Earlier that morning in the headmaster's office, two figures sat across from each other—a luxurious mahogany desk between them. Bartholomew Arcadius and Peter Stark sat in silence, each filled with their own thoughts.
"It was as you said, Bart." The tall man said, looking tired. "But it wasn't the Arcane Church…"
The headmaster shook his head, his eyes meeting his old friend's, "The church has a hand in this, I'm sure of it. They were probably the one's that provided the ancient ritual." He said with a clear confidence.
"I have half a mind to go there and interrogate this occult group myself." He added fiercely.
Stark let out a deep sigh, "you would only complicate your families relationship with the royal family even more if you did that, you know that fact as well as me."
Bartholomew nodded, a small flash of irritation creeping onto his grave features. "Two thousand years—ever since the beginning of the new age began—our families have been linked."
