Shadows in the Hall
The great moving Star screen of the Great Hall didn't just display names; it projected them into the air in shimmering script that hummed with a low, harmonic frequency. Groups of students hovered around it, their faces illuminated by the amber glow of the scrolling text.
Hazel, Evervine, and Marcel stood at the edge of the crowd, Leo Ambrose trailing slightly behind them like a quiet shadow. The excitement in the academy was a physical weight, but for Hazel, it felt like static on her skin.
"Fifth years and up only," Marcel muttered, his eyes scanning the glowing categories. "That's us. We just made the cut."
"Barely," Evervine added, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared at the Sentinel's Stand category. "But look at the schools we're up against. The Bastion of Iron... their Transfiguration teams are basically living weapons. And the Gilded Spire? Those duelists don't just cast; they weave spells faster than we can blink."
Hazel didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the Phase-Navigation slot. It was the "Traveler's" category. She glanced back at Leo with a small smile, then looked back to the list. She would enter the Phase Navigation for her father. Below it, the list of registered competitors from the rival schools began to scroll: Julian Vane from the Gilded Spire, and a name that made Leo flinch—Cassius Ambrose, Leo's older cousin, representing the Zenith Institute in the Glass Duel.
Suddenly, the air in the Great Hall seemed to thin. The noise of the hundreds of gossiping students faded into a dull, underwater roar. A cold, oily sensation crawled up Hazel's spine, starting at the base of her neck and spreading toward her temples.
"Hazel."
The voice wasn't in the room. It was inside her mind, resonant and ancient. Gaelia.
"Do you feel it? The stitch in the fabric?"
Hazel gripped her wand in her robes, her knuckles going white. It was a familiar sensation, but she didn't immediately place it then—in the back of her mind—she heard Evervine and Marcel talking, and it clicked. "TheDoll?"
"It is here," Gaelia whispered, her voice like shards of glass clattering to a stone floor. "Within the walls. Not in the Dreamscape, not in the Folds... it seems to have found either you or I. I cannot tell who it has focused on. It is somewhere within the Academy; maybe it is not fully in the academy. It is as if it is in two places at once, and I cannot lock in on it."
Hazel's breath hitched. The high-energy buzz of the tournament suddenly felt like a distraction, a bright light intended to blind them to the predator moving through the shadows of the school. She looked toward the high windows, toward the stained-glass image of Mata, but the tree remained still. The Doll was hiding in the "quiet" places—the abandoned corridors, the deep cellars, or perhaps right under their feet in the vine-floors. Or it might even be within the layers still, simply calling out and confusing Gaelia.
There was no way to know right now. And as Hazel made a decision to go speak with the Headmistress, a sharp voice cut through her thoughts as she felt Leo straighten by her side.
"Hello Mrs. Potter, um, McGonagall. How are you today? I would like to extend our most heartfelt regrets about the passing of your father."
Adam Ambrose gave her his most regretful look as a large, dark brown wicker gift basket appeared in his arms. He extended it out to Leo, who quickly fumbled to take it. Hazel watched as the little boy struggled to stay upright with it in his arms. She spoke a short incantation; the basket lightened, and he gave her a grateful smile.
She looked to Adam Ambrose. "Thank you, Lord Ambrose. I appreciate the thought."
She turned to leave, and the leader of House Ambrose reached out. "I was hoping that House Ambrose could sponsor you in the tournaments. I am sure you do not need help in the divination category, but perhaps in the traveler category. I know you will enter in remembrance of your father."
Hazel looked to him for a long moment. She wanted to tell him to focus on Rosa and the Emotion Doll, but she smiled instead. "Thank you for the offer. Once we have more information, if I need help, I will contact you." She turned briskly and walked off, dragging Leo along. Evervine and Marcel quickly followed, Evervine looking at him with suspicion.
Adam Ambrose tapped down his frustration. At least she spoke to him. He would take that as a win—at the very least, a stepping stone to more.
Meanwhile, far from the light of the Great Hall, a dreamscape gate opened in the lower cellars of the forgotten Ambrose Estate. It wasn't a clean, secure gate, either. It was a jagged tear, smelling of forgotten dreams and soured goals.
Rosa stumbled through, her robes shredded as if she had traveled through low-hanging rocks and thorny trees. Her skin was a sickly green, and one of her eyes remained rolled back and cloudy white in a permanent, terrifying trance. She collapsed onto the cold stone floor, gasping for air that felt too thick for her lungs.
A shadow fell over her.
Vīsio stood there, her tall, symmetrical form perfectly still. She didn't reach down to help her. She didn't offer a word of comfort. She simply looked down at her broken form with a look of profound, icy contempt.
She slowly shook her head—a gesture of pure disapproval that carried more weight than a physical blow. To her, Rosa wasn't just incompetent; she was a fool who dreamed of things clearly out of her reach.
"You were lost in the Dreamscape for three days, Rosa," Vīsio's voice was a smooth, terrifying silk. "You want to be more than the current Mistress of Fate, and you can't even navigate the dreamscape properly." She looked to the jagged gate still open behind them. "Can you not even close your own dream gate?"
There was a long pause. Vīsio sighed dramatically and raised a hand. The portal closed, and the catacombs instantly freshened. She looked down at the young witch with contempt. "Hand over what belongs to me."
Rosa struggled to pull The Eye of the Void from her tattered robes. The perfectly round crystal seemed inert in the dimness of the catacombs. Once Vīsio's fingertips touched it, its deep blue core sloshed as if it were water disturbed in a crystalline glass. Vīsio smiled. She had finally regained it, and this world would tremble for what it had done to her.