James woke to a snowy morning.
The entire castle was blanketed in white—the first snow of winter. It stretched as far as the eye could see, glittering orange and purple in the early light of dawn. The sun was rising, casting a soft glow over the shimmering snow.
Inside, the dorms were already stirring. Students milled about groggily, some still yawning, others buzzing with excitement at the snowfall.
James sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. For a moment, he simply stared ahead—then it hit him.
The memory.
A rush of panic surged through him.
"Oh no—what happened to them?" he gasped, leaping out of bed.
A sharp pain shot through his right arm. "Ouch!"
He looked down—and froze.
Runes.
Golden ones, etched into his skin like ink made of fire. They stretched from the back of his hand to his shoulder, nearly identical to the markings on his Sigrod.
He held his arm up, inspecting them.
"What is this…?"
As he stood beside the bed, the runes suddenly flared to life—glowing deep green. A burning sensation coursed through his hand, intense and searing, like fire beneath the skin.
And then—
Just as suddenly—
They vanished.
James blinked, breathing hard.
I have to find the professor. I have to tell someone.
Without another thought, he rushed out of the room.
In the common room, Annie looked up from her book. "James? Where are you off to?"
But James didn't respond. He darted past her and out into the corridor.
He moved fast through the castle's winding halls, taking a sharp turn—
Bam!
He slammed into someone.
"Ouch! Watch where you're going!" a girl snapped, staggering back.
James reached down to help her—
And froze.
His blood ran cold.
It was her.
The girl from the cages.
The one with the missing hair. The one who had warned him to run.
But now… she looked fine. No bruises, no blood. Just—confused.
James stumbled back, eyes wide, hands shaking.
Her voice—when she spoke—was the same.
"Are you alright?" she asked, tilting her head.
His mind was spinning. What is this? Is it real? Is it her?
He lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders.
"Hey—you! How did you escape? Where are the others?" His voice shook. "Where are they?!"
She looked at him, alarmed. "Let go of me—what are you talking about?"
"I mean the room! The cages—the monster—the ch—"
"Leave me alone!" she snapped, yanking free. "You're scaring me."
James stood frozen, stunned.
His heart thundered in his chest.
Was it her? Or just someone who looked like her?
Whatever the answer—he had to find out.
"I'm going!" the girl snapped, brushing herself off. Anger flashing on her eyes as she stormed away.
As she passed, a nearby cat hissed and screeched at her.
"Meow… hissss!"
James's thoughts spiraled.
Wait—what is going on? She's supposed to be dead. I saw her. Something's not right…
He turned and bolted down the corridor.
"I have to find the professor!"
"Professor! Professor—I need to talk to you!" James burst into Professor Henry's office.
But it wasn't the professor who turned to face him.
It was the headmistress.
"Yes, Arcturus? What's with all the ruckus?" Her tone was sharp, cold.
James froze. Panic gripped him. He couldn't speak.
"Oh… it's nothing major, Professor," he stammered. "Just… a seal I've been practicing. I'll wait outside."
He backed out quickly and shut the door behind him.
Moments later, the headmistress exited. She gave James a long, suspicious look—but said nothing.
Then Professor Henry's voice called from inside. "Well? Come in, Arcturus."
James stepped in. "Professor… the passageways," he gasped. "I saw students. Hurt students."
Professor Henry's face darkened.
"I warned you, boy…" he muttered under his breath—too softly for James to catch.
"Show me," the professor said, rising slowly. He picked up a silver-handled cane from beside his desk, its shaft carved with intricate lions.
Together, they moved swiftly through the castle, winding through hallways until they reached a pair of armored knight statues standing face-to-face.
Now wearing red gloves, the professor removed one and raised the back of his hand to the nearest statue.
The statue nodded.
Both knights stepped aside in perfect unison.
The wall creaked open, revealing the hidden passage once again.
James didn't flinch. Not anymore.
This castle is full of secrets. That's just how it is, he thought grimly as they stepped into the shadows.
"Now, give me your hand," the professor said, his voice sharp and commanding.
James obeyed.
Henry gripped James's wrist with one hand, pressing the other gently to his forehead.
"Ah… I see…" the professor murmured, his eyes flicking rapidly, as if reading an invisible book. "Through here and there, then—"
Suddenly, James's legs buckled. He collapsed, panting.
"You overused your Sar yesterday," Henry muttered, a flicker of concern in his tone. "I can't get the full picture… Your essence is too drained. What kind of seal did this to you?"
He sighed. "Well then, I'll see the place for myself."
He turned and began walking. There was purpose in his stride—he knew these tunnels well.
James followed, the darkness deepening with every step.
At last, they arrived.
James gasped.
There it was—the shattered archway. The broken gate.
And beyond it… the door.
Or at least, where it should have been.
They stepped through.
"Stay behind me," Professor Henry ordered, raising his cane.
With a swift twist, it transformed into a Sigrod.
"Light the way."
The tip of his Sigrod flared to life fireflies poured out his Sig, casting long shadows across the stone walls.
But where the monstrous door had once stood… there was now only solid stone.
"No… No, no, no. This can't be," the professor muttered. "They can't move this fast."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch, scattering a fine white powder across the floor. The dust caught the light—and shimmered.
Then it began to swirl, forming ghostly images in midair.
A scene unfolded: James, walking toward the wall… disappearing through it.
Then another: James stumbling back out, bruised and shaking.
The images faded like smoke.
"Tell me everything," the professor said quietly.
James nodded, recounting the entire ordeal—from the imprisoned children to the girl he'd just seen in the hallway.
When he finished, the professor fell silent.
"I see," he said at last, his voice colder than before.
"…Let's leave."
They walked in silence. The professor muttered seals under his breath as they retraced their steps, his Sigrod weaving intricate signs through the air—sealing away any trace of their visit.
Finally, they reached the exit.
"That should do it. No one will know we were here," the professor said.
Then—he turned his Sigrod on James.
"Professor? What are you doing?" James gasped, backing away.
"You're too young to be involved in any of this. You shouldn't carry such memories."
A white glow filled the passageway.
"Forget," the professor whispered.
A blinding flash.
Then—silence.
James stood alone in the corridor, blinking slowly. His heartbeat calmed. His head ached.
And he couldn't remember… why he had come here at all.
Wait… why am I standing here? James thought, puzzled.
Oh, right. I was going skating today. I should probably get my gear.
He turned and headed back to the common room. Within minutes, he had gathered everything and was on his way to the Hall.
The hall buzzed with chatter. The ceiling glowed with floating spheres of flame—each glowing a different shade. High above, massive crystals hovered, catching the light and scattering it like starlight. It looked as if the stars themselves had descended into the castle. The warmth of the flames filled the hall.
James scanned the crowd, looking for Johnny.
But… he was nowhere to be found.
Johnny was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. He never missed breakfast.
"Aye, Remus—have you seen Johnny by chance?" James asked.
"Haven't seen him since this morning," Remus replied, his voice soft and barely audible. He was so lazy he barely moved, let alone spoke.
"It's unlike him to skip breakfast," James muttered, rising from the table.
"Maybe he's helping one of the professors with something," Remus added, sipping his tea.
"Yeah, maybe," said Naftali, who was brushing a sleek black cat perched on the table.
James left the Great Hall and made his way through the castle's old corridors. The walls were ancient—some of the stones cracked, as if struck by something heavy long ago.
Eventually, he reached the bath chambers.
The bath chamber was enormous, more like a private pool. Dozens of taps lined the walls, each designed to produce a different magical effect.
James passed the main bath and headed toward the changing room.
As he neared the door, he froze.
A sound.
A groan.
Someone… in pain?
"Johnny? Is that you?" James called, inching closer.
The groaning grew louder—but no voice answered.
His heart pounded. He reached for the door—
"What are you doing sneaking around, James?"
"AHH!" James yelled, leaping back—and slammed his forehead into the door.
"Ow—bloody hell! Where did you come from, Dorian?!"
Dorian stood beside the bath, grinning. "I've been here the whole time. Saw you walk right past me while I was soaking."
James exhaled, rubbing his head. "Have you seen Johnny? He's been missing since morning. I thought I heard something from the changing room…"
"I've been here the whole time. Haven't seen or heard anyone. You're probably just hearing things," Dorian said, placing a hand on James's shoulder.
James frowned. "Still… I'm going to check, just in case."
He reached for the handle and opened the door.
A huge gust of wind burst from the changing room, nearly knocking them over.
James staggered. "Where did that come from?" he muttered. "There aren't any windows in there… are there?"
He stepped inside, Dorian close behind.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" Dorian called out.
"Ahh!"
A sharp cry echoed through the chamber. Both boys froze.
"I think it came from the steam room," Dorian said quietly.
They rushed forward. James pushed aside the thick steam with his hands as they entered.
The air was hot, damp, and blinding. Slowly, the mist began to clear.
And then they saw it.
At the far end of the room, lying motionless on one of the benches, was a boy.
He was groaning softly.
"Johnny? Is that you?" James called, stepping closer.
But with each step, his heart sank—then a wave of relief washed over him… only to be replaced by dread.
It wasn't Johnny.
But it was still someone.
And he was badly hurt.
The boy had brown hair and skin as pale as death. Deep, bloody cuts covered his body.
But worst of all—
He stared wide.
Completely white.
Turned inside out.