The faceless knight slowly lifted his hand up to the center of the doors. He set his palm against the ancient wood.
The towering knight knelt down to one knee as he kept his hand in place.
He leaned closer to the doors as he began to speak in a low and emotionless tone.
"Thal'vor ignis, rok'nath zhor, Un'daer threnis, ulk'na dor..."
The very words sent echoes of terror through Chase's spine.
The chant seemed to be some sort of extremely ancient language that he had no hope of even trying to understand, nor did he want to know what the sacred tongue could have been translated to.
A faint yellow light began to flow through the cracks of the ancient doors, as the man slowly continued his chant.
"Tra'tar vrynth, shael'ven mor—Draekir, vohl'mar haln'zar or."
As soon as the final word quietly echoed through the poorly lit hallway, a clatter of chains could be heard from the other side.
The doors creaked as they swung widely open, and a near blinding light penetrated the eyes of Chase.
As he lowered his hand from his eyes, the light had already vanished, leaving an entrance to a small, heavily furnished room.
In front of him, he spotted the first guard on his knees, covering his face with an arm.
"I'll never get used to that damned parlor trick!"
He groaned, violently rubbing his eyes as he stood up.
The faceless knight stood unfazed, looking down at his fellow soldier with what Chase could only guess was disdain.
"Get up."
The faceless knight demanded as he began to walk into the room.
"Come on, kid."
Chase quickly followed behind the masked man, ignoring the grumbling knight who had decided to wait outside.
As they entered the room, everything in it began to shift. The room seemed to come alive around the two of them.
Suddenly, they were standing at the center of a vast, elegant room with large windows that lined the circular space.
Chase looked out the window from afar, searching for any sign as to where they had been transported to.
His eyes widened in disbelief, as a blinding ball of fire burned brightly directly outside of the glass. Well, not directly, it was more or less a couple of kilometers away; however, the mighty star looked like it could have swallowed the entire academy whole from this distance.
That wasn't the problem though... Instead, it was the fact that they were at the exact same height as the Pyrothar.
Chase suddenly felt dizzy as he had to consciously stop his knees from buckling.
Suddenly, the snap of someone's finger reverberated through the mighty hall. Soon after, a strange sense of powerful energy filled the air, and the windows vanished into thin air, replaced by an ebony-planked wall.
The room became dimly lit, as every lantern and candle flickered with light.
Rising ten meters ahead, a towering wooden pillar dominated the room. A spiraling staircase coiled around its form, ascending gracefully to a second level suspended above. The upper floor encircled the space, its polished railings framing a wide, gaping void in the center that offered an unobstructed view of the floor below.
The vast room went silent.
"Lord Leander, I have brought the child who is responsible for the Naga's death and the lone survivor of Willowmere."
For a second, nothing responded...
Until, a dark and mysterious voice called out from the second floor; however, it somehow seemed to have come from the room itself.
"You may leave now, Vorrick."
The voice was raspy, as if the man speaking had not spoken in years.
Without warning, the faceless man vanished, as if he had never even been there in the first place.
'I already hate this place and its freaky magic.'
Chase thought to himself, as he steeled his nerves.
"Upstairs, boy. I'd like to meet you..."
He hesitated before heading up to the second floor, taking a second to breathe. Curiously, his eyes studied the vast first floor.
The chamber exuded an air of ancient power, a place where time seemed to slow and bend. The furniture was both stunning and ominous, each piece meticulously crafted, as if designed for someone who had lived through centuries.
At the far end of the room stood a towering wardrobe made from obsidian-black wood, its doors adorned with swirling, ever-shifting runes. They danced before the eyes, hiding their meaning, as though the very wood breathed and whispered secrets.
The armoire's polished surface reflected the dim light from the flickering candles, casting a dark, ethereal glow across the room.
A long, low table covered a large area of the space, its dark surface smooth and polished to perfection. The table was framed by tarnished silver, depicting strange, angular symbols that seemed to change shape depending on the angle.
Four high-backed chairs surrounded the table, each one with clawed feet and dark, weathered cushions. They looked more like thrones than mere seats, designed for someone of great stature. The air around them seemed to hum with forgotten power, as if these chairs had witnessed countless decisions made within their shadowed embrace.
Against the newly formed walls, towering bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, their shelves crammed with ancient tomes bound in cracked, faded leather. Some of the books glowed faintly from within, casting strange, ghostly shadows that moved as if alive.
A narrow mirror, framed in dark iron, hung above a large beautiful hearth. The mirror's surface reflected nothing inside of it—leaving only blank, empty glass.
The entire space felt alive, as though the very air was charged with something ancient and forgotten, a place where secrets lingered in every corner.
Chase quickly shook his head, clearing it of any distractions.
Soon after, he began to make his way up the small, rickety staircase, not wanting to anger the man.
As he took each step forward, the power radiating through the room began to grow. Every bone in his body screamed at him to back away and run the farther up he got.
Something terribly strong awaited Chase as he neared the top.
He took one final step onto the second floor. In front of him, at the far end of the room, sat a man behind a long, wooden desk. The desk was made of dark mahogany, its surface scarred by time and heavy use, littered with scattered papers and ancient scrolls. The chair the man sat in was equally imposing—crafted from blackened oak, with high, carved arms and a back that seemed to loom over the room like a throne.
Its deep red velvet cushions were worn but still regal, offering a subtle contrast to the cold, polished wood beneath.
The room itself was vast, with tall, narrow windows that let in little light. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting battles long past and scenes of distant lands, their colors faded with age.
A faint smell of old leather and ink hung in the air, mixing with the musty scent of the wood that seemed to absorb the silence of the space.
However, the man that sat lazily in his chair was the most mysterious out of everything he had seen today.
He wore a bright orange cloak that wrapped around his frail body, with a hood that covered any hair that he happened to have under it.
His bright orange eyes slowly locked onto Chase, making direct eye contact with the boy.
Immediately, he felt paralyzed, as if his body had turned to stone and his mind to mush.
Thoughts became empty in the shadow of the old man's presence.
Suddenly, the room began to move Chase forward, until he was only a few meters away from the man.
After getting a closer look at the man, he realized just how old this guy was.
His skin was withered and torn, but somehow seemed as healthy as a young paladin's.
A well-trimmed, silver goatee sat around the man's wrinkled lips.
The eyes of the man were what truly made Chase grow weary.
His pupils were black and empty, except for the moving white crystals that floated around the center of his eyes like stars in the night sky.
He rested his chin against the palm of his hand, which was supported by his elbow resting against the surface of the table.
"What is your name, boy?"
Chase's words caught in his throat as he struggled to respond to the man.
The man sighed as he snapped his fingers.
Instantly, the feeling of dread vanished, and the immense aura had gone with it.
"Ch-Chase, of—of no house, sir!"
He stuttered terribly as he finally spoke.
However, the bored expression on the old man's face was replaced with what could have been mistaken as slight curiosity.
"I am Leander of House Orion, as well as the headmaster of Phoenix Academy, and I believe you have something to show me... Chase?"
Chase hesitated slightly before nodding in response.
He then slid his hand underneath his hoodie and unstrapped the sheath of his father's dagger.
Slowly, the dagger slid out of the sheath, as he revealed it to the headmaster.
Chase held the dagger out as he slowly brought it to the elderly man.
The headmaster did not react physically to the dagger, even slightly avoiding looking at the beautiful topaz blade's reflection.
"I see, you may put it back in its sheath now."
He said with a hint of sadness in his raspy voice.
"Chase, I already know the first thing you're going to ask me... and the answer is no..."
A feeling of emptiness began to wash over the boy as he slowly brought his gaze to the floor.
"I am sorry, child, but Blaze of the House of Phoenix passed on the day that Willowmere fell."