Location: Headmaster Zevrin's Office — Ashenwell Academy
Grim didn't knock.
He pushed the ancient doors open, flanked by Sparks and the weight of what he'd seen.
Zevrin sat at his desk, one hand over a steaming cup of thornberry brew, the other flipping through floating parchments that rearranged themselves at his will. Time warped faintly around him, as if the world moved slower in his presence.
He didn't look up.
"You went into the Spire."
Grim stopped in front of the desk. "You knew?"
Zevrin finally met his gaze. "Of course I knew. I told her to take you."
Sparks hovered above the chair beside Grim, flickering with static. "You sent us in there?"
"The Court isn't our only enemy. It's what they're trying to unleash that matters more."
Grim stepped forward. "Why keep it a secret?"
Zevrin's smile vanished.
"Because most students wouldn't understand. And the rest? Would try to stop it. Poorly."
He waved a hand, and the walls of the room dissolved into temporal glass.
They stood now in a massive floating echo space.
Below them? The Memory Root.
A tree—not made of wood, but of woven light, stone, and dying stars—spiraled down beneath the school, so large it defied dimension. Its branches touched the limits of time itself. Its roots pierced into blackness beyond space.
Sparks whispered, "This is where the veil between worlds is weakest…"
Zevrin nodded. "The Court wants to carve a path straight through it. And they nearly succeeded once, years ago. The Guardians sealed it, but at a cost."
"What cost?" Grim asked.
The illusion shifted. A Guardian—massive, draconic, shrouded in flame and ruin—fell into the root to seal it.
Zevrin's voice was barely above a whisper.
"The First Flame. The true progenitor of the Guardians. He never returned."
Sparks turned to Grim slowly. "Then who did your dragon inherit its power from…?"
Zevrin's eyes narrowed. "You've been chosen, Grim. Not by fate. But by something older. You didn't survive Velthar. You were tested."
"And I passed?" Grim asked, his tone cold.
Zevrin smirked. "Barely. But barely still counts."
Meanwhile — Beneath the Memory Root
The runes trembled.
In the deepest pit where no Guardian dares tread, something stirs. Tentacles twitch in the folds between time. A name long erased tries to push its way back.
"We remember your flame, little Solace…"
"Let us in."
Back in the Office
Grim turned away from the fading illusion, jaw clenched.
"If they come… I won't run."
Zevrin stood, smiling with something that looked like approval—and deep regret.
"Good. Because they won't stop. And you're the key."
He paused.
"Train hard. The Court will move soon."
Grim turned to leave, but the Headmaster called after him.
"One more thing, Sol—Grim."
He corrected himself.
"Keep Sparks close. That soul within her? It remembers the fracture. And someday, it may try to remember who it was."
Sparks went pale.
"That's... not ominous at all."