Flames roared in the distance, painting the night sky with streaks of fire and smoke. The explosions echoed through the dense forest of Ashdove, shaking the trees as though the earth itself was trembling.
Jack ran.
His legs ached, lungs burned, but he couldn't stop. His father's voice rang in his head, the last words he ever spoke.
"Run, son. Run as fast as you can."
Tears blurred Jack's vision as he forced himself forward, dodging low-hanging branches, leaping over roots. Behind him, the sound of pursuit grew closer. Five of them. The Perches. The men who had slaughtered his father before his eyes.
He wanted to stop. His body screamed for rest, but if he did, it was over. He knew that much.
A voice cut through the night.
"Jack!" One of the Perches called. "You can't escape us!"
Another voice, mocking. "We just want to talk."
Jack didn't slow down. He knew their kind. There would be no talking.
Further behind, Radmart stood still, watching the chase with calm, calculating eyes. He had no need to run—his gift made sure of that. He could see three minutes into the future. The boy's path, the trees he would dodge, the moment he would falter. He smirked.
"Surround him," Radmart ordered.
Jack barely had time to register the sudden shift before dark figures appeared all around him, cutting off every escape. He skidded to a halt, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Told you." Ezekiel, one of the Perches, grinned.
Radmart let out a satisfied chuckle. "No more running, Jack."
Jack's breath came in ragged gasps. His mind raced. He had no magic—his father had kept him from it. And yet, as the Perches closed in, something deep within him stirred. A warmth, an energy he didn't recognize.
Then—
Darkness.
A pull in his gut, a rush of air.
When the world returned, he was no longer in the forest.
---
Radmart stared at the empty space where Jack had been.
"What just happened?" he muttered.
"Why are you asking us?" Ezekiel snapped.
Riddle, another Perche, narrowed his eyes. "His father cast a spell on him. A powerful one."
"And you're just telling us now?" Bloe growled.
Riddle exhaled sharply. "Do you think spell-breaking is instant? I needed time."
"Well, now we have a problem," Radmart said coldly. "The boy will talk. The witches will know we're hunting them."
Persini would need to be informed.
Radmart turned to Ezekiel. "Bring the Caste."
Ezekiel pulled a black case from his belt, flipping it open to reveal a metallic sphere. With a press of a red button, the device hummed, glowing green. A bright flash erupted, swallowing them whole.
When the light faded, they stood before the towering Central Dome in Europe.
Persini was waiting.
"Report," he commanded.
Radmart stepped forward. "The warlock is dead. But his son… escaped."
Persini's expression darkened. "Escaped?"
"He vanished. Strong magic," Radmart admitted. "Likely his father's doing."
Persini folded his arms. "The sorcerers will know we're after them now."
"We need to inform the elders," Radmart said.
Persini nodded. "I'll send the message immediately."
---
Jack stumbled forward, disoriented. The place he had landed was nothing like the burning forest. It was quiet. Still. A strange energy filled the air, humming beneath his skin.
He turned, finding himself before a grand fountain, water flowing in eerie silence.
A voice called out.
"Welcome, son."
Jack spun around. An older man, draped in dark robes, sat beside the fountain, watching him with knowing eyes.
Jack swallowed. "Who… are you?"
"My name is Arthemes," the man said, rising. "And this… is the Fountain of Limock."
Jack's breath caught. He had heard of it. A myth, a legend. A sanctuary for witches.
"This can't be real," he whispered.
Arthemes smiled. "It is very real."
Jack ran a hand through his hair, still trying to grasp what had just happened. "How did I get here?"
Arthemes studied him. "You'll understand soon. But first, come inside. Bathe, eat, rest. Then we will talk."
Jack hesitated, but exhaustion weighed him down. He nodded.
As they walked toward the white castle beyond the fountain, Jack's eyes wandered. Witches—young and old—practiced spells in open courtyards. He saw a teacher demonstrating something, a group of students mimicking her movements.
Inside the castle, figures in robes of different colors passed them.
Arthemes spoke as they walked.
"This place was built by our ancestors. A sanctuary to protect witchcraft. Here, we learn, we store knowledge, we train."
Jack frowned. "I don't know anything about magic."
Arthemes shook his head. "That's not true."
Jack stiffened. "What?"
"Your father taught you," Arthemes said simply. "In your dreams."
Jack stopped walking. "No. He didn't."
Arthemes faced him. "Yes, he did. He had to hide it from the Perches. He placed everything inside your subconscious. And soon, it will all come back to you."
Jack opened his mouth to protest, but the truth lingered on his tongue, unspoken.
He didn't know why, but deep down… he believed Arthemes.
As they reached a staircase, two girls approached.
Arthemes turned to them. "Take care of him."
The girls each took one of Jack's hands, leading him away as Arthemes disappeared down the hall.
Jack didn't resist. He was too tired, too lost in thought.
His life had changed in an instant.
And something told him… this was just the beginning.