The summons came at dusk. A courier slipped a folded note beneath Alaric's door, the wax seal stamped with the crest of the Academy.
Report to the Headmaster's chambers at once.
Alaric's stomach tightened. The last time he had been dragged before the council, the weight of judgment pressed on him like a guillotine. He half-expected this meeting to end with chains.
But when he pushed open the tall oak doors, the air that greeted him was not heavy with incense or accusation. Instead, it smelled faintly of parchment and pinewood smoke.
The Headmaster's office was vast yet strangely cozy. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes whose spines glowed faintly as if alive. Maps and charts lay scattered across an oak desk cluttered with quills and inkpots. In the corner, a caged phoenix dozed, its feathers glowing like embers.
And behind the desk sat the Headmaster.
Eldrin Arvane.
His hair was silver, long enough to brush his shoulders, and his eyes were bright and piercing yet softened by warmth. His robes were simple, deep blue lined with silver, and he leaned on a carved staff of elderwood. Despite his age, there was a calm power in him — the kind that needed no boasting.
"Alaric Draven," Eldrin said, his voice rich and gentle, carrying both kindness and gravity. "Come in, my boy. Close the door. No need for formality here."
Alaric obeyed, stepping nervously inside. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"
Eldrin gestured toward the armchair opposite his desk. "Sit, sit. Tea?"
The warmth of his tone caught Alaric off guard. "Uh… yes, thank you."
With a flick of his staff, a teapot floated from the side table, pouring steaming amber liquid into two cups. Eldrin handed one to Alaric, his hands steady, his smile faint but reassuring.
"You must be tired," Eldrin said. "Burdened, too. I see it in your eyes. You wear the weight of questions no boy your age should be forced to carry."
Alaric swallowed. He had expected interrogation, not sympathy. "Everyone… everyone looks at me like I'm dangerous. Like I'm not even myself anymore."
Eldrin leaned back in his chair, studying him with thoughtful eyes. "Dangerous? Perhaps. But not evil. There's a difference, Alaric. A sword is dangerous. But in the right hands, it can save as many lives as it takes."
Alaric stared into his cup. "And if I'm the sword that shatters its wielder?"
Eldrin chuckled softly, the sound warm, like fire crackling in winter. "Then perhaps it's time you learned to wield yourself. Not let others decide what you must be."
Silence lingered for a moment. Then Eldrin's gaze softened further. "You remind me of your mother, you know. And your father."
Alaric's head snapped up. "You… knew them?"
"I did," Eldrin said, his eyes distant with memory. "Your mother, Serenya, was fierce, brilliant. A flame that refused to be snuffed out. And your father, Kaelen… he was steady as stone, loyal to the core. They were both my students once, and later, my allies. Together, they stood against darkness at a time when few dared."
Alaric's chest tightened. "No one ever talks about them. Not really. I barely remember their faces."
Eldrin's voice grew softer. "They loved you more than the world itself. When the Hollow Ones hunted them, they chose to fight, not to flee. They believed in something greater. And they believed… in you."
Alaric blinked hard, a lump rising in his throat. "If they believed so much, then why do I feel like I'm… failing them? Everyone sees me as Eryndor reborn. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'll end up just like him."
Eldrin leaned forward, his eyes sharp but kind. "Listen to me, Alaric. You are not Eryndor. You are not bound to his path unless you choose it. Blood is history, yes — but it is not destiny. You are the bridge between light and dark, not their prisoner. The Hollow Ones bow to you because they remember his shadow. But I… I see more."
Alaric frowned. "More?"
Eldrin smiled faintly. "I see a boy who carries fire in one hand and shadow in the other, yet still aches for friendship, for laughter, for a normal life. That is what makes you dangerous, Alaric. Not your power. Your humanity."
The words hit like a spark in dry tinder. For the first time in days, Alaric felt something other than fear coil in his chest.
Eldrin rose, moving toward one of the tall shelves. He pulled down a thick leather-bound tome, dusted it off, and set it gently on the desk. The cover was embossed with a symbol — a circle split by light and shadow.
"This," Eldrin said, "is one of the oldest records in our possession. The Council forbids it from being taught. But I believe knowledge is not a curse. It is the lantern in the dark. Inside, you'll find accounts of the Firstborn — not only Eryndor, but others like him, some who fell, some who resisted. I want you to read it."
Alaric hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing the rough leather. "Why are you helping me? Everyone else wants to bind me or destroy me."
Eldrin's gaze softened. "Because I knew your parents. Because they trusted me to guide you, should the day come. And because, Alaric, I believe in you. Not as a vessel. Not as a king. As yourself."
Alaric lowered his gaze, throat tight, words caught behind his teeth.
Eldrin reached across the desk, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You are not alone, my boy. Remember that. Whatever storms rise, whatever voices whisper in the dark, you have allies still. Trust Clem. Trust yourself. And… trust me."
The phoenix in the corner stirred, letting out a soft, resonant cry. Its feathers glowed brighter, casting the chamber in warm light.
Alaric breathed deeply, the weight in his chest loosening just a little. For the first time in weeks, he felt seen — not as a vessel, not as a weapon, but as Alaric.
"Thank you, Headmaster," he whispered.
Eldrin smiled, eyes twinkling behind the lines of age. "Thank me when you prove them all wrong."