Michael hesitated a moment longer before pushing the heavy doors open. They creaked like something out of an old castle, and for a second, he half-expected bats to come flying out. Instead, what greeted him was… paperwork.
The entrance chamber wasn't what he had imagined for the head of the greatest magical academy he had ever seen. The pale stone walls were lined with shelves stuffed with scrolls, and the faint scratching of a quill echoed through the space. At the far end of the room sat a desk so cluttered with ledgers and papers that Michael wondered if the person behind it was buried alive.
A man with thinning brown hair and sharp glasses peered up at him, his quill still moving. His robe wasn't fancy like the other mages Michael had glimpsed, but neat and practical, the kind worn by someone who spent more time writing than duelling.
"Ah," the man said flatly. "Another lost lamb."
Michael blinked. "Excuse me?"
The clerk adjusted his glasses and looked him over like he was checking a shopping list. "Yes, yes, you're the boy. Sent to see Headmistress Halden. Right on time—well, give or take the usual wandering." He sniffed, jotting something down with quick flicks of his quill. "Name?"
"Michael," he said, still standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"Surname?"
"Um… just Michael?"
The clerk paused, then raised an eyebrow. "Just Michael. How… efficient." His quill scratched again. "Alright then, Just Michael, you'll want to head up the spiral stair, third floor, last door on the right. Don't knock too hard; the griffin doesn't like it."
"The griffin?" Michael asked.
"You'll see." The man waved him off without further explanation, already diving back into his mountain of scrolls.
Michael lingered for a moment, feeling both dismissed and strangely curious. The air in the chamber had that same heavy quality as outside—thick with energy, yet somehow refreshing. He wondered if the clerk even noticed it anymore, or if you just stopped feeling it after a while.
"Um… thanks," he muttered.
"Mm-hm," the clerk replied absently. "Don't get lost and, please, try not to get eaten before your first day."
Michael froze mid-step. "…Wait, what?"
But the clerk had already gone back to scribbling, as though Michael had ceased to exist.
Shaking his head, Michael turned toward the spiral staircase. He wasn't sure if the man was joking, or if he should actually be worried about whatever this griffin thing was. Either way, the only way to find out was up.
Heading toward the staircase, Michael noticed multiple paintings, all depicting different scenes. Some were gruesome and others were peaceful, but he always had the feeling of something nagging at his consciousness. As if he was being watched, shaking his head, he kept going without giving in to the details. Climbing the stairs to the third floor, he opened the door, and the whole environment changed, as if he had teleported somewhere else. It wasn't the old pale stone and depressive atmosphere anymore, but what lay before him was a garden with what felt like a sky above his head.
"What? Am I on the roof? But I'm pretty sure I'm on the third floor?" Michael was dazed in his confusion
Michael stepped forward cautiously, his shoes crunching against gravel instead of stone. The "sky" stretched endlessly above, pale blue with streaks of drifting clouds.
He glanced back over his shoulder—expecting to see the dark, narrow staircase he'd just climbed—but all that remained was a simple wooden door standing on its own in the middle of the garden path.
Michael rubbed his eyes.
"Okay… either I'm dreaming, or this place is officially insane."
The path wound between hedges taller than him, dotted with flowers that seemed to glow faintly in the light. Some petals bent toward him as if following his movement, and he swore one of the blossoms blinked when he looked at it too long. He quickly shifted his gaze, deciding he didn't want to test if flowers could feel irritated.
At the garden's center stood a pedestal, and on it loomed something enormous: a griffin statue carved of marble, silver and gold, wings outstretched as though ready to strike. Its eyes shimmered faintly, and Michael could feel their weight pressing on him. The clerk hadn't been joking—it really did feel like the thing was watching.
"Right," Michael muttered, swallowing hard. "Don't knock too hard. Got it."
The griffin's gaze never wavered. The air around it seemed thicker, charged, as if daring him to come closer.
For a second, Michael thought about turning back, but the door behind him had vanished completely, swallowed by the garden. His only way forward was toward the statue—and, presumably, Headmistress Halden's office beyond.
Taking a breath to steady himself, he squared his shoulders.
"Alright then," he said under his breath. "Third floor garden sky… creepy bird statue… totally normal school."
And with that, he stepped onto the path leading straight toward the griffin.
Noticing an opening in the hedges on his right, he made his way around the statue. While still keeping a safe distance from the griffon, the weirdest thing happened when the statue always seemed to face him while he was making his way around it. Constantly feeling the griffon stare as if he was its prey, "Alright, this is really creepy. I have to get out of here," mumbled Michael before quickening his steps.
Reaching the door, he softly knocked three times, but nothing happened. "Why isn't she answering? She was expecting me?" Nervousness rising up in the pit of his stomach. 'Should I knock harder?'
Looking back at the Griffon, it felt the statue was staring at him even harder. *gulp* 'well, here goes nothing'
Knock, Knock, Knock. Three louder knocks, but before anything could be heard, the door was already open with a hand grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside.
*SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*
"Goddamn bird!" said an old-sounding voice while slamming the door. BANG! Everything seemed to shake once or twice, and then there was silence.
"Well? Don't just stand there gawking. Shut your mouth before a fly wanders in."