserved way. He'd spoken of research, of purpose. He had become, in her mind, proof that time could heal the fractures of youth.
But now…
So it wasn't gone. He'd only buried it, she thought, the words tasting bitter in her mind. Buried it deep enough to fool even me.
Whatever darkness had lived in him had only gone dormant...waiting.And the entry of the new generation had only unearthed it again....
And then, there was the grave. Silas's grave. Disturbed. The name alone was a ghost that refused to stay buried.
If it's true… if Silas's legacy has resurfaced, then…
She didn't finish the thought. Couldn't.
A soft knock interrupted her spiral.
The door creaked open just enough for Bianca Barclay to appear, her usual poise dimmed by apprehension. "Principal Weems? The students are asking if the Vigil will be rescheduled."
Weems took a moment before replying, her voice smooth again, professional. "No. The Founder's Vigil is over. For this year… and possibly for good."
Bianca nodded, lips pressed together, and left as quietly as she'd come.
Once the door clicked shut, the silence returned, vast and suffocating.
Weems leaned back, eyes tracing the carved ceiling beams. Her reflection in the dark window watched her like a stranger.
"Hold it together, Larissa. Hold the school together. You've done it before."
But this time, even as she told herself the words, she wasn't entirely sure she believed them.
*
The rain had eased into a soft drizzle by the time Alex and his escorts reached the tall double doors of Principal Weems's office. The corridors were unusually quiet, save for the faint hum of candlelight flickering along the stone walls.
Walking beside him were Ezra and Zane, both older members of the Circle, the kind of men whose presence drew silence more effectively than authority ever could. Their dark coats carried the scent of rain and smoke, a reminder that they had come straight from the Pit, where something monstrous had been put down only days before.
They should have come sooner.They wanted to come sooner.But duty had its own hierarchy, and the "beast cleanup" in the Pit had been too dangerous to delay.
The first to visit after the Vigil had been Julian and Ezra.
They had stood side by side in the infirmary, shadows flickering over their faces from the soft blue light of the healing wards. Both Alex and Valen lay unconscious, pale, still, and marked by the aftermath of something no spell or science could yet name.
Alex was the worse of the two. His energy was erratic, his veins pulsing faintly with the afterglow of what had drained him. But he woke up the next day... though losing his powers.
Whatever had attacked him, had emptied him. His power, his lineage itself, seemed to have been siphoned away, leaving only traces of what he had once been.
Valen, on the other hand, bore no such emptiness. His body was exhausted, his right hand badly burst, but the readings were stable. He had used a forbidden technique something powerful, reckless, and far beyond what he should have attempted.
Julian had watched them both for a long while without speaking. His expression was unreadable, carved from restraint.
He was worried, deeply, but he wore that worry like armor, locking it behind the calm that had guided him through battles far worse than this.
"They'll live," he'd finally said, more to himself than to Ezra. "And maybe… they'll learn."
Ezra had glanced at him, uncertain. "This was too much of a lesson, don't you think?"
Julian's jaw tightened. "Everything that doesn't kill us teaches us. That's what we told ourselves at their age."
Then, softer, "They will need to face worse than this someday. Better they learns now what danger looks like."
He hadn't told Sarenya any of it. She would have panicked, demanded Valen to be withdrawn, perhaps even sue the academy.
No, he'd decided, she didn't need to know about the burst hand or the sleepless nights that would follow. Not yet.
So he had left the infirmary with a stone on his heart.
The Circle had recognized the pattern of what attacked Alex, the wounds, the residual energy. They could handle it…They wanted Alex to returned with them immediately.
But Weems had asked for time.Time, and a favor.
"He's still a student," she'd said then, her voice steady but pleading. "And Nevermore cannot afford another scandal. Not one that suggests a student has lost their lineage."
It wasn't only about Alex. It was about the balance that kept the outcast world stable, the illusion of control that Weems had spent her career maintaining. If word spread that one of her students had lost his outcast nature, it would unravel everything. The school's reputation. Her own. And also the trust of the Outcast Patents. Perhaps even the fragile peace that kept outcasts from open exposure.
Julian had understood, reluctantly. He knew what the creature was, or at least what it was born from.So, he had agreed, leaving Ezra behind as both guardian and containment measure.
For a week, Ezra and Alex had remained in the infirmary, watching over Valen, whose condition was still uncertain.
Now, with reinforcements finally arrived, the Circle had decided it was time to bring Alex home.
And so, the three of them stood before the principal's door, a door that seemed to weigh as much as the decision they were about to enforce.
Ezra glanced at Alex once, a silent question in his eyes. Alex nodded.They knocked.
Inside, the muffled sound of voices, Weems and Dr. Kinbott, fell silent.
"Enter," came Weems's voice, crisp and tired.
The door creaked open, and the scent of sandalwood and ink drifted out.Alex stepped in first, flanked by Ezra and Zane, their presence immediately altering the air of the room.
Weems straightened behind her desk, her expression smoothing into polite neutrality."Alex," she said, her tone clipped. "And… company, I see."
Ezra inclined his head. "We're here for the boys, Principal. The Circle believes it's time they returned with us."