Cyrus walked through the dimly lit corridors of House Tenebrae, his boots echoing off the cold stone floor. The shadows seemed to cling to the walls, a perfect mirror of the storm of thoughts raging inside him. The battle in the arena had been terrifying, not because of Alin, but because of the orcs, the barrier, and the knowledge that they had come for him. Magnus's words lingered in his mind, filling him with a sense of foreboding. "The orcs weren't acting alone."
He reached the door to the common room and hesitated for a brief moment. He could already hear voices on the other side—his friends waiting for him. They'd seen it all. They'd have questions, questions Cyrus wasn't sure he could answer.
Pushing the door open, he was greeted by a rush of warmth from the crackling fireplace and the familiar, concerned faces of Teef, Dale, Thalon, Layla, and Siera. They were all gathered around, eyes immediately locking onto him as he entered.
Teef, who had been pacing restlessly near the fire, was the first to react. "Cyrus!" he exclaimed, rushing over, his wide eyes filled with both relief and fear. "That was insane! We saw the whole thing. Orcs in the arena? I mean, orcs, Cyrus!"
Cyrus gave a slight nod, his expression still guarded. "Yeah. I saw them too."
Teef's hands trembled as he continued. "The way they showed up out of nowhere, that cloud, that barrier—man, it was like some kind of nightmare. And then Magnus broke through the barrier with the other professors. I thought you were done for before they arrived."
Cyrus felt the weight of his friend's words. He couldn't deny how close it had been, but it wasn't the time to dwell on that. He stepped deeper into the room, noticing Dale sitting on the couch with bandages wrapped around his torso, his face pale but determined.
Dale struggled to sit up straighter, grimacing as pain shot through him. "I wish I could've been there, man," he said, his voice rough but steady. "I was stuck in the nursing area recovering from my match. We all saw it from the windows—those orcs storming the arena like they owned the place." He shook his head in disbelief. "They were after you, weren't they?"
Cyrus's face remained impassive, though his fists clenched ever so slightly. "It doesn't matter. They're gone now."
Teef, who had resumed his nervous pacing, stopped and turned toward Cyrus, his voice barely above a whisper. "But why, Cyrus? Why did they come for you? I mean, they said... they said you were the 'boy with the mark of fire and lightning.' What does that even mean?"
Cyrus didn't meet Teef's gaze immediately. Instead, he turned to glance out the nearby window, watching the flicker of shadows dance across the courtyard outside. The truth, the real truth, wasn't something he was ready to share, not yet.
"I don't know," he lied smoothly, his voice calm and controlled. "Whatever it is, they didn't get it. And that's what matters."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, his friends exchanging glances, clearly unsettled by his vague answer. Thalon, who had been leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, stepped forward. His sharp, penetrating gaze fixed on Cyrus. "You don't know?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Because it sure seemed like they knew exactly who they were after. That lead orc... he was locked onto you from the start."
Cyrus met Thalon's gaze head-on but didn't waver. "I'm telling you, I don't know," he repeated, his tone final. "It could be anything. But right now, I don't have all the answers."
Thalon didn't push further, though the tension in the room was palpable. Dale sighed, leaning back into the couch, his hand absentmindedly tracing the edge of his bandages.
"You're lucky, man," Dale muttered, his voice thick with frustration. "I should've been there with you. I should've been fighting by your side. Instead, I was laid out in the nursing area while you faced those orcs alone." His fists clenched at his sides. "What a waste."
Cyrus shook his head, his gaze softening as he looked at Dale. "Trust me, you didn't miss much. It wasn't a fight—it was survival. Magnus and the professors showed up just in time. Without them, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Layla, who had been sitting quietly in a chair by the fire, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, finally spoke. "I've never seen anything like that before," she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "When that barrier went up, I thought… I thought you were done for. We all did."
Her words hung in the air, the weight of their shared fear sinking in. For a moment, no one spoke, the memory of the arena still fresh in their minds.
Siera, who had been standing by the window with her arms wrapped around herself, finally broke the silence. "What about Alin?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Did you see him after the fight? Is he okay?"
Cyrus felt a brief pang of guilt. Alin had been his opponent, but the orc attack had changed everything. He hadn't thought much about Alin after the battle, too focused on the bigger threat at hand. "I don't know," he admitted. "I haven't checked on him yet."
Layla unfolded her arms and glanced at Siera before looking back at Cyrus. "He's in the infirmary. Broken ribs, a few bruises, but they say he'll be fine. It could've been worse. A lot worse."
Cyrus nodded, relief washing over him. Despite their rivalry, he didn't wish harm on Alin. The thought of the orcs coming for anyone other than himself was unsettling enough.
Teef, still jittery, ran a hand through his messy hair. "This is bad," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "If orcs can just show up like that... what's next? What if they come back? What if they're still out there, waiting?"
Cyrus turned toward Teef, feeling the weight of his friend's fear. He didn't have all the answers, but he knew one thing for certain: the orcs weren't done. This was just the beginning.
"If they come back," Cyrus said, his voice low and steady, "we'll be ready."
Teef nodded but didn't look entirely reassured. The fire crackled softly in the background, the flickering light casting long shadows on the walls of the common room. The weight of everything they'd witnessed lingered in the air—an unease that none of them could shake.
Layla stood up, her arms still crossed but her posture more resolute. "You're right. Whatever's coming, we'll face it together." She glanced around the room at the others, her gaze determined. "We've all seen what's out there now. It's not just about tournaments or House rivalries anymore. It's about survival."
Dale, despite his injuries, managed a small smile. "Yeah. We'll figure it out, somehow."
Cyrus didn't say anything, but the warmth of their resolve settled something in his chest. They were scared, and they had every reason to be, but they were still standing together, ready to face whatever was coming next.
But as he looked around the room, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. He had his own mission, one that couldn't be shared. The Silent Light. The Crow's End. The shadows that constantly followed him. Would they still trust him if they knew the truth? Could he keep protecting them without revealing who he truly was?
Cyrus pushed the thoughts aside for now, focusing on the present. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it one step at a time.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the academy grounds, but the shadows seemed to thicken unnaturally as Cyrus approached the garden. Each footfall echoed softly against the stone pathways, the cool night air tingling against his skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and something sharper—like iron. A breeze slithered through the trees, rustling the dark, twisted branches as though they whispered secrets only the wind could understand. His breath clouded the cold air briefly, but it disappeared just as quickly, swallowed by the creeping darkness.
The crow had come for him earlier, its obsidian wings blending with the night sky as it perched silently on his windowsill, its eyes gleaming with an unspoken command. Now, as Cyrus made his way toward the secluded garden behind the academy, the pull of the shadows around him seemed to grow stronger, like invisible fingers brushing against his skin, urging him forward.
He passed through the ivy-covered archway, the ancient vines tangled and gnarled, twisting like skeletal fingers above his head. The garden beyond was no mere sanctuary—it was a hidden realm, shrouded in darkness and quiet, where the plants themselves seemed to breathe. Twisted tendrils and blackened leaves swayed with the breeze, their movements slow and deliberate, as though they were alive, watching him. The air was thick here, heavy with the scent of earth and decay. Even the moon's light struggled to penetrate the canopy of shadows that clung to the garden.
In the center, perched on an old stone pedestal, the crow awaited him. Its beady, pitch-black eyes reflected the dim light, tiny pinpricks of moonlight glinting in the depths of its gaze. The soft rustle of its wings broke the eerie silence, and a faint shiver ran down Cyrus's spine.
As he stepped closer, the crow cawed softly—a sound that echoed through the garden, rippling through the air like a ripple in still water. Then, a voice—deep, commanding—filled the space, resonating through the garden as if the very shadows themselves were speaking.
"Cyrus."
The voice wasn't the crow's usual cryptic squawks. No, this voice carried an eerie familiarity, one that made Cyrus's skin prickle. He knew this voice well.
"Zarek," Cyrus acknowledged quietly, standing before the crow as the presence of his master settled into the space.
"You're late," the crow said, its beak moving, though the voice that spoke was unmistakably Zarek's. The bird's black eyes glimmered with an intelligence far beyond that of any creature.
Cyrus lowered his head slightly, his voice calm but edged with the weight of the day's events. "There's much to discuss."
"Then speak," Zarek commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority through the crow's form. "What has transpired since our last conversation?"
Cyrus took a breath, steadying himself before he spoke. "There was an attack. Orcs. They showed up during the tournament... in the arena. They weren't there by accident."
The crow's eyes blinked slowly, the only movement it made. "Orcs are not known to act without purpose. They must have been sent. Who was their target?"
Cyrus hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "Me. They were after the 'boy with the mark of fire and lightning.' They made that clear in front of everyone. Magnus broke through the barrier that trapped us inside the arena before they could do anything more. He, along with the other professors, forced the orcs to retreat."
For a moment, the garden was filled with silence, save for the rustling of leaves in the night wind. The crow tilted its head, Zarek's voice lowering, almost contemplative. "The orcs are not your greatest concern. They are pawns in a much larger game. They did not succeed, and for now, that is all that matters."
Cyrus nodded but pressed on, his voice steady. "There's more. I believe there's a spy from Monarch Abyss within the academy. I don't know who yet, but I've sensed their presence. And I... I may have shown too much of my abilities recently. I used my lightning affinity in the dungeon, with my peers present. Some of the professors might start becoming suspicious."
The crow's head turned slowly, its beady eyes locking onto Cyrus with an intensity that made his skin crawl. Zarek's voice took on a softer, almost dangerous tone. "You worry too much, Cyrus. A display of strength, in moderation, can work to your advantage. Let them see glimpses, but only glimpses. As long as no one knows the full extent of your abilities, you remain in control. Be careful not to reveal everything too soon, but do not hide entirely. Power, when shown at the right moments, can make you indispensable. The professors are not your enemies—not yet. They are mere distractions from your true mission."
Cyrus relaxed slightly, though his thoughts remained guarded. Zarek always had a way of turning the situation to his favor. Still, the events of the day weighed heavily on him.
"There's something else," Cyrus began, his tone more cautious now. "Magnus... he invited me to join the Silent Light."
The crow went unnervingly still, and for a moment, Zarek's voice did not respond. The silence dragged on just long enough for Cyrus to feel the tension growing between them. Finally, the crow's head tilted again, and Zarek's voice returned, softer, more calculating.
"Perfect," Zarek said slowly, the word carrying an eerie sense of satisfaction. "The Silent Light... what better position for you to gather information from within the academy? Magnus has unknowingly given you a gift, Cyrus. Accept it. Get closer to him, learn his plans, his secrets. The Silent Light will bring you to the very heart of what Magnus and the academy are trying to protect. From within, you will have access to everything."
Cyrus nodded, though he couldn't help but feel a shiver of unease at Zarek's words. There was something about how he spoke of the Silent Light that felt... off. But before he could dwell on it, a name surfaced in his mind, a name that had been haunting him since his meeting with Magnus.
"Magnus mentioned a name," Cyrus said carefully, watching the crow's reaction. "Zelio Rekar. Do you know him?"
The crow's feathers ruffled slightly, a low, almost inaudible growl escaping from its beak. The shift in Zarek's demeanor was immediate, the once calm and collected presence now feeling darker, more dangerous. The silence that followed was heavy, and when Zarek spoke again, his voice was cold, distant.
"I have not heard that name in quite some time," Zarek said, the crow's eyes narrowing. "Zelio Rekar... that name died the night the academy burned in flames. It should remain buried."
Cyrus felt the weight of Zarek's words, the cryptic finality in his tone. He wanted to press further, to ask more about this mysterious figure, but something told him that Zarek wasn't going to reveal anything more tonight. There was a story here, one tangled in shadows and flames, but it wasn't a story Zarek was willing to share—not yet.
Zarek's voice turned sharp again, dismissive. "Focus on your mission, Cyrus. The past is not your concern. What lies ahead, the future, that is where your attention should be. Remember your training. Do not stray from the path I have set for you."
The crow flapped its wings once, as if signaling the end of their conversation. Cyrus knew better than to push for more answers now. Whatever Zarek's connection to Zelio Rekar was, it was a subject for another time—one buried deep in the shadows where Zarek preferred it to stay.
"As you wish," Cyrus said, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment.
But before the crow could take flight, Zarek's voice, softer and darker than before, echoed through the garden once more. "You're stronger than you know, Cyrus," he said, his tone carrying an ominous weight. "The flames and lightning within you... they are but a taste of what you could become. If you survive long enough."
The words hung in the air like a shroud, cryptic and chilling. Zarek's promise—or warning—was left deliberately vague, and yet it stirred something deep in Cyrus's core, an unsettling feeling that his destiny was far from his own.
The crow blinked, its beady eyes reflecting the moonlight, and then it cawed one last time, more sharply than before. "Do not disappoint me."
And with that, the presence of Zarek faded, leaving the garden in an eerie silence. The crow took flight, disappearing into the night sky, leaving Cyrus alone with the weight of everything that had been revealed—and everything that had been left unsaid.
Cyrus stood there in the quiet garden, the weight of Zarek's presence still lingering in the air, but the man himself now gone. The crow's wings had carried his voice into the night, leaving Cyrus alone beneath the vast expanse of the stars. He tilted his head back, staring up at the shimmering constellations, the cool light washing over him. The world around him felt empty, quiet, as if the earth itself had paused for this moment of reflection.
Cyrus's mind wandered back to the countless nights he had trained under Zarek's brutal tutelage. The memories came flooding back, unbidden, dragging him into a storm of recollections.
The first memory was always the most vivid: the biting cold that seemed to seep into his bones as he stood on the unforgiving stone floors of the Crow's End. The air was thick with the acrid scent of iron and ash, the metallic taste of blood sharp on his tongue from a split lip. Every breath burned in his lungs, a reminder that even the act of breathing felt like a battle. His muscles screamed in agony, the ache of broken bones and bruised skin lingering long after each session. The shadows in the room seemed to cling to his battered form, suffocating, pressing in on him.
He had been so young then, barely more than a boy, standing before Zarek for the first time. His master's towering figure had loomed over him, dark and foreboding, eyes gleaming with a mix of cruel purpose and something deeper that Cyrus had never been able to fully understand. His every word felt like a physical blow, his commands cold and precise. Each spell cast had hit Cyrus with the force of a hammer, leaving him gasping for air, his limbs shaking from the pain and exhaustion.
Zarek had wasted no time. The training had been relentless from the start. Magic coursed through the air with destructive force as Zarek pushed him to his absolute limits, shattering any notion of weakness Cyrus had clung to. Bones had broken, skin had torn, and his mind had been tested in ways that made even the most painful memories seem dull in comparison. Zarek had torn him down to the core, reducing him to something raw, primal. The lessons were cruel, almost inhuman at times, but Zarek had never once wavered, never once allowed him to stop, even when Cyrus had begged for mercy in those early days.
He remembered lying on the cold stone, broken and bleeding, unable to move. Zarek had stood over him, his voice hard and cutting. "Weakness will destroy you faster than any enemy, Cyrus. Embrace the pain, or it will be the end of you."
But there had been moments—strange, unexpected moments—when Zarek's presence had shifted, and Cyrus had caught glimpses of something more. Those rare instances, hidden beneath the gruff exterior, when Zarek had almost seemed… caring.
He remembered one night, deep in winter, after an especially brutal session. His body had been so battered he could hardly stand. He had struggled to even lift his head, pain lancing through every limb. Zarek had knelt beside him, and for the first time, there had been no orders, no commands. Just silence. The crackle of a nearby fire the only sound between them. Then, Zarek had spoken, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful.
"You'll survive this, Cyrus. You're stronger than you think."
There had been something in his tone, a strange, fleeting softness that had left Cyrus stunned. It was in those rare moments that Zarek had seemed less like the cruel taskmaster and more like... something else. A protector. Perhaps even a father figure. As twisted and warped as their relationship was, there had been a part of Cyrus that had almost enjoyed Zarek's company. Compared to the other Ravens of the Crow's End, Zarek was different.
The other trainers had been harsh, impersonal, treating him like a tool, a weapon to be sharpened. But Zarek, despite his terrifying demeanor, had always pushed Cyrus for a reason. He hadn't just trained Cyrus to survive; he had shaped him, forged him into something stronger, someone who could stand alone in the dark. And, though he would never admit it out loud, there were times when Cyrus had found a strange sense of comfort in Zarek's presence. It was as if, beneath the brutality, there was a twisted kind of care—an understanding that only Zarek could offer him.
As he stood there in the garden now, staring at the stars, Cyrus couldn't help but feel the strange duality of his past with Zarek. The man had been both his greatest tormentor and, in some ways, the closest thing to a father he had ever known. The training had been hell, but there had been something in the way Zarek had looked at him, the way he had spoken to him in those rare moments of quiet, that made Cyrus feel like he wasn't just another tool to be discarded. Zarek had seen something in him—something worth shaping, worth protecting.
But was that desire for Zarek's approval genuine? Or had it been beaten into him, a conditioned response from years of cruelty disguised as care? Did he respect Zarek, or did he hate him for everything he had endured? The lines had blurred long ago, and Cyrus wasn't sure anymore. The need to earn Zarek's approval, to prove himself, was ingrained deep, but whether it came from loyalty or fear was a question he couldn't answer.
A faint breeze rustled the leaves of the twisted plants in the garden, pulling Cyrus back to the present. He clenched his fists at his sides, the memories swirling inside him. He wasn't sure how he felt about Zarek, even now. The bond between them was complicated, tangled in shadows and pain, but there was no denying that it had shaped him into who he was today.
He looked up at the stars again, his eyes narrowing slightly. Was Zarek using me all along? The question lingered, a bitter taste on his tongue. He didn't have an answer, not yet.
Cyrus took a deep breath, steadying himself. The night stretched on, vast and full of unanswered questions. Zarek's cryptic words still echoed in his mind, especially when it came to the name Zelio Rekar. The mystery hung over him like a storm cloud, dark and ominous. But for now, there was little he could do about it. The pieces would fall into place eventually, but until then, he had to keep moving forward.
He turned and began walking back toward the academy, his steps slow and deliberate. The weight of his past pressed down on him, but it was his future that now loomed in front of him like an uncharted path. The Silent Light—Magnus's invitation had seemed like a lifeline, an opportunity to gain access to secrets hidden within the academy. But the more he thought about it, the more it felt like a double-edged sword.
Would joining the Silent Light bring him closer to uncovering the truth about Zarek and Zelio Rekar? Or was it just another trap—another layer of manipulation in a game that had been set in motion long before he even arrived at the academy? The thought of working under Magnus, of gaining his trust, was both intriguing and dangerous. Zarek had called it the perfect opportunity, but could he trust Zarek completely? Or was his master leading him down the same path that had consumed Zelio Rekar in flames?
Cyrus clenched his fists, the uncertainty gnawing at him. He had always followed orders, always been the weapon in someone else's hand. But now, standing between the shadows of Zarek's world and the light of the academy, he realized he was no longer sure whose path he was walking. Could he truly trust anyone? Was he destined to follow in the footsteps of his master, or was there still time to carve out his own destiny?
His thoughts swirled, the questions coming faster than the answers. But one thing remained clear—no matter which path he chose, there would be no turning back.
The weight of it all threatened to crush him, but as he looked up at the moonlit sky, a spark of defiance burned in his chest. He was no pawn, no simple tool. Whatever the future held—Silent Light, Zarek, or even Magnus—he would face it on his own terms.
With renewed determination, he continued his path back toward the academy, the fire within him burning brighter than ever.