The beast's rib cage surged upward, wrenching Killington's blade from Tristan's hands and sending it clattering to the ground. The monster then seized Tristan by the throat and hoisted him up toward its grotesque, rat-like visage. Its grip tightened mercilessly around Tristan's neck, choking the breath from him. Its glowing green eyes bored into Tristan's own, as though piercing into the very depths of his soul. The beast's maw parted slowly, unveiling a grotesque tongue and a row of jagged, nightmarish teeth. Tristan clawed desperately at the monster's hand, struggling in vain to wrench himself free from its crushing grasp.
The beast dragged Tristan closer, its intention to tear the crimson-haired boy's head from his shoulders unmistakable. Yet just as its fangs were about to sink into his flesh, its hand was severed cleanly, and Tristan was released from its hold.
The creature let out a bone-rattling screech as the stump where its arm had been erupted in a torrent of blood—not crimson blood, but ichor as black as tar.
"It seems this creature's weakness lies in strikes it cannot perceive," Killington declared as he emerged from Tristan's shadow, blade poised in his grasp.
The beast shrieked once more, a deafening wail that forced Tristan to cover his ears in agony. Its massive form withered back into its smaller shape before fleeing, concealing itself among the undergrowth as it vanished into the forest's depths.
Tristan collapsed to the ground, clutching at his bruised throat as his breath returned in ragged gasps. He drifted between consciousness and oblivion, his body drained both by suffocation and the merciless toll of overusing Necromancer's Mimicry.
Killington dissolved back into shadow, returning to Tristan's side as the crimson-haired boy succumbed to exhaustion.
Moments later, Garfield and the Headmaster arrived upon the scene.
Garfield rushed to Tristan's side, fear etched into his expression for his fallen comrade. The Headmaster, her spear gripped firmly in hand, turned her gaze to the ground strewn with scattered pages. She stooped, retrieving one, and scanned the markings inscribed upon it. The contents revealed fragments of Bertal Wenkay's elusive formula. Garfield hoisted Tristan onto his shoulders while the Headmaster gathered the remaining pages, and together they departed the secret forest.
Tristan awoke in his chambers, wracked once again by the familiar ache that coursed through his body. A groan escaped his lips as he struggled upright. Attempting to summon Killington, he was instead seized by a sharp, stabbing pain in his skull, as though a dagger had been thrust into his mind. Clutching his head, he collapsed back onto the bed until the torment subsided.
The door creaked open, and Gareth entered, bearing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup he swore would hasten Tristan's recovery.
"My mother used to make this soup whenever I fell ill or was spent with exhaustion."
"Thanks," Tristan murmured in a weary tone.
Gareth placed the dish upon the table before leaving Tristan to rest. Yet as he departed, Garfield entered, waiting until Gareth was beyond earshot before closing and locking the door.
Garfield crossed the room, taking a seat at Tristan's study desk.
"We found the formula to replicate Bertal's solution," he began gravely. "The Headmaster has entrusted it to her most skilled and loyal scientists."
"That is good," Tristan replied faintly.
Garfield exhaled, unease shadowing his expression.
"What truly happened down there? When we found you, you were unconscious beside a severed arm—an arm that could only have belonged to a beast. Tell me the truth, Tristan."
Tristan turned his head slightly toward Garfield, struggling to form an answer. How could he reveal what had occurred without exposing the truth of his survival—or of the shadow that fought in his stead? He could not feign that it was his ability, for he had no Star Weapon at hand, and thus should not have been able to manifest any power. Cornered, he searched for words, knowing Garfield would not accept silence.
At last, Tristan sighed and offered a half-truth.
"I would have perished if not for the intervention of a shadowy figure. It was that figure who severed the beast's arm."
In part, the words he spoke were true.
Garfield pondered in silence, turning over the mystery of this phantom savior, and chose not to press Tristan further. Instead, he urged his friend to rest, but before departing, he delivered one last message: the Headmaster demanded their presence at dawn, before the day's lessons began.
Tristan inclined his head in weary assent, hissing softly as pain shot through him once more. Sleep claimed him soon after, as he awaited the trials of the coming day.
When next he awoke, his pain had lessened. Though aches lingered, he could move with greater ease, perhaps proof of his growing strength and expanding reservoir of energy. Dressing quickly, he joined Garfield, and together they made their way to the Headmaster's office. Once inside, Garfield locked the door behind them.
"What were you thinking, venturing into that place alone!?" the Headmaster thundered, her voice sharp with fury.
Tristan scratched the back of his crimson hair before answering. "Had we delayed any longer, Eric—or whoever orchestrates these schemes—would surely have been alerted. I could not take that risk. Besides, you now possess Bertal Wenkay's notes. What, then, is the problem?"
The Headmaster's eyes hardened, her tone brimming with both anger and fear.
"The problem is your utter disregard for your own life! What value are Wenkay's notes if you lie dead before me?"
Tristan chuckled softly. Within her eyes he glimpsed not mere authority, but concern—concern that stirred the memory of someone once dear to him. He smiled faintly.
"I apologize. I will not act so recklessly again. But tell me—what is it you wish to discuss?"
Her expression sobered. "With Wenkay's formula secured, our scientists have begun crafting an antidote. Yet time is against us. We cannot be certain when the infected children will succumb and transform into beasts."
"That is reassuring," Garfield replied, while Tristan remained silent.
"But tell me this," she continued, her gaze narrowing. "How did you discover that place?"
Garfield's eyes shifted toward his brother. "I was not the one who found it. Tristan did."
The Headmaster's piercing stare turned to Tristan, awaiting his explanation. He, reluctant to reveal too much, sought a plausible excuse.
This is becoming unbearably tiresome.
"I recalled seeing the name Wenkay once in a book. At first, I thought little of it. But later I assumed it bore great significance, and when Eric mentioned the bloodline, I sent Garfield to investigate further."
"But why pursue that bloodline in particular?" she pressed.
"I believed that only in places warded by Star Beasts or within forbidden grounds could one hope to hide a secret laboratory."
Though these conclusions had not crossed Tristan's mind when he first dispatched Garfield, he realized they aligned perfectly with Wenkay's reasoning.
The Headmaster gave a measured nod, pressing no further.
"Speaking of that bloodline," she continued, "Bertal's notes reveal he had been studying them extensively."
The two brothers fell silent, listening intently.
"I do not know if such knowledge should be revealed, for every trace of this name has been purged from history. Yet given the risks you faced, you have earned the right to know. According to Bertal's records, the progenitor of that bloodline was called Zafrit. The three families who carry his power—those of Bertal, Wilson, and Gartien—are his direct descendants."