Cyrus stood before the grand, intricately carved wooden door of Magnus's office, the weight of the orc attack still fresh in his mind. His heart raced, though his face remained expressionless. He knew this wasn't just a routine conversation; Magnus wouldn't have summoned him for something so trivial. The invitation had been delivered in person by a senior professor—an indication that whatever Magnus wished to discuss, it was far more significant than the recent tournament.
As Cyrus pushed open the heavy door, the atmosphere inside shifted. Magnus's office was both elegant and enigmatic, lined with ancient tomes, glowing crystals, and relics from eras long past. A grand desk sat at the far end, behind which Magnus himself sat, his hands folded calmly in front of him. On the left side of the room, a fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting long shadows across the floor.
Magnus lifted his eyes from an old scroll he had been examining. He wore his usual crimson robe, but there was a tension in his posture that Cyrus hadn't seen before. Beside him, the small greenling dragon, Melvin, perched on a side table, its emerald eyes tracking Cyrus's every movement.
"Come in, Cyrus," Magnus said, his voice a calming rumble. "We have much to discuss."
Cyrus walked forward, standing just short of the desk, unsure whether to sit or remain standing. The tension in the room was palpable, but Magnus gestured for him to take a seat.
"I'm not going to waste your time with small talk," Magnus began, his eyes studying Cyrus with an intensity that unsettled him. "The orc attack… it wasn't a coincidence."
Cyrus didn't flinch, though he had suspected as much. He had been the target, after all. Still, he remained silent, waiting for Magnus to continue.
"I know they were after you," Magnus said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze unblinking. "The 'boy with the mark of fire and lightning,' they called you. Quite the title."
Cyrus's hand instinctively twitched toward his side, but he stopped himself. He had expected Magnus to have some knowledge of the attack, but he didn't anticipate how much the headmaster had already deduced.
"Do you know why?" Magnus asked, his tone calm but firm.
Cyrus hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. His connection to the Crow's End was something he had sworn to keep secret, even from someone as powerful as Magnus. "I have some theories," he answered cautiously. "But nothing concrete."
Magnus leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the desk lightly. His gaze softened slightly, but there was still a weight behind his words. "You've done well to remain under the radar, Cyrus. But you're not as hidden as you think."
Cyrus's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
Magnus stood and walked over to a large window that overlooked the academy grounds. "This academy has existed for centuries. I've seen students come and go, many with potential—some who have risen to greatness, and others who have fallen into darkness. And in all my years, I've learned that power never stays hidden for long."
He turned back to face Cyrus, his expression unreadable. "The orcs didn't find you by accident. And they weren't acting on their own. Someone is pulling the strings behind the scenes."
Cyrus clenched his fists, feeling the familiar surge of frustration rising within him. "Do you know who?"
Magnus shook his head slowly. "Not yet. But I have my suspicions. And that's why I'm asking you to join The Silent Light."
Cyrus blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. "The Silent Light?"
Magnus nodded. "They're a secret division within the academy—an elite group of wizards, operatives, if you will. They handle matters that require discretion. Investigating hidden threats, neutralizing dangerous entities, and even going undercover in places where the academy's usual influence does not reach. The Silent Light has dealt with everything from rogue magical creatures to dark wizards plotting insurrection. One mission, years ago, involved infiltrating an ancient cult that had managed to possess the minds of some of the brightest students. Their leader was a professor, using his position to manipulate students into his cause."
Magnus paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "The Silent Light stopped them before they could spread beyond these walls, but at a great cost. Three members of the Silent Light never returned from that mission. Their sacrifice ensured the safety of the academy. This is the kind of work they do, Cyrus—fighting battles that no one ever hears about, in places no one dares to go."
He leaned forward, his tone measured. "They act in the shadows, unnoticed, but they are the first line of defense when something like the orc attack happens."
Cyrus's mind raced as Magnus continued, "The Silent Light is comprised of the best the academy has to offer. Only a select few know of its existence. They are wizards who have proven their skill, loyalty, and discretion. The orc attack has confirmed my suspicions that there's something darker brewing in the background, and we need to act quickly."
Cyrus sat still, absorbing the information. The idea of joining such a group intrigued him. His training at the Crow's End had prepared him for covert operations, but the Silent Light would mean playing both sides—working within the academy while still maintaining his own mission. He wasn't sure if this was an opportunity or a trap.
"You think I'm the right person for this?" Cyrus asked, his voice low.
Magnus gave him a faint smile. "You have the skill, the discipline. But more importantly, you have something most wizards here lack—an understanding of how to operate in the shadows. You're already walking that path, Cyrus. It's just a matter of whether you choose to embrace it."
Cyrus remained silent for a moment, considering the weight of the offer. He had been trained to work in the shadows, to hide his true nature, but working for the academy's secret operative unit? It would put him in dangerous situations—perhaps closer to the enemy than even the Crow's End had prepared him for.
"What's the real reason you want me in this group?" Cyrus asked, his red eyes locking onto Magnus's.
Magnus's expression remained calm, but his eyes gleamed with something deeper. "Because I believe you're the only one who can handle what's coming next. And because I trust you."
He paused, watching Cyrus closely. "You wonder why I haven't stepped in earlier, don't you?"
Cyrus tensed slightly, unsure how to answer. Magnus continued, his voice quiet but firm. "There are forces at play here, Cyrus—forces even I must be careful with. I've watched over you from a distance for longer than you know, but there are... limitations to what I can interfere with. Sometimes, it's not about stepping in too early, but about waiting for the right moment. And that moment is now."
Cyrus didn't respond immediately. Trust wasn't something he was used to receiving. But there was something in Magnus's tone—a cryptic certainty that made it clear the headmaster knew far more about Cyrus's past and future than he was letting on. Yet, for some reason, Magnus had held back—until now.
After a long pause,Magnus walked back toward his desk, his fingers brushing the edge of an old scroll as he spoke. "You remind me of a former student, Cyrus. Many, many years ago, before the burning destruction of Ebonspire, there was a student by the name of Zelio Rekar. He was a prodigy like no other. It was as if the flames of the sun chose him to be the carrier of light and justice."
Zelio Rekar… The name tugged at something in Cyrus, a faint echo that unsettled him. His mind raced, trying to place the name, but it was unfamiliar. And yet, something about it felt… off.
His thoughts spun as Magnus continued, each word sinking deeper into his consciousness. Prodigy. Flames. Justice. Was this student like me? Was he someone molded by power, perhaps to a point where he couldn't control it? A faint sense of unease twisted in his gut, though his face remained as stoic as ever.
Cyrus blinked, his focus sharpening on Magnus as if trying to hide the internal storm brewing within him.
"You, Cyrus, show me the same potential," Magnus continued, his voice calm yet filled with a weight that was impossible to ignore. "I can feel the lightning bolts coursing through my veins at this very moment."
Cyrus's throat tightened. The name Rekar sent shivers through his mind. He had never heard it before, but it tugged at something buried deep within him. His heart raced, yet he didn't understand why.
Magnus's eyes locked onto Cyrus's, as though the old wizard could see through the young man's thoughts. "No need to hide your abilities from me, child. You are not only the child of fire and lightning, but I can also sense that the shadows have chosen you as well. Such remarkable gifts to be bestowed on one so young. You must have had a difficult upbringing…" Magnus paused, his words hanging in the air like a weight.
"The boy of a merchant from Lionsworth." Magnus grinned slightly, though even in his grin, he seemed so gentle and calm.
Cyrus remained silent. It wasn't fear that gripped him—he was far too trained to succumb to that. But this wizard, with all his kindness and wisdom, unsettled him in a way he hadn't felt before. He had learned to recognize power from those who wielded it with brute force and manipulation, but Magnus's influence felt different—deeper, more subtle, like it reached into the very core of who he was.
"Zelio Rekar…" Cyrus muttered to himself, the name sticking in his mind like an echo from the past. Was there a connection? Or was this just a coincidence?
Magnus saw the flicker of thought in Cyrus's eyes, but he didn't press further, allowing the silence to stretch between them before continuing. "Zelio Rekar was a student of great promise. He was revered by many, feared by some. He was destined for greatness, but... as is often the case, the weight of that greatness brought temptation. Power can corrupt, and for Zelio, that power led him down a path of no return."
Cyrus stiffened. Something about the way Magnus spoke—it stirred a deep, uncomfortable feeling in him, as if the words were awakening something long buried. Magnus's tone was gentle, but the implications were not lost on Cyrus.
"He burned down the academy," Magnus said softly, his eyes darkening with the weight of the memory. "In his pursuit of more—more power, more control—he unleashed something even he couldn't contain. The destruction was... complete."
Cyrus clenched his fists beneath his cloak, a surge of conflicting emotions rising within him. This story was starting to sound disturbingly familiar. It reminded him of the lessons he'd been taught—the ruthless pursuit of power, the willingness to do whatever was necessary to achieve a goal. But this… this sounded like something more.
Magnus's eyes seemed to pierce through Cyrus as if sensing the storm brewing beneath the boy's calm demeanor. "Zelio disappeared after that night. Some say he perished in the flames, consumed by his own creation. Others believe he survived, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to resurface."
Cyrus remained silent, absorbing the weight of the story. A prodigy turned destroyer. A figure of immense power that lost himself in the darkness. His mind raced, and an unsettling question took shape: Was he walking the same path? Could the training he had endured be leading him toward the same end?
Magnus studied him for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. "You are not bound by the same fate, Cyrus. You hold great power, yes, but it is yours to control. The shadows do not have to define you. Nor do the flames or lightning. It is your choice."
Cyrus's breath caught, but he didn't respond. The weight of his master's teachings loomed large in his mind—the endless lessons of control, domination, and the suppression of weakness. He had been told that power was everything, that survival meant embracing the shadows, mastering the flames. And yet here was Magnus, standing before him with a different message. Was this a path he hadn't considered?
Magnus, sensing the boy's inner turmoil, placed a hand on his shoulder. "I see the conflict in you, Cyrus. You are strong, but strength alone is not what will define you. It is the choices you make—whether you give in to the darkness or rise above it."
Cyrus looked up, his crimson eyes meeting Magnus's calm gaze. There was no judgment, no demand for allegiance. Just... understanding. It was disorienting. The feeling was foreign but strangely comforting.
"I won't pretend to know everything about you," Magnus said, his tone softer now. "But I can tell you this: there are forces at work beyond what you've been taught. And there are those who will try to use you for their own purposes, just as Zelio was used. But you… you have the chance to break free from that cycle."
"Break free," the words echoed in Cyrus's mind, surging up from the depths of his thoughts. They brought with them a flood of memories—of his dream, of her. Ella's voice rang through his consciousness, soft but insistent. "Be free, Cyrus." He could still see her amber eyes, filled with hope and warmth, beckoning him to a future he wasn't sure he deserved.
Magnus's words hung in the air, but Cyrus was lost, momentarily trapped between the present and the past. The image of Ella swirled through his mind—the sunflowers, her laugh, the freedom she embodied. He could almost feel the weight of her hand tugging at his, pulling him away from the path he had walked for so long.
"Cyrus?" Magnus's voice cut through the haze, bringing him back to the present.
Cyrus blinked, his gaze snapping back to Magnus, who stood watching him with the same gentle patience, as though he understood the war raging inside. The calm wisdom in the old wizard's eyes seemed to offer Cyrus something he hadn't experienced in a long time—a choice. The weight of the shadows, the mission that had defined him since childhood, felt heavier than ever.
But could he truly be free?
Magnus hadn't moved, his presence both grounding and mysterious. "You seem troubled, child. I know that look." He stepped around his desk, standing closer to Cyrus now, his tone softening further. "I've seen that conflict before in others. You are not the first to stand at the crossroads."
Cyrus swallowed hard, the question burning inside him, though he didn't know how to voice it. The silent teachings of the Crow's End—the constant weight of his mission—had taught him to bury such thoughts deep within. He couldn't afford weakness, or doubt. But now, standing here with Magnus, the old words felt... inadequate. His mouth opened before he could stop it.
"How... how did Zelio lose his way?" Cyrus asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
Magnus's eyes darkened, the gentle smile on his face fading as he considered the question. "Zelio was powerful. More powerful than most could imagine. But with great power often comes great temptation." His gaze drifted toward the window, where the stars hung low in the night sky. "He sought control—over himself, over others. And in that pursuit, he allowed the flames inside him to consume everything in his path."
Cyrus's pulse quickened. Control. It was a word he understood well. It was a word that had shaped his entire existence, drilled into him by his masters, hammered into his bones with every lesson, every mission. Control meant survival.
"But what consumed him, in the end," Magnus continued, his voice carrying the weight of sorrow, "was the belief that he could bend the world to his will without consequence. He forgot the cost."
"The cost…" Cyrus echoed under his breath, thinking back to his own path. The faces of those he had defeated, the blood on his hands—were they part of that same cost?
"He was used," Magnus said, the sadness evident in his eyes. "There were forces at work that took advantage of his ambition, his strength. By the time he realized it, it was too late. He had already set things in motion that could not be undone."
Cyrus's heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts flashing to the Master of Shadows, to the Crow's End. Was he being used too? Was he just a tool in some greater plan he didn't yet understand? He had followed orders his whole life, never questioning, always believing in the mission. But now, doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. What if he was just another Zelio Rekar in the making?
Magnus placed a hand on Cyrus's shoulder, the touch light but filled with the weight of unspoken understanding. "You are not bound to the same fate, Cyrus. You have the power to choose."
The word choice felt foreign to him. He had always followed orders, always trusted in the path laid out before him. But what if that path wasn't the only way? What if there was another way? Ella's words echoed louder now, merging with Magnus's. Be free, Cyrus.
His chest tightened. The thought of freedom was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"I don't know if I can," Cyrus finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't even know where to begin."
Magnus smiled again, a warmth in his expression that Cyrus hadn't seen before. "No one ever does, not at first. But the first step is recognizing that you can begin. That you have a choice." He released Cyrus's shoulder, stepping back. "And when the time comes, you will know what to do."
The words hung in the air, offering both comfort and a challenge. Cyrus didn't respond, his thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He had always believed in his mission, in the shadows that had shaped him. But now, standing in the light of Magnus's wisdom, he saw the world differently. Could he break free? Could he truly be more than what the shadows had made him?
"I believe in you, Cyrus," Magnus said softly, his eyes full of quiet conviction. "More than you know."
Cyrus looked at the old wizard, feeling something stir deep within him. It wasn't the raw power of fire or lightning. It wasn't the cold calculation of the shadows. It was something else—something... human. He didn't know what to call it yet, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like hope.