The transition from the Archive to reality was like a plunge into icy water. Serena didn't wait for her heart rate to slow; she threw back the covers, her bare feet hitting the cold dorm floor. She didn't even grab a jacket, fueled by a frantic need to confirm that what she'd just experienced wasn't a solitary hallucination.
She threw open the dormitory door, nearly colliding with a figure standing in the darkened hallway.
"Wanda!" Serena hissed, her voice a mix of relief and terror.
The red-haired girl was there, leaning against the stone wall. She looked just as disheveled as Serena—her eyes wide, her breathing shallow. She wasn't wearing her nightgown anymore, but a heavy cloak thrown over her shoulders.
"So, it was real," Serena whispered, searching Wanda's face.
"Real enough that I can still feel the jingle of those bells in my teeth," Wanda replied, her voice grim. "Well... good to meet you in the flesh, Serena. Now, we need to move. The longer we wait, the more of a chance that 'crack' in your mind widens."
They didn't waste time on pleasantries. The two of them slipped out of the dormitory, their shadows stretching long under the silver moonlight as they raced across the silent Academy grounds. They bypassed the training fields and headed toward the outskirts of the campus, where the architecture shifted from cold obsidian to a more ancient, ivy-covered stone.
The Headmistress's residence loomed out of the mist—a sprawling, Gothic manor that looked more like a fortress than a home. It sat on a jagged cliff overlooking the sea, the roar of the waves a constant, low-frequency growl in the background.
Serena didn't hesitate. She climbed the marble steps and hammered on the heavy oak doors. For a long minute, there was only the sound of the wind. Then, she hammered again, louder this time.
Finally, the locks clicked with a series of heavy, metallic thuds. The door swung open to reveal Headmistress Morgana.
She wasn't in her regal academy robes. She wore a deep purple silk dressing gown, her hair loose and wild, and her eyes—usually sharp and calculating—were narrowed with murderous intent.
"There better be someone dying, a continental invasion in progress, or the literal end of the world," Morgana rasped, her voice dripping with venom. "Because if you woke me up for a lost textbook, I swear to God I will turn you both into garden ornaments."
"It's urgent, Headmistress," Serena blurted out, her voice cracking. "Please. Let us in."
Wanda stepped forward, her expression uncharacteristically grave. "Her life is on the line."
Morgana's irritation didn't vanish, but it was instantly overlaid by a cold, professional alertness. She scanned Serena's face, her eyes glowing with a faint, predatory light.
"Get in," Morgana commanded, stepping aside. "And don't touch the artifacts."
The interior of the house was a chaotic library of rare curios and humming magical relics. They sat at a low obsidian coffee table in the center of a circular living room. Morgana didn't offer tea. She sat across from them, her hands steepled under her chin.
"Talk," Morgana said. "Start from the beginning."
They told the all the events that transpired from the beginning.
Morgana leaned back into her velvet armchair, the shadows of the room dancing across her sharp features. The irritation was gone, replaced by a cold, clinical intensity that made the air feel thin.
"Listen to me very carefully," Morgana began, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "From this moment forward, you do not tell anyone that you possess two Ascender paths. More importantly, no one—not your friends, not your family, not even the gods you pray to—can know that the second path is Void."
She leaned forward, the glow from the fireplace reflecting in her dark eyes. "For centuries, the world has viewed the Void not as a power, but as a plague. We have been hunting and purging Void-path Ascenders since the dawn of the first Empire. To the Council, you aren't a Hero, Serena; you're an infection. Do you understand?"
Serena felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. She nodded slowly, her throat tight. Beside her, Wanda gave a sharp, solemn nod of her own.
"Now, about your 'guest,'" Morgana continued, her gaze shifting to the tea table. "You cannot create a Mind Domain at Stage Ⅱ — Alignment. It's structurally impossible. The psyche lacks the foundational weight to anchor a reality. I didn't architect my own inner sanctum until I reached Stage Ⅴ — Imprint."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Serena's voice rose, bordering on frantic. "I've already lost one memory just to buy a few hours! If I can't build a Domain, that jester is going to hollow me out from the inside!"
Wanda turned to Morgana, her eyes pleading. "Come on, they call you 'The Absolute One' for a reason. You're one of the strongest beings on this side of the continent. Can't you just go in there and kill it yourself?"
Morgana let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a tired titan. "I am a Stage Ⅷ — Dominion Ascender, Wanda. My soul doesn't just 'enter' a space; it colonizes it. If I were to project my consciousness into Serena's fragile, Stage II mind to fight a Void entity, I wouldn't just kill the creature. I would incinerate Serena's entire Archive. She'd be a vegetable before I even threw the first strike."
The room fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the crackle of the hearth and the distant roar of the sea. Morgana tapped a rhythm against the arm of her chair, her mind clearly racing through forbidden texts and forgotten lore.
"Normally, the soul must be Imprinted to hold form," Morgana muttered, her voice trailing off as she paced the length of the rug. She looked like a scientist staring at a formula that refused to balance. "But the Void... it doesn't follow the architecture of creation. It doesn't build; it consumes. It's a black hole where a foundation should be."
She stopped, her shadow stretching long and jagged against the hearth. She looked up at Serena, her expression unreadable—a mix of pity and a cold, academic curiosity.
"There might be a way to cheat the system," Morgana said slowly. "A Pseudo-Domain. Instead of building walls to keep the Jester out, you create a Pseudo-Domain."
Serena took a deep, shuddering breath. Her hands clenched into fists, the knuckles white. The thought of using the very power that was hollowing her out felt like swallowing poison to kill a parasite.
"Tell me what I have to do," Serena said, her voice dropping an octave, filled with a hard, desperate edge. "I'll do it. I'm not losing another second of who I am."
Morgana stared at her for a long beat, then let out a heavy, deflating sigh. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, looking suddenly very old.
"That's the problem, Serena. I don't know how to construct a Pseudo-Domain. At my level, I haven't had to 'cheat' for a very long time."
She walked to the window, looking out toward the dark, jagged silhouette of the Academy's training spires.
"But I know someone who lives in the cracks of the system." She paused, the name tasting bitter on her tongue. "Henry. Henry Remington might know how to do it."
Wanda's eyes went wide. "The guy from the cafeteria? The one who looks like he hasn't slept since the Great War?"
"The very same," Morgana said, her voice grim. "I might know where he is."