It had been a week since the chaos in the dungeon, and the academy had settled into an uneasy calm. Thalon and the others had finally recovered from their injuries, and life at Ebonspire Academy slowly returned to its usual rhythm. Cyrus had kept himself busy with classes and discreet investigations, though the presence of the Monarch's Abyss emblem still weighed heavily on his mind. His late-night meetings with the crow and cryptic visions continued to fuel his suspicions about the shadowy rival guild.
As the morning sun filtered through the windows of the dormitories, a loud bell rang through the halls, its sound urgent and commanding. Cyrus lifted his head from his books, exchanging glances with Teef and Dale, who were preparing for the day.
"What now?" Dale muttered, throwing on his academy cloak. "Doesn't sound like the usual call to class."
A moment later, a voice boomed through the enchanted speakers that lined the academy halls.
"All students, report to the grand dining hall immediately. The Grandmaster has an important announcement."
"Must be big if they're calling everyone," Teef said, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Think it's about the dungeon incident?"
Cyrus shrugged, though his instincts told him it was something far bigger. "Only one way to find out."
They hurried toward the grand dining hall, the corridors filled with students moving in the same direction. Layla and Siera joined them on the way, looking just as intrigued.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Layla whispered as they approached the large wooden doors leading into the hall.
Inside, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Students from all five houses—Tenebrae, Lunarius, Sylva, Ignis, and Verdantis—were gathered, their hushed voices bouncing off the towering stone walls. The tables had been cleared, and at the far end of the hall stood Magnus, flanked by professors and unfamiliar figures that immediately caught Cyrus's attention.
Magnus raised his hand, and silence fell across the room.
"Students of Ebonspire," he began, his deep voice resonating through the hall, "I thank you all for gathering here. I have called you today to announce an event that only comes once every few years. It is a test of skill, magic, and the very essence of what it means to be a wizard."
His eyes swept over the crowd, lingering on the different house tables as he continued.
"The Annual Battle of the Academies is upon us. Ebonspire will soon face off against the finest students from three of our sister academies: the Academy of Obsidian Flame, Ivorywind Academy, and Mournvale Academy of Shadows."
Gasps and excited murmurs rippled through the students. Everyone knew of the Battle of the Academies. It was a rare and prestigious event, where the best of the best from each school competed in magical duels and trials that tested every aspect of a wizard's abilities.
Magnus raised his hand again, silencing the crowd. "Representing our sister schools today are their grandmasters and their top students. Allow me to introduce them."
The first to step forward was a tall, imposing woman with fiery red hair and golden eyes that gleamed with intensity. She wore robes of deep crimson, edged with black flames that flickered at the hem.
"This is Grandmaster Velmor of the Academy of Obsidian Flame," Magnus said, gesturing to her.
Velmor inclined her head slightly, her eyes scanning the students with a piercing gaze. Beside her stood a young man with striking features—sharp cheekbones, a confident smirk, and eyes that gleamed like molten lava. His aura radiated heat, and Cyrus could almost feel the temperature rise as he stepped forward.
"This is Kravos, our academy's top student," Velmor said, her voice as fierce as her reputation. "We are not here to make friends. We are here to win."
Next, Magnus introduced the second figure—a tall, graceful woman with silver hair that shimmered in the light. Her robes were pale blue, adorned with patterns of wind and clouds. Her presence was calm, but there was an unmistakable power in her posture.
"This is Grandmaster Astrielle of Ivorywind Academy," Magnus continued. "And her champion, Valen."
Valen, a striking figure with pale skin and silver eyes, stepped forward. His presence was quiet but commanding, and he gave the room a brief nod of acknowledgment.
Finally, a dark figure stepped into the light. Dressed in black and violet robes, Grandmaster Nynora of Mournvale Academy of Shadows exuded an aura of menace and mystery. Her eyes were dark and piercing, and beside her stood a student with an equally enigmatic presence—a girl with black hair, almost blending into the shadows, and eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian.
"And this is Sable, top student of Mournvale Academy," Magnus said, his tone respectful. "They are masters of shadow magic, deception, and necromancy."
Cyrus felt a chill run down his spine as Sable's gaze swept over the students, her eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer than he expected.
After the introductions, Magnus turned back to his own students. "Now, to select our champions. In order to make this selection process fair and unbiased, we will hold an in-house tournament. Each house will send its best students to compete in a series of duels, trials, and tests of skill. From this, we will choose the top three students to represent Ebonspire in the Battle of the Academies."
Magnus's voice grew more intense as he outlined the details of the tournament. "Each house will nominate two students to compete in the trials. The duels will be randomly paired, and each student will have the opportunity to showcase their magical abilities. The top three performers will move on to represent Ebonspire."
Cyrus could feel the excitement and tension building around him. This was more than just a test of skill—it was an opportunity to prove himself, not just to his house, but to the entire academy. And with the other academies watching, the pressure would be immense.
Magnus raised his hand one final time. "The in-house tournament will begin tomorrow morning, and we will have our champions within the week. Once the tournament is complete, there will be a month of preparation before the Battle of the Academies begins."
The room exploded into excited chatter, students already speculating about who would be nominated and what kind of challenges lay ahead.
Layla leaned over to Cyrus, her eyes wide with excitement. "Can you believe it? We might actually get to compete against other academies!"
"It's going to be intense," Dale muttered. "Kravos looks like he could melt someone with a single glare."
Teef chuckled nervously. "I just hope our house makes a good showing. You think you'll be nominated, Cyrus?"
Cyrus didn't answer immediately. He had no doubt his house would nominate him, but the thought of revealing too much of his power made him uneasy. He would need to play his cards carefully, balancing his need to blend in with his desire to prove himself.
Before he could reply, Magnus stepped forward again, his voice booming through the hall.
"Students of Ebonspire, prepare yourselves. The trials ahead will push you beyond your limits, but those who emerge victorious will be remembered in the annals of this academy's history."
With that, Magnus nodded to the professors, and the students began to file out of the grand hall, their minds racing with anticipation for the trials to come.
The black-and-silver halls of the House of Tenebrae were bathed in dim light, with flickering flames in the sconces casting long, restless shadows along the stone walls. The house common room, tucked deep within the dormitories, was a place steeped in secrets and silence. It was a room where the older students of Tenebrae often gathered, particularly when matters of great importance were at hand. Tonight, a heavy anticipation hung in the air.
Cyrus entered the lounge flanked by Teef and Dale, having hurried after word spread about an urgent house meeting. The room was filled with students of all years, their black cloaks bearing the silver raven crest of Tenebrae. Quiet whispers filled the space as murmurs of the upcoming in-house tournament rippled through the crowd. At the far end of the room, standing in front of a hearth where dark flames crackled, stood the fourth-year house leader.
His name was Gareth Blackthorn, an imposing figure with sharp, angular features and calculating dark eyes that seemed to pierce through the shadows. Gareth commanded both respect and fear, his reputation as one of Tenebrae's most cunning and formidable students preceding him. Tonight, however, there was something different about him—his posture tense, his arm wrapped in fresh bandages, and a faint glimmer of pain flickering behind his eyes.
As the students settled, Gareth raised his hand, calling for silence. The room fell quiet, save for the crackling of the enchanted black flames. His gaze swept across the room, lingering momentarily on each face before resting on Cyrus for just a beat longer.
"I've called you all here tonight," Gareth began, his voice low but firm, carrying effortlessly through the room, "to discuss the upcoming tournament. As you know, our house has always thrived in competition—our strength, our cunning, our ability to outmaneuver every other house has earned us victory after victory. This year will be no different."
His eyes swept across the students again, landing once more on Cyrus. There was an unmistakable weight behind that gaze, one of quiet assessment. Cyrus stood tall, his face impassive, though inside his thoughts churned with strategy.
"However," Gareth continued, his tone darkening, "I will not be competing this year."
A murmur of shock spread through the room. Gareth was the strongest and most feared competitor in House Tenebrae. His absence from the tournament was unthinkable.
A younger student spoke up, his voice hesitant. "But Gareth, you're the best in the house. Why aren't you competing?"
Gareth sighed, his fingers flexing over the bandages on his arm. "I've sustained an injury," he explained, his voice edged with frustration. "A duel with a member of House Ignis got out of hand. I won, but not without cost." He gestured to his bandaged arm, the faintest wince betraying the pain still lingering from the wound. "Because of this, I am unable to participate."
The murmurs intensified, disbelief rippling through the crowd. Gareth, Tenebrae's greatest weapon, would be absent from the most important event of the year. But as quickly as the whispers began, they were silenced by Gareth's sharp gaze.
"But rest assured," Gareth continued, his voice growing resolute, "our house will not falter. I have chosen three students to represent us, and they will carry Tenebrae to victory."
He turned then, his eyes locking onto Cyrus with a gaze so intense that it seemed to make the room feel even smaller.
"Cyrus Vale," Gareth announced, his voice filled with conviction. "You are the first I've chosen."
The room fell deathly silent, all eyes now on Cyrus. Though he had suspected his name would be called, the weight of the moment pressed down on him with a sudden heaviness. Gareth's gaze lingered, filled with an unspoken recognition of Cyrus's talents, talents that had not gone unnoticed.
"You have shown great skill and promise since your arrival," Gareth continued, his tone sharp but with a hint of something more—an acknowledgment that he had been watching Cyrus closely, perhaps more closely than anyone realized. "I expect nothing less than excellence from you."
Cyrus nodded curtly, his mind already racing with the challenge ahead. He knew he would have to walk a fine line, hiding his true abilities while still proving himself as a formidable representative for the house.
Gareth's attention then shifted to Dale, who stood a little straighter under the scrutiny.
"Dale Thorneheart," Gareth said, his voice softening just slightly. "Your agility and control over wind magic have impressed me. You bring unpredictability to the table, a trait we will need to win."
Dale smirked, tipping his hat playfully. "Guess that means no backing out now."
There was a ripple of light laughter through the crowd, but Gareth's attention had already moved to the final student. His gaze turned to the back corner of the room, where a boy lounged in a chair with casual disinterest, his green hair slicked back and golden piercings glinting in the dim light.
This was Finnian Thornlock, known for his laid-back attitude but also for his uncanny mastery of shadow magic when he bothered to apply himself. He was a wildcard, rarely taking anything seriously, but when he did, his skills were unmatched.
"Finnian," Gareth said, his voice tinged with mild irritation, "you've also been chosen. Your control over shadow manipulation and your elusive nature will serve us well in the tournament."
Finnian raised an eyebrow, offering a lazy smirk as he slowly stood from his chair. "Guess I've got nothing better to do," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Gareth's jaw tightened at Finnian's indifference, but he nodded, knowing that beneath the boy's nonchalant exterior lay an untapped well of talent.
The room grew quiet as the weight of the choices settled over the students. These three would be the champions of House Tenebrae.
Gareth stepped forward, his voice hardening as he addressed the house one final time.
"These three will represent Tenebrae in the tournament," he declared, his eyes scanning the room with fierce determination. "Support them, stand by them, and remember—our house thrives in the shadows. We will rise victorious. And you three," he added, his gaze once more landing on Cyrus, Dale, and Finnian, "carry the legacy of Tenebrae on your shoulders. Do not fail us."
The door to the dorm room creaked open, and the familiar scent of old books, candle wax, and the faint smell of burnt wood greeted Cyrus, Dale, and Teef as they entered. The room was small but cozy, with dark wooden furniture and deep green tapestries hanging from the stone walls, casting an earthy, comfortable feel over the space. Their beds were neatly arranged along the walls, each one with its own small nightstand cluttered with personal belongings—books, potion bottles, and various magical trinkets. The flames of the enchanted lamps flickered softly, casting warm light over the room as they settled in.
Teef, still limping slightly from his injuries, flopped onto his bed with a groan. His small frame seemed even smaller under the weight of his exhaustion, his yellow eyes blinking lazily as he stared up at the ceiling. "Thank the stars it wasn't me," he muttered, half in relief and half in disbelief. "I'd have been toast if I was picked for the tournament. Look at me! I can barely walk straight without tripping over my own feet."
Dale, leaning against his bedpost and fiddling with his hat, chuckled. "Ain't no shame in it, partner. Not everyone's built for scrappin' like this. You're smart in ways most of us ain't." His southern drawl carried an easy confidence, but there was an edge of excitement in his voice. He tilted his head toward Cyrus, giving him a nod. "But damn, Cyrus. First pick, huh? That's somethin'. You sure you're ready for this?"
Cyrus, sitting on the edge of his bed, remained silent for a moment. He stared at the floor, his mind still turning over everything that had happened in the common room. Gareth's piercing gaze, the weight of expectation, the pressure of not revealing too much of his true abilities... It all sat heavily on his shoulders. He nodded slowly. "I'll manage," he said quietly, his voice steady but thoughtful. "I just have to stay sharp and… play it right."
Teef raised his head slightly, grinning despite his exhaustion. "Well, you've got this, man. I mean, I'm kind of glad it wasn't me because I'm not exactly, uh, tournament material." He gestured to his thin arms and then to the bandage still wrapped around his ankle. "Besides, I'm still healing from the dungeon fiasco. You, though? You've got a real shot at this. Both of you." He gave Dale a nod as well. "Just don't get yourselves killed out there, alright? We've lost enough of our classmates to dangerous spells and duels."
Dale laughed, his usual carefree attitude shining through. "Don't you worry 'bout us, Teef. I'm lookin' forward to showin' these stuck-up fourth years what a good ol' country boy can do with some wind magic. Just gotta keep 'em guessin'."
Cyrus managed a small smile. "We'll be fine. You just focus on getting better. There's always more danger lurking in this place."
Teef grinned back, though his eyes still showed a flicker of relief. He was smart—smarter than he let on—but strength and power had never been his thing. "Good luck to both of you," he said, his voice more sincere now. "Really. House Tenebrae could use a win, and I think you two can bring it home."
The room settled into a comfortable silence for a few moments, the three of them content with their own thoughts. The soft hum of distant magical wards hummed through the walls, a constant background reminder that danger was always nearby, even at Ebonspire.
Suddenly, the door creaked open without warning. Standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe, was Finnian Thornlock. His green hair was slicked back lazily, and his golden piercings glinted in the dim light of the dorm room. He looked utterly relaxed, his posture almost too laid-back as if the weight of the world meant nothing to him. With a lazy grin on his face, he greeted them with a simple, nonchalant, "Yo."
Cyrus, Dale, and Teef all turned to face him, momentarily taken aback by his unexpected appearance. Finnian's reputation preceded him, though none of them had interacted with him much beyond a few passing glances in the common rooms or during classes. He wasn't exactly the most approachable type—often too distant, too wrapped up in his own mysterious aura.
Dale, always the first to break any awkward silence, was the first to respond. "Well, well. If it ain't Finnian Thornlock, the shadow-man himself. Didn't expect a visit from ya. What brings you by?"
Finnian stepped further into the room, his hands shoved casually into his pockets as he glanced around with mild interest. "Wanted to meet the other chosen ones," he said, his voice smooth but slightly bored, as if everything happening was just a small inconvenience in his day. His golden piercings caught the light as he leaned against the wall, his posture effortlessly cool. "We're supposed to be representing the house together, right? Figured it'd be a good idea to at least say hi."
Cyrus studied him carefully, noting the sharp contrast between Finnian's casual demeanor and the raw magical talent that lay beneath it. He was only a second-year student, but Finnian's natural abilities outstripped most of the fourth years. His mastery of shadow manipulation was well-known among the students, even if his academic scores didn't reflect it.
Teef, still lying on his bed, raised an eyebrow. "You're Finnian? The guy who barely shows up to class but still blows everyone out of the water when it comes to magic?"
Finnian smirked, giving a casual shrug. "Yeah, I guess that's me. Never really cared much for all that book stuff, you know? But when it comes to magic, I've got a knack for it." He glanced between the three of them, his golden eyes sharp despite his laid-back tone. "And, looks like I'll be teaming up with you two for this whole tournament thing."
Dale chuckled, clearly amused by Finnian's attitude. "Well, partner, guess you're in good company. Just don't go disappearin' on us when things get tough."
Finnian's grin widened, his posture still relaxed but his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Disappear? Nah. That's not my style. I like to make an entrance." He pushed off the wall and gave a mock salute to Cyrus and Dale. "Anyway, just wanted to put faces to the names. We're in this together now, so let's not screw it up, yeah?"
Cyrus nodded, watching as Finnian moved toward the door. "We won't," he said simply, his tone steady but thoughtful. There was something about Finnian that intrigued him—a powerful force hiding behind a mask of disinterest.
Finnian gave a small wave before slipping back into the shadows of the hallway, his presence fading as quickly as it had appeared.
As the door closed behind him, Teef let out a low whistle. "That guy's something else. You sure you'll be able to keep up with him?"
Cyrus smirked slightly, his eyes narrowing. "We'll see."
Dale laughed, giving Cyrus a playful punch on the shoulder. "Yeah, this is gonna be one hell of a tournament."