The Thylacea common room was unusually subdued, the tension from the prior night hanging thick in the air. Soya sat cross-legged on one of the oversized armchairs near the fireplace, his sketchbook balanced on his knees. His pencil moved hesitantly across the page, sketching the jagged lines of the creature they had seen. Every detail—the glowing eyes, the clawed limbs, the strange runes—seemed burned into his memory, refusing to fade.
Across from him, Davonte was sprawled on a couch, tossing a small enchanted ball into the air. The rhythmic thud as it hit his hand was the only sound in the room, a steady contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in Soya’s mind.
“You’re still drawing that thing?” Davonte asked, his voice breaking the quiet. He caught the ball mid-air and leaned forward, his silver eyes flicking to the page. “Mate, I think I’ve seen enough of it to last a lifetime.”
“It helps,” Soya replied softly, not looking up. “I keep thinking if I can just... get it right, maybe I’ll understand it better.”
Davonte raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Fair enough. Just don’t let it haunt you too much. We’ve got enough nightmares to go around.”
The door to the common room creaked open, and a few students looked up. A thin boy with jet-black hair swept neatly back stepped inside, his pale complexion almost ghostly in the firelight. He carried a leather-bound journal in one hand, an enchanted quill tucked behind his ear. His piercing gray eyes scanned the room briefly before landing on Soya.
The boy approached with a measured pace, his steps precise and deliberate. When he reached Soya’s chair, he spoke in a calm, monotone voice. “Your drawing is... intriguing.”
Soya looked up, startled. “Oh, uh... thanks.”
The boy tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the sketch. “The anatomical proportions are impressive. However, I notice an inconsistency in the limb positioning. May I?” He gestured toward the sketchbook.
Soya hesitated but handed it over. “Sure.”
The boy studied the drawing intently, his brow furrowing as he examined the lines. “The forelimbs,” he said, pointing with a slender finger. “If the creature’s musculature aligns with its skeletal structure, these should be more elongated, with a wider arc of movement. Otherwise, it wouldn’t achieve the range of motion required for the claws to be very effective.”
Soya blinked. “The claws?”
The boy glanced at him, his expression neutral. “Precisely. The way you’ve depicted the claws suggests they would be used with deliberate force, likely for climbing or breaking through barriers. It’s a logical conclusion.”
Davonte smirked, leaning back on the couch. “Well, aren’t you a walking encyclopedia?”
The boy didn’t react to the jab, instead handing the sketchbook back to Soya. “I’m Draven Corvidus,” he said matter-of-factly. “Thylacea, like yourselves. I recently transferred from an independent magical academy in Tasmania.”
“Ah, the new kid,” Davonte said with a grin. “I’m Davonte Evander. This is Soya Vareen. Welcome to the madness.”
Draven inclined his head slightly, his expression unchanging. “I appreciate the welcome. Though, given the atmosphere of the castle, I suspect ‘madness’ is an apt description.”
Soya managed a small smile. “It’s... been a rough few days.”
“Indeed,” Draven replied, his tone thoughtful. “I noticed the tension among the students. Rumors of lockdowns and unusual occurrences are already spreading. Fascinating, though likely exaggerated.”
Davonte snorted. “Oh, trust me, mate, they’re not exaggerated.”
Draven’s gray eyes flicked to him, sharp and analytical. “You’ve seen something, haven’t you?”
Davonte hesitated, glancing at Soya. “Let’s just say this place has a lot more going on than anyone’s letting on.”
Draven’s gaze lingered on Davonte for a moment before shifting back to Soya. “If you’re willing, I’d like to know more. Not out of idle curiosity, but to understand. Knowledge, after all, is the most effective tool against fear.”
Soya exchanged a glance with Davonte, unsure how much to reveal. There was something oddly reassuring about Draven’s calm demeanor, but the weight of what they had witnessed made it hard to speak.
“I’ll think about it,” Soya said finally.
Draven nodded once, as if satisfied. “Very well. Should you choose to share, I’ll be here. In the meantime, if you require assistance with anything—academic or otherwise—don’t hesitate to ask.”
With that, he turned and walked toward an empty chair by the window, his journal already open as he began jotting notes in neat, precise handwriting.
“Well,” Davonte said after a moment, tossing his enchanted ball into the air again. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new friend. Or at least a walking dictionary.”
Soya glanced at Draven, who was now absorbed in his writing, and smiled faintly. “I think he’s just... different.”
Davonte chuckled. “Different’s good. We could use a little ‘different’ around here right now.”
Later that morning in the Thylacea common room unusually quiet. Instead of the typical hustle of students preparing for classes, there was only the soft murmur of whispered conversations. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, its warmth doing little to dispel the uneasy tension that filled the room.
Soya stirred from his usual spot by the window. He noticed the spread of breakfast foods that had appeared on the central table—steaming platters of eggs, bacon, and toast, along with pitchers of mango juice and tea. It was a feast, but the atmosphere it created was anything but celebratory.
Davonte was lounging on the couch with a piece of toast in one hand and a bemused expression. “Well, this is new,” he said, gesturing toward the table. “Breakfast in the common room? Either the kitchen elves are spoiling us, or something’s seriously wrong.”
Soya frowned, glancing around at the other students, many of whom looked equally confused. “Classes haven’t started yet,” he said softly, his gaze drifting toward the grandfather clock by the fireplace. “Shouldn’t we have heard the bell by now?”
Before Davonte could respond, the door to the prefect’s corner creaked open, and Thalia Greaves stepped out, holding a parchment sealed with the Austramore crest. Her face was pale but composed, though the faint lines of worry around her eyes betrayed her unease.
“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Thalia’s voice cut through the quiet murmurs, drawing the attention of every student in the room. She unrolled the parchment and began to read, her tone steady but firm.
“By order of Headmaster Boromus Spellchecker, all classes are suspended for today. Students are to remain in their common rooms until further notice. Meals and refreshments have been provided, and prefects will ensure everyone is accounted for. This is a precautionary measure to ensure the safety of all students. Normal scheduling is expected to resume tomorrow.”
A ripple of whispers spread through the room, some students glancing nervously at one another while others exchanged skeptical looks. Thalia rolled up the parchment and addressed the group again, her tone sharp enough to silence the chatter.
“This isn’t up for debate,” she said firmly. “No one is to leave the common room for any reason unless accompanied by a professor or prefect. If you have questions, direct them to me or the other prefects. Now, make yourselves comfortable and try not to worry.”
Davonte leaned closer to Soya, his voice low. “Suspended classes? Meals delivered? Yeah, that’s definitely not normal.”
“No, it’s not,” Soya agreed, his stomach twisting with unease. “Do you think it’s... about last night?”
Davonte gave a slight shrug, though his expression was uncharacteristically serious. “If it is, they’re not telling us. But I’d bet every last Galleon I’ve got that this is connected.”
Draven, seated in a nearby armchair with his journal open, looked up from his notes. “An interesting development,” he remarked in his usual monotone. “Lockdowns are rare, particularly at an institution as fortified as Austramore. Whatever the issue, it must be significant.”
“Great,” Davonte muttered, taking another bite of toast. “More secrets and mysteries. Just what we needed.”
Soya glanced at the food-laden table, his appetite absent despite the enticing aromas. The Headmaster’s words echoed in his mind, the memory of the previous night’s events still fresh. “Do you think they’ll actually fix it by tomorrow?”
Draven tilted his head thoughtfully. “If the issue is of a magical nature, and the professors are involved, it is reasonable to assume they will contain it. However, the lack of transparency suggests the situation may be more complex than they are willing to admit.”
“Well, that’s comforting,” Davonte said with a dry laugh. “Guess we just sit here and wait, then?”
Draven’s piercing gray eyes met his. “For now, yes. Though waiting does not preclude preparation. Perhaps we can use this time to better understand the circumstances—or at least be ready for what comes next.”
Soya looked between his two companions, his sketchbook resting on his lap. The thought of doing nothing felt unbearable, but the locked doors and guarded instructions left them with few options. As the room settled into a low hum of conversation, he couldn’t help but feel like a storm was brewing.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
After a few hours of chatting with other students, playing games, and other mundane activities, the common room had grown quiet. Most students were reading quietly, or in their dormitories.
Soya sat cross-legged near the large window, his sketchbook propped up on his knees. The light filtering through the enchanted panes created a soft glow that fell across his face, though his usual serene expression was absent. His pencil danced across the page, the lines coming together to form a chaotic swirl of shadows and shapes. He wasn’t sure what he was drawing—only that it felt right to let his emotions spill onto the paper.
Draven sat nearby, his ever-present journal open in his lap as he watched Soya work. His gray eyes analyzed each stroke with quiet intensity. “Your technique is remarkable,” he observed, his monotone voice cutting through the silence. “There’s a fluidity to your lines that conveys movement. It’s almost as though the shadows are alive.”
Soya blinked, startled out of his trance. “Thanks,” he said softly, though his voice lacked the usual warmth. “I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
“I can tell,” Draven replied, leaning forward slightly. “The imagery suggests unease—fear, even. Would you care to elaborate, or shall I simply continue making observations?”
Soya hesitated, his pencil hovering over the paper. Before he could answer, Davonte flopped onto the couch beside them, holding an apple he’d clearly stolen from the breakfast table. “Alright, Soya,” he said, biting into the fruit with a crunch. “Time to bring our new friend here up to speed.”
Soya glanced between Davonte and Draven, his grip tightening on his pencil. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if—”
“Oh, come on,” Davonte interrupted, waving the apple for emphasis. “Draven’s not going to rat us out. Look at him—he’s practically bursting with curiosity.”
Draven raised an eyebrow, unbothered by the comment. “I am indeed intrigued. Knowledge is, after all, the foundation of preparation. If there is something I should know, I’d prefer to be informed sooner rather than later.”
Soya sighed, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. “Fine. But... it’s a lot.”
“We’ve got time,” Davonte said, leaning back and resting his hands behind his head. “Might as well make use of this lovely forced lockdown.”
Taking a deep breath, Soya began to recount the events of the past few days. He started with the discovery of the Whispering Archives, the runes, and the unsettling clues about Eliza’s disappearance. As he spoke, Davonte chimed in with his usual dramatic flair, describing their encounter with the basilisk, the monstrous clawed creature, and the professors’ desperate attempts to contain the chaos.
Draven listened intently, his expression never changing, though his hand moved quickly as he jotted notes in his journal. Occasionally, he interjected with clarifying questions or observations.
“The creature you described,” Draven said when Soya paused, “with glowing runes and an apparent immunity to magic—it’s unlike anything I’ve read about. Are you certain it wasn’t some form of magical construct?”
“Pretty sure,” Davonte replied, his tone unusually serious. “That thing was alive. The way it moved, the way it looked at us... it wasn’t just some animated statue. And those claws? Yeah, not a fan.”
Draven nodded thoughtfully, his quill scratching against the page. “And the basilisk you encountered at the lake—was it behaving as expected? Aggressive, territorial?”
“Definitely aggressive,” Soya said, shuddering at the memory. “But the professors got to it before it could reach us. I don’t know how they managed to keep it contained.”
“The professors’ involvement suggests a coordinated effort,” Draven mused. “Though it raises the question of why students have been kept in the dark. The secrecy implies either a lack of trust or the presence of information too dangerous to share.”
“Well, isn’t that comforting,” Davonte said dryly, tossing the apple core into a nearby bin. “So what do we do now, oh wise one?”
Draven closed his journal with a soft thud, his piercing gaze fixed on them. “We wait. But waiting does not equate to passivity. If there are patterns or anomalies in what you’ve described, we can use this time to identify them. Preparation is key, particularly when dealing with the unknown.”
Soya nodded slowly, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his sketchbook. Despite Draven’s calm, logical demeanor, the weight of their situation felt heavier than ever.
Draven leaned forward, his journal open and his quill poised as he absorbed every piece of information Soya and Davonte shared. The quiet crackle of the fire filled the gaps in their conversation, the weight of their discoveries settling heavily over the three of them.
“So,” Draven began, his voice calm and deliberate, “we have a series of interconnected events that appear far too deliberate to be coincidence. Let’s start at the beginning—this rune by the lake. Eliza was investigating it before her disappearance, correct?”
Soya nodded. “She was obsessed with it. She kept saying it was old magic, way older than anything we’d studied. She thought it was connected to the basilisk.”
“And you said you went back to see it,” Draven prompted, his gray eyes sharp. “What exactly happened?”
Davonte leaned back, crossing his arms. “Eliza convinced us to sneak out to the lake one night. We didn’t really find anything new, just the same rune. But then Sevrin and Sage showed up.”
Draven’s quill froze mid-stroke. “Did they see you?”
“No,” Soya said quickly. “We stayed hidden, but we watched Sage remove the rune. It was like... like he was untying something. Like the rune had been holding something in place.”
Draven tapped the quill against his journal, his brow furrowing. “Interesting. A binding rune, perhaps? If it was meant to contain or control something, removing it would have released whatever was bound.”
“The basilisk,” Davonte suggested. “It was in the lake, wasn’t it?”
“That’s a logical conclusion,” Draven replied, jotting the thought down. “But that raises more questions. If Sage created the rune—and it seems likely he did—why would he remove it? What purpose would releasing the basilisk serve?”
“Maybe they didn’t mean to,” Soya offered, though his voice lacked certainty. “Or maybe they needed it for something else.”
“Possibly,” Draven said, though his tone suggested skepticism. “Now, the wall breach. You described the claw marks leading into the forest and the beast you encountered. If the basilisk is one piece of this puzzle, then this creature is another. What do you know about it?”
Davonte shrugged. “Not much, except it’s big, it’s got claws, and it doesn’t like us. Oh, and magic barely works on it.”
Draven nodded, making another note. “A creature resistant to magic, marked with runes that appear to dampen or deflect spells. That’s highly unusual. If those runes were placed by someone—Sage, for instance—then the creature might not be acting entirely on its own.”
“You think it’s controlled?” Soya asked, his voice low.
“Controlled, or at least influenced,” Draven clarified. “The runes could be part of some kind of enchantment or compulsion. But the creature itself... it breached the castle walls. That suggests either a calculated move or sheer brute force.”
“What if it was letting the basilisk in?” Soya suggested. “Maybe it was working with Sage and Sevrin.”
“That’s a possibility,” Draven admitted, “though it’s difficult to determine their end goal. Let’s not forget Eliza’s role in all of this. She disappeared while researching the rune, correct?”
“Yes,” Soya said. “She thought the rune was part of something bigger—something dangerous. But we never figured out exactly what she meant.”
Draven tapped his fingers against the edge of his journal, his eyes narrowing in thought. “A binding rune at the lake, the basilisk’s release, the breach in the wall, and now this creature. All of these events are linked, and Sage and Sevrin appear to be at the center of it. If Eliza was uncovering something they wanted to keep hidden, that could explain her disappearance.”
Davonte frowned, leaning forward. “So what’s the connection? Why would Sage release a basilisk and bring in some magic-proof monster? What’s the point?”
“That,” Draven said, his tone grave, “is what we need to figure out. But whatever their plan is, it’s big. They’re manipulating forces far beyond the scope of ordinary magic, and they’re doing it deliberately.”
Soya stared down at his sketchbook, his mind racing. “Eliza knew something,” he said quietly. “She was onto them, and they silenced her for it.”
Draven’s gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained steady. “Perhaps. But if Eliza’s disappearance is tied to this, it also means she may still be alive. They wouldn’t risk killing her if she has knowledge they need.”
The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of that possibility hung between them. Davonte broke the tension with a dry chuckle. “So what do we do now, genius? Storm the castle? Find another rune and see if Sage shows up to mess with it?”
Draven closed his journal, his expression unreadable. “For now, we gather information. Watch for patterns, discrepancies, anything that could provide insight. Sage and Sevrin are methodical, which means their actions will leave clues—if we’re observant enough to spot them.”
“And then?” Soya asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Then,” Draven said, standing and tucking his journal under his arm, “we decide whether we’re ready to confront them—or if we’ll need help to stop whatever they’re planning.”
The heavy tension from the events of the previous night lingered, but the comforting crackle of the fireplace and the occasional sound of laughter helped ease some of the unease.
Soya sat cross-legged on the carpet near the hearth, his wand balanced delicately between his fingers. Davonte lounged on the couch behind him, twirling his own wand idly, while Draven sat stiffly on a nearby chair, his journal open on his lap and his enchanted quill poised to write.
“So,” Davonte began, flicking his wand toward a nearby quill and sending it spiraling clumsily into the air, “are we practicing something useful, or are we just going to keep making random objects levitate?”
Draven glanced up from his journal, his sharp gray eyes flicking between them. “If you’re looking to practice something useful, I’d suggest refining your control. Precision is far more valuable than brute force.”
Davonte smirked. “What, like this?” He waved his wand, and the quill did a loop before bouncing off the edge of the table and clattering to the floor. “Nailed it.”
Draven let out a quiet sigh, setting his journal aside. “Your approach lacks consistency. Try focusing on a single point and maintaining a steady flow of magic.”
Soya hid a smile, enjoying the banter as he raised his own wand and whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa.”
A nearby book lifted smoothly into the air, hovering for a moment before Soya guided it gently onto the table. “Like that?”
“Better,” Draven said, nodding approvingly. “Your movements were deliberate, and your focus remained intact throughout the spell. Though, if I may suggest, try visualizing the book’s weight as you lift it. It’ll help stabilize your control.”
Davonte groaned dramatically. “Great, now I’m getting magic lectures from the new guy.”
Draven raised an eyebrow, his tone as dry as ever. “Would you prefer a demonstration instead?”
“Actually, yeah,” Davonte said, leaning forward with a grin. “Show us what you’ve got, Mr. Magic Expert.”
Draven stood, retrieving his wand from the pocket of his robes. He gestured toward a stack of books on the far side of the room. “Observe.”
With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, the top book lifted smoothly into the air. But instead of simply hovering, it began to rotate slowly, its pages flipping open and shut as though caught in a gentle breeze. Draven’s hand remained steady, his movements precise as he guided the book through a graceful loop before setting it neatly back on the stack.
Davonte whistled, impressed despite himself. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. Fancy moves.”
“It’s not about fanciness,” Draven replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s about understanding the nuances of the spell and applying them effectively.”
Soya tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Where’d you learn all that? You seem to know a lot more than most first-years.”
Draven hesitated for a moment before sitting back down, his gaze dropping to his journal. “My parents,” he said simply. “My father is a magical researcher, and my mother is a librarian. They encouraged me to explore and experiment from a young age.”
“That explains a lot,” Davonte said, smirking. “So, what, you spent your childhood buried in books?”
“Essentially,” Draven replied without missing a beat. “Though I also spent a considerable amount of time attempting to animate them. That didn’t end well.”
Soya raised an eyebrow. “Animate them? Like, make them move on their own?”
“Yes,” Draven said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was fascinated by the idea of creating a self-sorting library. Unfortunately, the enchantment was too unstable, and the books became... aggressive.”
Davonte burst out laughing. “You’re telling me you started a book rebellion?”
“Unintentionally,” Draven admitted, his tone dry. “It took my father hours to subdue the chaos. He wasn’t particularly pleased, though my mother found it amusing.”
Soya chuckled, the image of an animated book battlefield playing vividly in his mind. “Sounds like you’ve always been experimenting.”
Draven nodded. “Knowledge is meant to be explored and expanded upon. I’ve always believed that understanding the underlying principles of magic is just as important as casting spells.”
“That’s... actually pretty cool,” Soya said, his admiration genuine. “Do you have any other stories like that?”
Draven considered for a moment before nodding. “Once, I attempted to create a self-replenishing ink for my quills. The result was an enchanted quill that wouldn’t stop writing. It covered nearly every surface in my father’s study with random phrases and equations before we managed to dispel it.”
Davonte snorted. “Remind me not to let you near my stuff.”
“I assure you,” Draven said with a faint smile, “I’ve refined my methods since then.”
The conversation shifted back to practicing spells, with Draven offering tips and corrections as they worked. Soya found himself appreciating Draven’s calm, analytical approach, even if it occasionally bordered on condescending.
As the evening wore on, Soya glanced at Draven and smiled. “Thanks for helping us out. I think we’re going to need your brain for whatever comes next.”
Draven inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “We’ll need all our strengths if we’re to make sense of this. But for now, I believe we’ve earned a moment of reprieve.”
Davonte grinned, waving his wand and sending the quill into another clumsy loop. “Agreed. Just don’t expect me to start using big words like ‘replenishing’ anytime soon.”