We emerged from the Blighted Grove to find the world changed.
The arena was empty—no crowds, no nobles, no celebrating candidates. Just proctors in full battle gear, their expressions grim, their weapons drawn. They surrounded us before we could take a full breath.
"Party 147." The lead proctor's voice was flat. "You will come with us. Now."
Vance's hand drifted toward his sword. Mira's eyes scanned for exits. Dorn shifted his shield forward. Elara pressed close to me.
I shook my head slightly. "We'll go."
They led us not to the medical wing or the candidate quarters, but deep into the Academy's lower levels—corridors I'd never seen, doors sealed with runes that pulsed with ancient power. Finally, we entered a chamber that looked like a war room: maps spread across a massive table, glowing crystals for communication, and standing at its center, Headmaster Thalion.
He looked older. Tired. The weight of centuries pressing down.
"Close the door."
The proctors withdrew. We stood alone with the most powerful mage in the Academy.
"Malachar," Thalion said quietly. "The Necromancer's acolyte. Inside my Academy. Inside a trial watched by hundreds." He looked at me. "You faced him. You survived. How?"
I told him. Most of it—the trapped spirits, the rebellion of the corruption, the Greenwarden's aid. I left out the seed, still warm in my pocket, and the full extent of my connection to the Grove.
Thalion listened without interrupting. When I finished, he was silent for a long moment.
"A Greenwarden. Still alive. In the Grove all these years." He closed his eyes. "We thought they were all gone. Wiped out centuries ago. But she endured."
"She said the Academy trapped her. Used her as an anchor."
"I know." His voice was heavy. "The founders did many things I'm not proud of. The Grove was meant to be a tool for training, not a prison. But they were desperate, and she was... convenient." He opened his eyes. "I will free her. Properly. Whatever it takes."
Mira stepped forward. "Headmaster. Malachar didn't get in alone. Someone helped him. Someone with access, authority, knowledge of the trials."
Thalion nodded slowly. "I know. We're investigating."
"Investigating isn't enough." Mira's voice was hard. "My father was part of this. He's dead, but the conspiracy isn't. Someone else is pulling strings. Someone higher."
Thalion studied her for a long moment. "You suspect someone specific."
"I suspect everyone."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Wise. But suspicion isn't proof." He moved to the map table, tracing lines with his finger. "The Necromancer moves faster than we anticipated. The seal on the Dark Forest is weakening—months, maybe weeks, not years. When it breaks, the world will face an enemy it hasn't seen in a thousand years."
He looked at us. "You five have proven yourselves. Not just in skill, but in character. You could have broken in the Grove. You could have taken Malachar's offer. You didn't."
"We're not heroes," Vance said.
"No. You're something better. You're survivors who choose to fight." Thalion opened a drawer and withdrew five sealed envelopes. "These contain your Academy commissions. Official recognition as graduates, with all the rights and privileges that entails. You've earned them."
We took them, stunned.
"But that's not why I brought you here." Thalion's voice dropped. "The conspiracy isn't just outside the Academy. It's inside. Someone in these halls is working with the Necromancer. Someone with power, influence, and knowledge of our defenses."
He looked at each of us in turn.
"I want you to find them."
---
We left the war room in stunned silence.
The corridors were empty, the usual bustle of Academy life replaced by an eerie stillness. Candidates were confined to quarters. Proctors patrolled in pairs. Everyone was a suspect.
Vance broke the silence first. "He wants us to spy on our own Academy. To hunt a traitor among people we see every day."
"Technically, we're already spies," Elara pointed out. "He made us special investigators."
"Investigating external threats. Not internal ones." Vance ran his hands through his hair. "This is different. This is... personal."
Mira stopped walking. "It's always personal."
We looked at her.
"My father was part of this. He's dead, but his contacts aren't. His allies aren't. Someone in this Academy knew him, worked with him, helped him." Her eyes were flat, cold. "I want to find them. I want to know why. I want to make sure they never hurt anyone else."
Dorn put a massive hand on her shoulder. "We help."
She didn't shrug it off.
Elara nodded. "We're party. That's what we do."
Vance sighed. "Fine. But if we die, I'm haunting all of you."
I looked at my party—my friends—and felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
---
That night, alone in my quarters, I pulled out the Heartwood seed.
It pulsed faintly in my palm, warm and alive. The Greenwarden's words echoed in my mind: "Plant this where the darkness is strongest. It will grow into what you need."
Where was the darkness strongest? The conspiracy? The Academy itself? Or somewhere deeper, somewhere the Necromancer's influence had already taken root?
I didn't know. But I had a feeling I'd find out soon enough.
A knock at my door.
I tucked the seed away and opened it. A servant stood there, face blank, holding a sealed note.
"For you, Candidate White. From an anonymous sender."
I took it, and the servant left.
Inside, written in a hand I didn't recognize:
The serpent nests in the tower of stars. Come alone. Come at midnight. Come if you want the truth.
No signature. No seal. Just the words, and the weight of implication.
The tower of stars. The Observatory Tower. Where Light had spoken to me, where Eve had watched the stars.
I looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty.
Half an hour to decide.
Half an hour to walk into a trap—or find the answers we desperately needed.
I thought of my party. Of Thalion's trust. Of the seed in my pocket and the Greenwarden's hope.
Then I thought of Malachar's eyes, cold and hungry, promising power if I joined the darkness.
I'd made my choice then.
I'd make it again now.
I grabbed my cloak and slipped into the night.
---