Godric turned back briefly, watching the bricks shift seamlessly into place, sealing the entrance behind them. His eyes gleamed with awe as he whispered, "Incredible. I thought I'd seen everything Excalibur had to offer, but this…"
Salazar chuckled, clapping a hand on Godric's shoulder. "Ah, you truly are a sweet summer child," he teased. "You've barely scratched the surface. Now, feast your eyes on this."
They stepped into a dimly lit corridor that stretched ahead like a secret artery of the school, its brick walls imbued with a sense of ancient purpose. As they walked, the muffled sound of distant cheers and chatter grew louder until they emerged into a massive chamber that made Godric stop in his tracks, his jaw slack with astonishment.
It was like stepping into another world. The space was a chaotic marvel—equal parts tavern, arena, and parliament. Several floors of balconies and galleries spiraled upward, supported by wooden beams and wrought-iron braces, their occupants leaning over railings to watch the action below. A din of laughter, shouts, and clinking goblets filled the air, mingling with the scent of roasted meats, tobacco, and spiced ale.
"It's… it's like an entire city tucked away within the castle," Godric murmured, spinning in place to take in the sights. "What in Charlamagne's name is this? What's happening here?"
"This," Salazar said with a dramatic flourish, spreading his arms wide, "is the Congregation of Clans. The beating heart of Excalibur's true power structure."
Godric's gaze swept across the room, his sharp crimson eyes catching every detail. At the center of the space, a wide dueling arena dominated the floor, its boundaries marked by glowing wards that pulsed with raw magic. Eight wizards engaged in a fierce battle within, spells colliding in bursts of vibrant light. Around the perimeter, clusters of students—ranging from first-years to upperclassmen—cheered, booed, or argued over the unfolding match.
"Unbelievable…" Godric muttered; his eyes drawn to a massive blackboard mounted on one wall. Names and numbers were scrawled across it in bold strokes—participants, their respective Clans, and what appeared to be betting odds. His gaze then shifted to several tables piled with stacks of glittering gold and platinum coins.
"Wait—are they… are they gambling?" Godric's voice rose with disbelief as he pointed toward the betting stations. "Gambling on duels? Isn't that against the rules?"
Salazar smirked, waving off the concern. "Only for the uninitiated, my dear Gryffindor. As I said, so long as the laws that matter remain unbroken. 'Sides, this place has existed since the founding of Excalibur." He gestured to the room with a sweep of his arm. "This is where fortunes are won and lost, alliances forged and broken. Most importantly, where power is earned, seized, and of course… stolen."
Godric's attention was drawn to the banners and tapestries draping the walls and ceiling. Each bore unique sigils and symbols—some freshly stitched, painted and gleaming, others faded with age or scorched from long-forgotten battles. They spoke of Clans both current and defunct, a testament to centuries of rivalry and legacy.
"These sigils…" Godric murmured, stepping closer to the wall as his fingers traced the embroidered image of a dragon on a weathered banner. "They're Clan crests, aren't they? Just how far does this go, Salazar?"
Salazar smirked; his emerald eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Deeper than you can possibly fathom," he said, leaning in conspiratorially. "The High Table oversees the entire student body from the shadows, weaving influence and control far beyond what the school or even the faculty can perceive."
He gestured toward the top floor overlooking the arena. Five massive banners hung proudly from the balustrades, each in a distinct color, bearing unique crests that glimmered in the dim light. "But make no mistake—they're not above the academy's rules. They operate within them, bending but never breaking. That's the secret to their power."
Godric frowned, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied the banners and the murmurs of the crowd. "So, this High Table… they hold the strings, but they still play the game?"
"Precisely," Salazar said with a sly grin. "The only question is, Godric—how much of that game are you willing to play?"
Before Godric could respond, a familiar voice rang out, clear and unmistakable.
"That voice…" Godric spun around, his crimson eyes widening in disbelief. From behind the administration counter emerged Helena, the Ignis Dorm Monitor from before.
"Godric! Salazar!" she called out, stepping gracefully into the open and waving. Her warm smile stood in stark contrast to the charged energy of the room. "What a pleasant surprise to see you both here."
"Helena?" Godric stammered, taking a step back as though the sheer improbability of her presence might knock him over. "You're part of this too? But you're the Dorm Monitor! I thought you were all about following rules!"
Helena chuckled, her pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, Godric, there's more to me than meets the eye," she said, tapping her nose knowingly. "The world isn't as black and white as you think."
Salazar smirked, giving Godric a playful nudge forward. "Perfect timing, Helena. Our new friend here is in desperate need of a proper introduction to the finer workings of our little… extracurricular activity."
Helena crossed her arms, tilting her head in mock consideration. "Well, it seems fate has delivered you to the heart of the Congregation. How about a grand tour, then?"
Godric hesitated, glancing between Salazar and Helena. His expression was a mix of intrigue and apprehension. "I… I don't know if I should be excited or terrified," he admitted, running a hand through his crimson hair. "Just what have you gotten me into, Salazar?"
"Only the most thrilling secret this school has to offer," Salazar replied with a sly grin. "Now quit stalling. You've already stepped into the rabbit hole—might as well see where it leads."
Helena extended her arm toward the bustling arena floor. "Come on, Godric," she said with an encouraging smile. "It's time to see the real Excalibur."
****
Helena led the boys through the bustling underground chamber, her voice steady as she gestured to different areas, each revealing a slice of the complex world hidden beneath the academy.
Godric's eyes darted around, taking in the peculiar blend of individuals populating the space. To his surprise, a number weren't students at all. Adults mingled among the crowd, their appearances ranging from humble attire to elaborate robes adorned with exotic patterns and encrusted with jewels—clear displays of wealth and influence. Students of age sipped from frothy mugs of ale or more exotic spirits, while the younger ones stuck to cider or butterbeer. The atmosphere clashed with Godric's sense of morality, a vivid departure from the simpler life he'd known in the moors of England.
"Well, as you can see," Helena began, gesturing to the small badge pinned to her chest, "I'm an Overseer here. Part of a group that manages the day-to-day operations of The Congregation."
Godric blinked, processing the information. "To think this place even has an administration… It's like a fully-fledged organization!"
"With its own rules, regulations, and of course, traditions," Salazar added smoothly. "And naturally, its own brand of justice. The Congregation has a motto, you know—a guiding principle: For without rules…"
"…we live with the beasts," Helena finished, her tone firm. She turned to Godric, her expression serious. "Remember that, Godric. It's the core of what keeps this place in balance. It'll serve you well."
She gestured toward a lively corner of the chamber, a warm and inviting space that resembled a tavern, complete with a polished walnut bar, barrels stacked high, and copper taps gleaming under the soft glow of crystal lamps. Behind the bar, a bartender expertly poured golden liquid into mugs, sliding them down to eager patrons. Servers weaved through the crowd; balancing trays laden with steaming plates of hearty food.
"That's our tavern," Helena explained with a smile. "They serve the finest butterbeer in all of Avalon. And their shepherd's pie? Worth every Plata." She then pointed to another section on the opposite side. "And over there, you'll find the betting tables."
Godric followed her gaze to a chaotic yet oddly organized corner where students and adults alike crowded around long tables. A flurry of activity surrounded the bookmakers as patrons waved tickets, collected winnings, and placed new bets with anticipation.
"Anyone can wager on clan duels," Helena said casually, "even those who aren't part of the academy."
Godric frowned, watching a group of students exchange coins—some in gold, others in platinum. The sight unsettled him. "I still can't believe students are allowed to gamble here," he muttered. "My Uncle Gareth would have lost his mind if he saw this."
Salazar chuckled, patting Godric on the shoulder. "Your boonie's showing, Godric. It's all part of the game. Some clans even fund their entire education through their winnings. Not everyone has the luxury of being well-off like you and me."
Godric grimaced but said nothing, his gaze lingering on a pair of students excitedly counting a pile of coins. The sheer complexity of the world Salazar and Helena were introducing him to left him both fascinated and uneasy.
As the tour continued up to the second floor, Godric paused at the banister, his gaze drawn to the arena below. Flashes of vibrant light exploded from the wands of dueling wizards, painting the chamber in bursts of red, blue, and green. The crowd roared with approval, their cheers reverberating through the vast underground space.
"So, let me get this straight," Godric began, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "Students form Clans to join The Congregation… and they're like guilds of sorts?"
Helena nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes," she explained. "Clans operate as private groups within The Congregation. Their reputation and power depend on both their numbers and the skills of their members. The stronger the Clan, the more influence it wields."
Godric frowned slightly as one of the duelists below was struck in the head by a magically propelled barrel, tumbling dramatically to the arena floor. "And what exactly do these Clans do?" he asked, cringing. "Aside from beating one another senseless for money."
"A great deal, actually," Helena replied, folding her arms. "While dueling is a cornerstone of The Congregation, Clans also take on missions and fulfill requests from townsfolk around Caerleon—and sometimes beyond. These tasks can be as simple as running errands or as complex as dealing with real dangers like bandits."
Salazar's smirk widened, his emerald eyes glinting mischievously. "Ah, nothing beats the scent of charred highwaymen in the morning," he quipped, his voice dripping with mock nostalgia.
Godric shot him a bemused look. "You make that sound disturbingly enjoyable."
"Oh, it is," Salazar said with a wink. "But only if you're good at it."
Helena sighed, shaking her head at Salazar's theatrics. "Clans provide opportunities for members to develop their skills, earn rewards, and build connections. It's a competitive environment, yes, but one that also fosters growth."
Godric leaned on the banister; his expression thoughtful as he watched the duel intensify below. "So, it's not just chaos," he said slowly. "There's an actual purpose behind it all."
"Precisely," Helena affirmed, her tone firm. "But don't let the structure fool you. The Congregation can be ruthless. Only those with ambition, cunning, and strength thrive here. And for the rest…" She trailed off, her expression darkening slightly.
"They get left behind," Salazar finished, his smirk fading into a serious expression. "Remember what I said about the natural order. This isn't a game for the faint of heart, Godric."
"Not to mention," Helena continued, gesturing toward the arena, "even the duels are governed by strict rules. Violence is regulated—no maiming, no murdering. Safety is prioritized." She paused, her tone darkening slightly. "Though… accidents do happen. Matthew Garetty comes to mind."
Godric groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "By the Old Gods, all this madness is giving me a splitting headache!" he exclaimed. "There's no way the academy would ever sanction something like this. And the professors? They'd never let it slide!"
Before Helena or Salazar could respond, another voice—familiar and boisterous—rose above the cacophony of the crowd.
"Woohoo! That's right, Lyza! Kick his ass!"
Godric froze, his head snapping toward the banisters overlooking the arena. His jaw nearly dropped as he spotted none other than Professor Workner, pumping his fist in the air like an overenthusiastic fan.
"Show them what the Dungeon Delvers are made of!" Workner bellowed, his voice carrying across the chamber.
"Professor Workner?" Godric managed, his voice an odd mix of disbelief and horror.
The professor froze mid-cheer, his face paling as he turned to see the group staring at him. With a rapid attempt at recovery, he straightened his robes, clearing his throat as he adopted a suddenly stern expression. "What in Avalon are you three doing here?" he demanded, his tone laced with authority. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! This place is entirely inappropriate for students of Excalibur."
Godric folded his arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh, really? And I suppose you're just here for the butterbeer, then?"
Professor Workner's ears turned a shade of pink as he opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.
Salazar leaned closer to Godric, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Once again," he murmured, barely containing his amusement, "welcome to the real Excalibur, my dear friend."
Helena stepped between Godric and Workner before the latter could regain his composure. "Now, now, gentlemen," she said smoothly, her voice cutting through the tension. "Let's remember the first rule of The Congregation." She glanced meaningfully at the professor, her tone pointed. "Whatever happens here, stays here. Isn't that right, Professor?"