Soft hands grasp mine, and a smile starts to form on my face, even though everything around me is still a blur. I try to speak, but no sound comes out.
"Shhh, you're okay," a soothing voice whispers as the hands gently touch my face. I don't know who it is, but somehow, I trust them. There's something familiar in the voice—a warmth I cling to in the haze.
But before I can make sense of it, I slip back into unconsciousness.
***
When I wake up again, the world comes into focus. The pain is distant, either dulled by medication or eased by a Rune—I'm not sure which. My eyes flutter open, and I realize I'm in the infirmary at Mimfrœði. Unlike most hospitals, there's no beeping from machines; everything here is monitored through magic. A soft blue glow emanates from the corners of the room, casting an otherworldly light over the rows of beds.
Suddenly, a woman rushes into the room. Rough hands cup my face, hazel eyes locking with mine. Instantly, a wave of calm washes over me, even though I can see the worry etched into her features. Despite her lighter skin, I know she's my mother.
"Oh, Jace!" Tears spill from her eyes, smudging her mascara as they streak down her cheeks. The sight of her crying stirs something deep within me—a pang of guilt mixed with relief. If I could move my arms without excruciating pain, I'd wipe her tears away.
"I knew you'd pull through! You're strong, just like your father!" She pulls me into a tight embrace, the familiar scent of lavender—her lifelong signature—filling my senses. I manage to wrap my arms around her in return, but the effort leaves me breathless. After a moment, she releases me, allowing me to catch my breath, but her eyes remain locked on mine, searching for something—answers, perhaps, or reassurance.
"What happened, Jay?" she asks, using the nickname she's called me since I was born.
"I-I don't know," I stammer, my mind racing to piece together the fragments. "The Dean wanted me to cast spells against him, and then… he was struck by lightning!" The words tumble out of me in a rush, each one sharpened by the memory of that blinding flash. I search her eyes for some form of comfort, but instead, I see fear—fear she's trying to hide for my sake.
She squeezes my hand, and I feel my body relax slightly, my breathing slowing. "It'll be okay," she says softly, though her voice wavers just a bit. "I'll talk to the Dean."
Before I can respond, a knock at the door interrupts us, and someone enters. The infirmary is simple and sterile, with twelve hospital cots spaced evenly, each separated by curtains. The mahogany door creaks open, and Professor Morgan steps into the room. His usually disheveled hair is even more ruffled, and his green eyes seem dimmer than usual.
"May I come in?" he asks, his voice subdued. My mother glances at me, concern still clouding her gaze. I nod.
"Mrs. Gray," he greets her with a weary smile, "one of my favorite students," he glances at me, "present company excluded, of course." His attempt at humor falls flat, and an awkward silence hangs in the air before he clears his throat. "Jace is a fine scholar, and as I'm sure you know, he's well on his way to following in his father's footsteps." My fists clench at the mention of my father, a familiar mix of pride and resentment tightening in my chest. My mother notices, resting her calloused hands on mine, grounding me.
"The Dean is alive," Morgan sighs, and I feel my fists unclench slightly. "But… he's been in a coma for the past few days."
The words slam into me like a physical blow. I try to sit up, pain shooting through me, but I grit my teeth and push through it. "Wait—what? A few days? How long has it been?" Panic bubbles in my throat, but I force myself to stay calm, though my heart is racing.
"Don't worry, it's only been three days. This kind of exhaustion is normal after overusing Runes." He winces, instantly regretting his words as he glances at my mother.
Her expression darkens. The shift is so sudden it's like a storm cloud sweeping across her face. "Wait. My son was overusing Runes? He's too smart for that!" she snaps, her grip on my hands tightening painfully. I inhale sharply, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"I tried to stop him," Professor Morgan explains, "but the Dean insisted I stand down. I knew I couldn't win against him and Sterling, so I had no choice."
"Sterling? She's here? Why?" My mother's voice is edged with suspicion, every word laced with something venomous.
"She works here," Morgan replies simply.
"Why is she teaching my son? You know how I feel about her." Confusion floods me as I glance between them, but it's as if I'm invisible to both. They're too caught up in whatever history they share to notice the questions buzzing in my head.
"I know you've had your… differences," he concedes, choosing his words carefully, "but she's undeniably a great teacher and a powerful Runic Mage. We were training Jace for the tournament." He winces again, realizing he's said too much.
"You signed my boy up for a tournament without my consent?"
"Mom, I'm 17," I interject, but it's like I'm speaking into the wind.
"Exactly! You're still a minor—I should have been informed!"
"I assumed you were," Morgan says, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Clearly, the Dean was up to something that didn't go as planned. I'll look into it." He straightens up, offering a small, tired smile. "Goodbye, Mrs. Gray. It was a pleasure to see you. Jace, I'll see you in class, yes?" I nod numbly, and with that, he turns and strides out, the door closing softly behind him.
A heavy silence settles between us, thick with unspoken questions. I gather the courage to ask the one that's been gnawing at me since the moment Sterling's name was mentioned. "Why do you hate Professor Sterling so much?" I ask, my voice cautious. My mother's eyes narrow, lost in thought, but it's clear she doesn't want to go down this road.
She snaps back to reality, however, and says, "Tabitha, your teacher, was my rival when I was your age."
"Why?"
"She had a chip on her shoulder against me. It's a long story I won't get into." The look on her face is unmistakable: don't ask me about this again. But I push anyway, needing to understand.
"Do you think she will hurt me to get back at you?" My voice is quieter now, the doubt creeping in.
"Honestly, I don't know. That's why I don't want you participating in her training." The pleading is evident in her eyes, a vulnerability she rarely shows. For a moment, I see the fear she's trying so hard to mask—the fear that history could repeat itself, that I could become another casualty in a rivalry I barely understand.
I clutch my locket tightly, my knuckles white. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime!"
"You don't understand what she's capable of, Jace." Her voice cracks, the words laced with desperation, but I'm too frustrated to listen.
"If you won't do this for me, do it for Dad!" I cry out, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and pleading. "What would he do?"
Her face tightens into a frown. "I don't know, Jace! I don't know!" Her voice cracks, and a single tear trails down her face, cutting through the mask of strength she tries so hard to maintain.
I take a deep breath, my resolve hardening. "Mom." I grab her hands and look her in the eyes. "I need this. For me, for Dad, and for us. Please."
Her expression is pained, but after a moment, she relents. "Fine. But please be safe."
I let out a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "I will, Mom." She kisses me on the forehead, and we spend the rest of the morning talking, though there's an underlying tension we both pretend isn't there.
***
Later that evening, the whole school is buzzing with rumors. Whispers swirl through the halls like mist: I heard Jace killed the Dean. No way, I heard he hit him with a Rune so hard it put him in a coma. Guys, shut up—it's getting addressed at dinner. The words blend together as I move through my classes, barely registering what's happening. I thank the few people who sent me get-well cards while I was in the infirmary, but my responses feel mechanical, detached. The concern in their eyes is genuine, but I feel like I'm drifting, disconnected from it all. They've banned me from dueling today, so I spend the time reading, though the words blur on the page.
By the time dinner arrives, I find my usual spot at the far corner of the hall and push the odd pasta dish around my plate. The chatter around me is charged, tension crackling in the air as everyone waits for the big announcement. When Professor Morgan finally steps onto the stage, a hush falls over the room. His usual warm expression is clouded with worry, and I can see dark circles under his eyes.
"Thank you all for your patience," he begins, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "I know you're eager for answers regarding the Dean's condition."
A murmur runs through the hall as he pauses. I can see George across the room, his eyes wide with anticipation. Even the instructors are leaning in, hanging on Morgan's every word.
"The Dean has entered a magically induced coma—a protective measure, given the intensity of the circumstances. Until he wakes up, Professor Tabitha Sterling will serve as Acting Dean."
The announcement sends shockwaves through the room. Conversations erupt like fireworks—voices rising in disbelief, confusion, and even anger. Some cheer Sterling's promotion, others mutter darkly. But all I can do is stare at the stage, my mind reeling. Tabitha Sterling—this woman my mother hates—is now running the entire school. My thoughts flash to my mom's words, her warnings echoing ominously in my ears.
I glance at the instructors gathered behind Morgan. Sterling stands at the center, poised and unbothered by the chaos she's unleashed. Her icy blue eyes scan the room, taking in the reaction with a faint, satisfied smirk. For a moment, her gaze locks onto mine, and I feel a chill run down my spine. Her smile widens ever so slightly, and I swear I can see something dark lurking beneath that polished exterior.
Morgan attempts to regain control, raising his hands for silence. "Let's stay focused on what's important: the upcoming tournament. We're working hard to make sure everyone is prepared."
Prepared for what? I can't help but wonder. This tournament feels more dangerous by the second, and I'm starting to question whether I'm ready for it. But it's too late to back out now.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur. The tension in the hall lingers like a bad taste, conversations buzzing around me as students speculate about Sterling's rise to power. But I can't focus on any of it. I'm too busy trying to process the implications of everything I just heard.
As the crowd disperses, George catches up with me. "Did you hear that? Sterling's in charge now! What do you think it means?"
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Probably just a temporary power shift until the Dean wakes up. No big deal."
George isn't fooled. He studies my expression carefully. "You're not worried, are you?"
"Of course not," I reply with a wry smile. I clap him on the back, hoping the gesture is enough to convince him. He doesn't press me further, thankfully.
But as I lie in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, my mind churns with possibilities. Sterling's smile haunts me, and no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling that everything is about to change—and not for the better.