The Imperial Academy of Enchantment Arts occupied a hilltop overlooking the city, its ancient spires visible from nearly anywhere in Ashborne. It had been founded in the First Era, when magic was new and wild and practitioners were still learning to control it, and it had trained every significant enchanter in the city's history. Including, according to old Halvin's notes, several members of the Order of the Consuming Serpent.
I'd never attended the Academy myself. My training had been practical, hands-on, learned in Halvin's cramped workshop rather than lecture halls. But I'd visited several times for research, and I knew my way around the public sections of its extensive library.
What I needed was access to the restricted archives—specifically, records from the period when the Order had been active. If Mordecai's team was going to track down a centuries-old cult, they needed to understand its history, its membership, its goals. And the Academy was the best place to find that information.
The Academy's gates were guarded by enchanted constructs—stone figures that stepped aside only for those with legitimate business. I presented my Guard credentials, obtained that morning from a reluctant Mordecai who had wanted to assign me an escort, and watched as the constructs' eyes flared briefly before they moved aside.
The grounds were quiet, most students still in their morning classes. I made my way to the library, a building that seemed too large to fit within the Academy's walls, its interior expanded through spatial enchantments that defied ordinary geometry. The main reading room could hold a thousand scholars and still feel empty, its shelves reaching toward a ceiling that depicted the night sky in perfect detail.
I found the head librarian at her desk near the entrance, a young woman with kind eyes and the tired expression of someone who spent too much time managing magical knowledge and not enough time sleeping.
"I need access to the First Era restricted archives," I said, presenting my credentials again. "Guard business."
She examined the documents carefully, comparing them to some invisible standard I couldn't see. Then she nodded and rose from her desk. "Follow me. The First Era archives are in the east wing. I should warn you—some of those texts have preservation enchantments that can be... disorienting. Don't try to read too quickly, and don't touch anything without gloves."
We wound through the library's labyrinthine corridors, past reading rooms and study alcoves and chambers filled with floating books that circled like anxious birds. The east wing was older, its stones darker, its enchantments heavier. I could feel the weight of centuries pressing down as we walked, the accumulated knowledge of generations of enchanters.
The restricted archive was behind a door that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of obsidian. The librarian pressed her palm to its surface, spoke a word I didn't catch, and watched as the door swung open silently.
"The Order of the Consuming Serpent was active from roughly 120 to 150 First Era," she said, pointing to a section in the far corner. "Their records were sealed after the Purge, but the seal was broken about fifty years ago for academic research. The texts are in the third case from the left. Do you need anything else?"
"Just time," I said. "And perhaps a table where I can spread out."
She nodded and left, the door closing behind her with a sound like a held breath releasing.
The restricted archive was cold, its preservation enchantments keeping the air at a temperature that slowed the aging of paper and leather. I pulled on the gloves I'd brought and made my way to the third case, where the Order's records waited behind glass that hummed with protective magic.
The documents were old, their ink faded, their language archaic. But as I worked through them, a picture began to emerge.
The Order of the Consuming Serpent had been founded by a mage named Aldricus Vol—the same Aldricus Vol who had developed the sympathetic drain technique. He had gathered followers around a simple premise: that magical power was too concentrated in the hands of the wealthy, too hoarded in family heirlooms and institutional artifacts. He believed in redistribution—that power should flow from those who had too much to those who had too little.
A noble goal, in theory. But the Order's methods had been anything but noble. They had used forbidden techniques to drain artifacts, stealing power that wasn't theirs to take. And they had stored that power in vast crystalline matrices, building reserves that could have leveled city blocks.
The Purge had come in 150 First Era, when the city's Council had finally uncovered the Order's activities. They had been arrested, tried, and executed—every member they could find. But the texts I was reading suggested that some had escaped, carrying their knowledge and their mission into hiding.
And there, in the margins of a membership roster, I found something that made my breath catch.
A name I recognized. A name that appeared in old Halvin's lineage, three generations back. A name that connected my old master—and by extension, me—to the Order of the Consuming Serpent.
"Halvin Thornwood was never a member," I murmured to myself, reading the notes carefully. "But his grandfather, Aldous Thornwood..."
Aldous Thornwood had been a member. Aldous Thornwood had been among those who escaped the Purge, his fate unknown after he fled the city. And the Thornwood family had been quietly rebuilding ever since, generation after generation, staying out of magical politics, keeping their heads down.
Had they been waiting? Planning? Continuing the Order's work in secret?
I thought about old Halvin, about his quiet dedication to repair work, about his insistence that I always choose the ethical path even when the unethical one was easier. He had never mentioned his family's connection to the Order. He had never spoken of forbidden magic except to warn against it.
But he had also been the one to teach me about the sympathetic drain technique, back when I was an apprentice. He had shown me the theoretical foundations, the mechanics of how it worked, even as he emphasized that such knowledge was dangerous and should never be used.
Had that been education? Or preparation?
I sat back, the weight of implication pressing down on me. If the Order had survived in secret, if they had been operating all these years, then the conspiracy went deeper than anyone imagined. And somewhere in that web of hidden connections, my own master might have been a thread.
I copied the relevant passages carefully, documenting everything I found. The membership roster. The descriptions of the Order's activities. The details of their power collection methods. And the name—Aldous Thornwood—with a question mark beside it, as if the historian who had compiled these records had been uncertain of its significance.
When I emerged from the archive, hours had passed. The afternoon sun slanted through the library's windows, catching dust motes in the air. My head was spinning with questions and implications, and I needed to talk to someone who could help me understand what I'd found.
I needed to talk to Darian. And then I needed to tell Mordecai that the investigation had just become a lot more complicated.
But first, I needed to fix Mira's music box. Because in a world where ancient conspiracies and forbidden magic threatened to upend everything I knew, a young woman's hope still mattered. A lullaby still needed to be restored. A promise still needed to be kept.
Some things, I had learned, were worth holding on to. Even in the darkness.
I made my way back through the Academy's grounds, past the ancient spires and watchful constructs, and out into the city beyond. The streets of Ashborne were busy with afternoon crowds—merchants and workers and ordinary people going about their ordinary lives.
They didn't know what was coming. They didn't know about the Order, about the power being collected, about the danger that had been growing in the shadows for two hundred years.
But I knew. And I was going to do something about it.