The library was cloaked in its usual quiet, the heavy scent of parchment and aged wood filling the air as Layla, Thalon, and Siera moved among the towering shelves. Dust motes floated in the faint streams of light seeping through the high windows, adding to the library's aura of mystique and secrets untold. Layla led the way, her focus sharp as they approached the main desk, where an elderly librarian with silver-rimmed spectacles sat, flipping slowly through an enormous tome.
Layla cleared her throat, and the librarian looked up, her gaze scanning the three students with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"Excuse me," Layla began, her voice soft but purposeful. "I'm looking for information on ancient wizards—those known for unique abilities, specifically with an affinity for lightning or, possibly, blue flames."
The librarian's eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing whether to allow this inquiry. After a moment, she closed her book with a sigh, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the desk.
"Ancient histories and wizardry of that nature are not light reading," she said slowly. "Nor do we keep such books out in the open."
Layla met her gaze, unwavering. "I understand. But I believe it's important."
After a pause, the librarian rose, beckoning them with a slight nod. "Very well, come with me."
They followed her through rows of dusty bookshelves, winding deeper into the recesses of the library. Siera trailed behind, feigning mild disinterest as she cast her eyes over the books and scrolls, but her ears were keen, attuned to every word. The librarian finally stopped at a narrow aisle at the far back of the library, its shelves filled with worn, nondescript tomes.
"This is where you'll find what you seek," the librarian said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. "But there's a trick to it." She gestured to a section of the shelf with her wrinkled hand. "Pull out these three books in this precise order: Chronicles of the Arcane, Tales of the Darkened Age, and Wizards of the Old Dawn. Once removed, return them to the shelf exactly as they were. Only then will the way forward be revealed."
The librarian cast a meaningful glance at them, her eyes lingering on Layla before she turned and disappeared back into the library's shadows.
Thalon looked skeptical, but Layla's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Alright," she said, reaching for the first book, Chronicles of the Arcane. Carefully, she pulled it from the shelf, followed by the other two in the order the librarian had instructed. She slid each back into place with meticulous precision.
There was a faint, almost inaudible click, and a section of the shelf swung back, revealing a narrow, hidden aisle lined with ancient, dusty books bound in leather and gilt.
"Nice," Thalon murmured, clearly impressed.
Layla stepped into the aisle, scanning the titles along the spines. Her fingers traced over several volumes before settling on a massive, worn brown book bound in cracked leather. The title, etched in faded gold, read The Great War.
"This might be it," Layla whispered, carefully pulling the heavy tome from the shelf and carrying it to a nearby table. Siera and Thalon joined her, peering over her shoulder as she opened the book, its yellowed pages crackling faintly in the still air.
The text was dense, filled with detailed accounts of battles and warriors who had wielded powerful, dangerous magic. As Layla flipped through, her eyes caught on a name—Leon Nightshade.
"Leon Nightshade," she read aloud, her voice tinged with awe. "A wizard known for his unparalleled command of blue flames, shadow magic, and lightning… and one of the leaders in the battle against dark forces that threatened the realm."
Siera's expression was carefully neutral, though her gaze flickered over the name with a glimmer of interest that she quickly masked. As Layla read about Leon's legendary powers, Siera leaned in slightly, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "Never heard of him before," she murmured, almost too smoothly, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Interesting… affinities like lightning, shadows, and blue flames are so… rare. Almost makes you wonder if certain traits get passed down, doesn't it?"
Layla glanced up, catching the briefest flicker of something knowing in Siera's gaze, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Well," Layla said, brushing off the strange tone, "it's not like anyone in our time could compare to someone like Leon."
Siera's smile remained, unreadable, as she leaned back, watching Layla's reaction closely, as if gauging her suspicions.
Layla scanned the description of Leon's powers, feeling her pulse quicken. The description of blue flames and lightning reminded her instantly of Cyrus. Was it a coincidence? She couldn't shake the thought that there was something deeper, something that tied Cyrus to this ancient wizard in ways that felt more than just chance.
Layla's fingers trailed down the page as she continued to read, her eyes widening with each sentence. The account of Leon Nightshade's origins felt almost mythic, woven with power and intrigue that went beyond the typical tales of wizards and warriors. She read aloud, her voice hushed with reverence.
"Leon Nightshade," she murmured, "was born with affinities to both fire and lightning, a combination rarely seen even among the most powerful magic-wielders. As he trained, mastering both elements with unmatched skill, he was soon marked by another force—the shadows."
Layla paused, glancing up at Thalon and Siera, who were both listening intently. Siera's expression remained cool, but her gaze was sharp, fixed on the page as if it held answers to secrets she hadn't expected to find.
"'The shadows chose him,'" Layla continued, her voice tinged with awe, "granting him abilities that allowed him to wield darkness itself. With the power of shadow magic added to his arsenal, Leon's strength became legendary, and he quickly rose to prominence among the wizards of his time."
She turned the page, where an illustration showed two figures facing each other in a furious clash of magic—one cloaked in shadows and flames, the other bathed in a blinding aura of light.
"It says here that Leon and Alric, the founder of Ebonspire Academy, were rivals," Layla said, glancing at Thalon. "They fought many battles to determine who was the strongest."
"Alric, as in… our Alric?" Thalon asked, his voice low with disbelief.
Layla nodded. "Yes, but despite Alric's own formidable power, Leon bested him every time. The rivalry between them became the stuff of legend, and it was Leon's victories that pushed Alric to become even stronger, eventually leading him to establish this academy."
Siera's eyes gleamed with interest as she leaned closer, her voice soft but intense. "So Leon wasn't just powerful—he was powerful enough to overshadow the founder of Ebonspire himself."
Layla nodded, excitement clear in her voice as she continued reading. "Leon's skill wasn't the only thing that set him apart. He had a vision of peace—a peace between the warring nations that were tearing the world apart. Determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, he founded the Shadow of Light Guild, a society of wizards, warriors, and magical creatures united in the pursuit of harmony."
As Layla read, her mind wandered back to Cyrus. The description of Leon's power—the rare combination of blue flames and lightning—was unnervingly close to what she'd seen in Cyrus. Could there really be a link between the two, or was it just coincidence? She glanced at Siera, who listened with her usual, unreadable calm. Was Siera thinking the same thing?
As Siera leaned over the book, Layla shot a quick glance at Thalon, motioning for him to lean in. She whispered, "Does any of this…remind you of Cyrus?"
Thalon's eyebrows shot up, and he looked back at the page thoughtfully, then at Layla. He murmured, "You're thinking Leon and Cyrus could be connected?"
Layla hesitated, her gaze shifting to Siera, who seemed entirely engrossed in the book. "I don't know," she whispered back, voice low. "But it's strange, don't you think? Those flames, his connection to lightning… and the way he's been acting lately. It feels like there's more to him than he's letting on."
Thalon nodded, casting a wary glance toward Siera. "Maybe there is. But if there is, we'd better keep it between us, for now at least."
Layla bit her lip, her eyes returning to the book with renewed determination. "Agreed. But I need to find out more about Leon—and about Cyrus. If there's a link, I want to know what it is."
Siera's face remained composed, but her gaze was keen as she listened, as if each word held a hidden layer of meaning.
Layla continued, "The Shadow of Light Guild was not just a force for peace but also a symbol of balance—a blending of darkness and light. Leon wanted to prove that power didn't have to mean destruction, that magic could be a force of unity."
"But it didn't last, did it?" Thalon asked, his voice dark with a sense of foreboding.
Layla shook her head slowly, her expression somber as her finger traced a line further down the page. "No… The peace Leon fought for was shattered from within. One of his closest allies, Grevious, betrayed him."
At the mention of Grevious, Siera's jaw tightened ever so slightly, though she kept her face neutral. Layla, intent on the story, didn't notice.
"It says here that Grevious was one of Leon's most trusted right hands, known for his loyalty and strength," Layla read, her voice tinged with disbelief. "But Grevious's ambitions were darker than anyone had realized. His betrayal sparked the Great War, a conflict that tore apart alliances and plunged the world into chaos."
Siera arched an eyebrow, her tone detached yet probing. "So the very peace Leon created was destroyed by his own closest ally. Grevious must have been incredibly powerful to stand against Leon and his guild."
Layla nodded, her expression thoughtful. "He was, and his dark magic was unlike anything the world had seen before. He wielded forbidden magics, summoning orcs and monstrous creatures to his side, which tipped the balance of the war in his favor. Leon and the Shadow of Light Guild fought valiantly, but even they struggled to keep Grevious at bay."
She paused, taking a deep breath. "In the end, Leon sacrificed everything to stop him. The pages don't go into detail, but it sounds like he was forced to use every ounce of his power… and more."
The three of them sat in silence, the weight of the story settling over them like a shroud.
The midday sun cast long beams of light across the training ground, illuminating the sparring area where Cyrus and Finn stood, wands raised and expressions steely with focus. Teef and Dale lounged on the stands nearby, watching with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. The upcoming tournament was all anyone at the academy could talk about, and the matches with the other schools were fast approaching. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent reminder of the high stakes each student faced.
As Cyrus and Finn took their positions, Dale leaned over to Teef, whispering, "This is going to be good. Cyrus has that fire in his eyes. It's like he's ready to unleash something huge."
Teef smirked. "He'd better hold some of it back, or he'll have nothing left for the tournament."
Finn gave Cyrus a small nod, a respectful acknowledgment of his opponent. "You ready, Vale? Don't hold back, alright? Let's see what you're really made of."
Cyrus allowed a faint smile to creep onto his face. "Wouldn't dream of it, Finn."
They both took a step back, wands at the ready. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, Finn launched a bolt of energy toward Cyrus, who deflected it with a precise twist of his own wand. They moved with practiced precision, their movements fluid as they traded spells back and forth, the bursts of light and sound echoing across the training ground. It was a dance of power and strategy, each of them pushing the other to the limits without crossing into dangerous territory.
As the match intensified, Cyrus began to tap into his flames. He concentrated, careful to keep his fire under control, feeling the familiar warmth flicker in his chest. He held his wand aloft, letting the flame gather at its tip before casting it forward in a controlled arc, his movements smooth and deliberate.
"Nice!" Teef cheered from the sidelines. "Look at that control!"
But as Cyrus summoned the flames, something within him stirred. The heat pulsed stronger, and for a fleeting moment, he felt the familiar pull of something deeper, something ancient lurking within his core. The blue flames. He swallowed hard, pushing down the surge, forcing the fire to stay its usual color.
And then, just as he felt he had it under control, his vision blurred, and the world around him began to shift. The training grounds faded, replaced by the scorched, desolate battlefield from his dreams. His heart pounded as he took in the familiar sight of the twisted bodies, the dark fires, and the cold, gray sky looming above him. But this time, everything felt sharper, more real.
Cyrus's gaze drifted forward, and there, in the center of the frozen battlefield, stood the cloaked figure—the same one he had glimpsed before. The figure's piercing crimson eyes stared directly at him, unblinking and intense. His white hair, stark against the darkness, mirrored Cyrus's own, and his presence radiated an undeniable power that both captivated and terrified him.
Next to the cloaked figure was Ella, her form as clear as if she were truly standing there. Her eyes were warm, her expression gentle, and a soft smile played on her lips. Time seemed to hold its breath, the air around them thick with anticipation.
Cyrus tried to speak, his throat constricting as he struggled to form words. It felt as though he were bound by invisible chains, as if the battlefield itself was keeping him silent. He forced himself to push through the resistance, his lips finally parting as he whispered, "Leon… Nightshade?"
The cloaked figure's expression softened, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he lifted an arm, extending his hand toward Cyrus as if reaching across time itself. Ella's smile grew, her eyes filled with something that looked like pride, and though Cyrus couldn't hear her voice, her lips formed silent words that he somehow understood.
"Be free, Cyrus."
As the words registered, the vision shattered, and he was back on the training grounds, his heart pounding as if he'd just sprinted miles. His wand felt heavy in his hand, his body drenched in sweat. Finn was staring at him, his brow furrowed in concern.
"Cyrus, are you alright?" Finn asked, his voice filled with worry.
Cyrus blinked, his mind still reeling from the vision. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," he said, forcing himself to sound steady. But his head was swimming, the images from the vision lingering like a haunting echo.
Teef and Dale scrambled down from the stands, rushing over to him. Teef's usual playful grin was absent, replaced by genuine worry. "That didn't look fine, mate. You totally spaced out."
Dale looked him over, his gaze serious. "Are you sure you're okay, Cyrus? You've been training hard—maybe you're pushing yourself too much."
Cyrus forced a reassuring smile, brushing them off. "It's nothing. Just tired, that's all." But as he spoke, his hand twitched involuntarily, a subtle tremor he quickly hid by gripping the edge of his shirt. He took a quiet, steadying breath, feeling his heartbeat still thundering in his chest, the vision's intensity lingering in his mind like a dark imprint.
"Let's just get back to it," he said, trying to sound casual, though his voice wavered slightly. He took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck to release the tension still coiled in his muscles. He hoped that the familiar rhythm of training would ground him, but deep down, the words of Ella and the presence of Leon Nightshade lingered, casting a shadow over him that he couldn't shake.
As they resumed, he found his focus fractured, every movement feeling just slightly off-kilter. He clenched his fist, forcing himself to snap out of it, yet the vision haunted the edges of his thoughts, like an unbreakable spell binding him to something he wasn't ready to face.
In the dimly lit expanse of Magnus's chambers, a faint tension hung in the air as Magnus, Thaddeous, and Morgath gathered around a wide table cluttered with maps, parchments, and ancient tomes. Magnus's fingers tapped rhythmically against the table's edge, his eyes flickering between the maps and his two trusted advisors. The upcoming tournament between the academies loomed over them—a symbol of unity and strength, yet fraught with undeniable risk.
Morgath was the first to break the silence, his voice a low rumble of skepticism. "Magnus, with all due respect, do you really think it's wise to go forward with the tournament? Given the recent orc attack, is this truly the time for a public display? The safety of our students should be our priority."
Magnus looked up, his gaze steady, unyielding. "This tournament must take place, Morgath. It's more than just a test of skill. It's a symbol of our resilience. If we halt the tournament, we show fear—and that's a weakness we cannot afford." He leaned forward, his fingers tracing the lines of the map. "Besides, our preparations have been extensive. We have countermeasures in place. And…" he paused, his gaze hardening, "I believe we can use it to our advantage."
Thaddeous, who had been quietly listening, looked up with a flicker of understanding. "You're suggesting we treat the tournament as a trap, aren't you?"
Magnus nodded. "Precisely. The orcs attacked once, and they may be inclined to do so again. With the students assembled and the academies united, this could be an opportune moment for them—or whoever commands them—to strike." His expression darkened. "But this time, we'll be ready. If they dare to show themselves, we'll capture one of them. Perhaps then, we'll finally learn who's orchestrating these attacks."
Morgath's brows furrowed, clearly torn. "It's a bold plan, Magnus. But dangerous, too. If even one orc manages to break through our defenses—"
"We'll be prepared," Magnus interjected firmly. "The students won't be left vulnerable. I've assigned a team of seasoned enforcers to monitor the perimeter, each ready to strike at the first sign of any threat. Morgath, I understand your concerns, but we cannot shelter them forever. These students are preparing to face far worse in the world beyond our walls."
Morgath fell silent, his expression still troubled. After a moment, he inclined his head, conceding the point. "I trust your judgment, Magnus, but I hope you're right."
Magnus gave him a nod, then shifted the conversation. "Now, about Cyrus."
At the mention of Cyrus, Morgath's eyes narrowed, his wariness evident. "Cyrus is a talented student, I'll grant you that. But his… recent behavior has raised some questions. His power is growing rapidly, almost alarmingly so. And there's talk among the students about his unusual abilities."
Before Magnus could reply, Thaddeous spoke up, his voice carrying a hint of defense. "Cyrus may be strong, but he has always been focused. He's kept his head down, has shown respect in his training, and has never once posed a threat to anyone within these walls. Whatever abilities he possesses, he's kept them in check."
Magnus nodded in agreement. "Precisely. Cyrus's abilities are powerful, yes, but he has demonstrated remarkable restraint. If anything, it's the discipline he's shown that assures me he's capable of handling himself—and any challenges he may face."
Morgath's gaze flickered between them, still skeptical. "You're both certain he's trustworthy?"
"Yes," Magnus replied firmly. "There's something within Cyrus, something powerful yet tempered. If anything, he has proven his loyalty time and again. He is, in fact, one of our best students—one whose abilities may very well be an asset in times of crisis."
Thaddeous leaned forward, his eyes serious. "We can't discount the fact that his presence here may be exactly what we need if the tournament brings the danger we're expecting. If the orcs or whoever commands them do strike again, I believe Cyrus will be instrumental in facing that threat."
Morgath held his gaze for a moment longer before finally nodding, albeit reluctantly. "Very well. But I'll be watching him closely. He's powerful, yes—but power without control is dangerous."
"Then you'll see that he does have control," Magnus replied calmly, confidence lacing his words. "And he may be one of the keys to winning this war, whatever shape it takes."
With the weight of their decisions resting heavily upon them, Magnus cast his gaze over the maps once more, the flickering torchlight casting deep shadows across his face. The tournament was set. Now, they could only prepare and wait—both for the matches, and for whatever dark forces might choose to reveal themselves.