"Headmaster Aurelius Dreymark… you, here at this hour?"The Minister's voice carried a note of feigned surprise, though his eyes betrayed none."You should not be so startled by my presence," replied Aurelius calmly, his tone as steady as a mountain. "If I am not mistaken, Minister Crassus, you must have foreseen that I would come to meet you."
A sharp breath, then a faint, sardonic smile crossed Crassus's face."Ah, well… perhaps you are right, Headmaster. Indeed, I had some inkling you might appear. Yet, you must also know—as surely as I—that your visit here is meaningless. What you seek… cannot be done."
For a moment, silence lingered like a drawn blade. Then Aurelius's lips curved into the slightest smile, a glimmer of quiet defiance."Well then," he said softly, "what harm is there in trying, Minister?"
Crassus leaned back, his voice smooth as polished steel."Hmm. If that is how you see it, tell me, Headmaster—what aid do you expect from me?"
"Before I listen to you," Minister Crassus said smoothly, his ringed fingers drumming against the table, "tell me first—what will it be? Tea… or wine?"
Headmaster Aurelius Dreymark's gaze was steady, his voice calm yet edged with steel. "Neither. I seek no refreshment, Minister. I came only to speak… and then I shall take my leave."
Crassus smirked, his eyes gleaming with sly amusement. "Ah, I see… the great Headmaster fears I might slip something into his drink. A charm potion, perhaps, to bind you to our cause."
Aurelius chuckled, a sound low and dangerous. "Do not mistake caution for fear, Minister. You know well—no charm of yours could ever sway me. Your brews and potions wither against my blood. I have no reason to fear you." His expression hardened. "And besides, I did not come to argue with you over what we both know—you will never arrest Theron Ravencrest. You and your entire Ministry have your excuses well rehearsed. Spare me the pretense."
For the first time, Crassus's composure faltered. Surprise flickered across his face. "If not to press for Theron's arrest… then why are you here, Headmaster? I thought surely you came to force my hand, to convince me to issue the warrant."
Dreymark leaned forward, his presence filling the chamber like a storm gathering in silence. "I do not waste time where no victory lies. Half your Ministry bends knee to Theron already—you alone cannot chain him. No… I came only with one demand. Tomorrow, when you summon him before the Ministry to absolve his crimes, you will give him this warning: he may twist the world as he pleases, but he will keep his hands far from Grimswald. Tell him this, Crassus—one more misstep, and I will not forgive him again."
The air grew heavy, and before the Minister could respond, Dreymark continued, his tone like thunder wrapped in ice. "And there is a second matter. Tonight, I take with me the Ancient Book of Magic. That knowledge is no longer safe here. This will remain between you and me."
Open mentioning the book, the great oak table between them trembled faintly, as if stirred by a heartbeat that was not its own. On its surface lay the Ancient Book, bound in blackened leather and etched with runes that glowed faintly like embers. The air around it vibrated, thick with energy—neither wholly light nor dark, but ancient, primeval.
A low hum resonated from its pages, like a whisper only the soul could hear. Shadows lengthened unnaturally along the chamber walls, as though drawn toward the book, and the faint scent of burnt parchment filled the air.
Crassus's eyes flickered toward it with concealed hunger. He could feel the aura pressing against his chest, like unseen hands testing his resolve. It was intoxicating and suffocating all at once—a call to power that promised greatness, yet demanded something in return.
Crassus surged to his feet, outrage breaking through his mask. "You cannot do this, Headmaster! The Ancient Book must not leave these walls. It would endanger everything—the professors, the students, perhaps even the balance itself—"
"Enough." Dreymark's voice rolled like distant thunder, quiet but filled with unshakable command. His eyes glowed faintly, a reminder of the power he barely contained. "Do not test me, Minister. You know well—I honor the Ministry out of respect, not fear. But look around you. Tell me, does this Ministry still deserve respect? When it shields murderers, when it turns a blind eye to Theron's carnage?"
Crassus's lips parted, but Dreymark's words cut sharper than steel.
"You think the Book safe here? Hear this: Theron Ravencrest was in these halls yesterday. He came to claim the Book. Had I not arrived in time, you and I would not be speaking now. By dawn, all you cling to would already lie in ruin—just as the Valestra family lies in ruin."
At the mention of the Valestras, the chamber grew cold. Dreymark's aura pressed down like a storm cloud, suffocating and immense. For a heartbeat, even the Minister's breath faltered.
But Crassus, clawing back his composure, forced his voice to steady. "I cannot stop you, Dreymark. But at least tell me—where will you take the Book? If you bring it to Grimswald, you endanger your own students. Even your precious professors may not withstand its power."
The Headmaster's gaze burned, unwavering. "Do not waste breath trying to sway me. You think to frighten me with Theron's name, but you forget—he has lost his strength. And before he reclaims it, I will forge an army ready to crush him. This time, Crassus, when light and shadow clash again, the light will not falter. Mark my words."
With that, Aurelius Dreymark rose, his cloak sweeping behind him like the edge of a storm. His footsteps echoed with finality as he left the chamber, carrying with him the weight of fate itself.
Minister Crassus remained rooted where he stood, frustration twisting his features. Alone in the silence, he could only watch as the Headmaster's presence faded from sight—leaving behind a chill, and the terrible certainty that Dreymark's words were not mere threats, but prophecy.