Gordon's lips curled in a sneer. "Please. The man's a joke. All charm and theatrics. If he's so dangerous, why hasn't he done anything yet?"
Ember crossed her arms, her icy eyes narrowing. "Because he doesn't need to. Magnus isn't like the others. He doesn't posture or boast—that's all a hassle for him. He just moves when he sees fit. And when that happens, it's clean, fast, and final. I've seen it once... during a skirmish in the North when we had a mission together, a long time ago. He cut through three war-trained assassins like he was slicing silk."
Gordon's brows furrowed. "You never mentioned that."
"I didn't think I needed to." Ember's tone dropped, her voice taut with warning. "But now I'm starting to think your overconfidence might get us both killed."
Gordon clenched his fists. "Then what? We wait? Again? Let our window slip further away while Sheila prances around guarded like some delicate artifact?"
"For now… yes," Ember replied. "We need to be smart. We can't touch her while Magnus is lurking in the shadows, not until we know what he's really doing."
There was a tense silence between them, the only sound being the occasional creak of the storeroom walls and the rustle of webs.
Then Gordon spoke, slower this time. "Maybe we don't go after Sheila directly. Maybe we change the plan."
Ember raised an eyebrow. "Change it how?"
"We aim for something... someone else. A distraction. If we can create enough chaos, Magnus will be pulled away. Then—when their focus is fractured—we strike."
"And what exactly do you plan to use as this distraction?" she asked warily.
Gordon's grin turned wicked, his eyes glinting. "The boy. The one with Galen's eyes."
Ember froze, her expression darkening. "You're insane."
"No," Gordon said, voice smooth. "I'm realistic. That kid—he's at the center of everything. Ever since you told me he was there when Sheila slipped from your grasp, I've had a feeling. He's involved. He's hiding something. I can feel it."
"Just because you have a vendetta against him doesn't make him the right target," Ember said sharply. "You're letting your hate lead."
"Tch. What are you so scared of?" Gordon shot back. "He's just a student. And a perfect target."
"'Just a student'?" Ember echoed, voice laced with disbelief. "That student is connected to both Galen and Mystica. Magnus alone is bad enough for us. But laying hands on someone tied to Galen? That's not bold—that's suicide. I, for one, would like to live long enough to see Lord Sylvathar's rise."
"I hear you," Gordon said, voice lowering to a near whisper. "But tell me, is Galen here right now?"
"Exactly," Gordon said. "He's gone. So cut the overly cautious act. If we stir the pot just enough… frame the boy for something big… maybe even plant the seed of doubt—he becomes their problem. Not ours."
Ember stared at him in silence, her thoughts racing.
Gordon leaned in slightly, his grin widening. "Come on. Let's make the academy eat itself from the inside out."
"Okay, fine. But tell me this—how do we get to him?" Ember asked, arms folded. "Grabbing him in a crowd is just as hard as getting Sheila. So unless you've got a real plan, don't waste my time."
Gordon smirked as he made his way to the door. "The kid seems like the brooding type—quiet, keeps to himself. That kind of loner behavior? It'll work against him today."
He cracked the door open, turning slightly. "We watch him. Wait for him to slip away from the crowd. And when he's alone—we strike."
With that, he slipped out, leaving Ember alone in the dim, musty storeroom.
She exhaled sharply and muttered, "And he says I'm the one drunk on Lord Sylvathar's power. Yet here he is, itching to poke a lion's cub just because it looks quiet."
Gordon might have thought she overestimated Galen, but he didn't know the truth. Ember had seen what Galen was truly capable of, even if it was only once. And she had never forgotten.
Years ago, she'd been assigned to a joint mission with three others—Galen included. He hadn't wanted to lead, never cared for teamwork, but somehow everyone fell in line behind him. That's how commanding his presence was.
Things went south quickly. They were ambushed mid-mission—and worse, one of their own had betrayed them.
What still haunted Ember wasn't the betrayal. It was how Galen responded.
There were no questions of 'why' or 'what'.
Galen turned and erased the traitor where he stood, along with every single ambusher, like they were nothing more than dust. It wasn't a fight. It was an execution. It was silent and unforgiving.
That image had burned itself into Ember's mind—and ever since, she'd promised herself never to cross him.
But that promise had shattered the day she encountered Lord Sylvathar… and accepted a drop of his blood.
Now, here she was, standing in the dark, caught in a plan to strike something tied to Galen himself.
And with every step forward, her chances of dying just kept climbing.
"Damn you, Gordon... " she thought. "You have no idea what you are making us walk into."
She finally moved, brushing past a low-hanging web as she exited the room, her boots echoing faintly down the stone corridor. Her pace was measured. Her mind, however, was racing.
She wasn't afraid of many things. At least not after she had gotten this new power of hers. Not death, not failure, not gettinf caught by the higher-ups. But Galen? Galen was different.
And unfortunately for her, Gordon wanted to stir that monster awake, all for the sake of a distraction?
She stepped into the academy courtyard, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the stone path. Students moved about in small clusters, their chatter drifting lazily through the warm air. Her gaze scanned the scene sharply—no sign of Liam yet. But he would come. He usually passed through here either with Asher or alone, heading toward the cafeteria.
"Once he shows up, I'll approach and get him to follow me," she muttered, positioning herself near one of the stone pillars that offered shade and cover.
Elsewhere, Liam and Asher exited their Knight Combat Training class, both drenched in sweat, their uniforms slightly clinging to their frames.
"Damn, this weighted training is getting worse every damn day, or is it just me?" Asher groaned, rolling his shoulder with a wince.
"It's not just you," Liam replied evenly. "Sir Darius adds more weight every time we start adapting to the current level. The better you get, the heavier it gets."
"I asked a yes or no question, not a damn lecture," Asher snapped, annoyed.
Liam didn't respond, keeping his eyes ahead as they walked down the long hallway that opened into the courtyard. As they reached the archway, Asher suddenly patted himself down, a frustrated expression tightening his face.
"Shit. I left my recording crystal back in the training hall," he grumbled.
"Alright. I'll see you at the cafeteria then," Liam said over his shoulder, barely glancing back.
"Cold-hearted bastard. Doesn't even offer to wait or help," Asher muttered to himself as he turned and jogged back the way they came. "Then again, what did I expect?"
Liam walked on, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That makes two of us," he said quietly, remembering a time not long ago when he'd done the exact same thing.
The sun beamed down as he stepped fully into the courtyard, its rays casting a golden sheen across the stone path. A few students passed by, heading to their own destinations, but the area was mostly quiet.
Liam continued walking calmly when he suddenly stopped.
Without warning or reason, his body froze mid-step.
'Why did I stop?' he wondered, trying to move—but his legs didn't respond. It was as if his body had turned against him, frozen by something unseen.
Right then, sweat began to bead at his temples. These weren't caused by the heat. No. This was different. This was the type of sweat drawn from instinct—raw and primal.
He couldn't explain how he knew. He never could. But he just knew something was wrong.
'I can't go through here.'
And then—he heard it.
A voice. Unfamiliar yet hauntingly familiar.
"Don't use this path."
The words echoed in his mind like a whisper through a cave.
Without another thought, he turned on his heel and walked away from the main path, choosing instead the long route that wrapped around the edge of the campus toward the cafeteria.
"Whatever that was… I want nothing to do with it," he muttered to himself.
But even as he walked, his thoughts circled the voice he heard.
'That voice… it sounded like Grandpa—but it wasn't. I've heard it before… back then…'
Liam's eyes narrowed.
'It's the same one from my consciousness months ago… that being.'