The iron door of the sealed archive slammed shut with a resounding clang, the sound reverberating through the dimly lit chamber like a death knell. Kael froze, his hand still clutching the ledger that bore his family's name, the weight of the revelation sinking into his bones. The air grew heavier, thick with the musty scent of ancient parchment and the faint tang of magic that pulsed from the royal runes now glowing faintly on the door. Elara spun around, her uninjured hand already crackling with the ember-like glow of her fire magic, while Lir stumbled back, his pale face draining of what little color it had left. Gav and Mara, who had been standing guard outside, were nowhere to be seen—likely caught in the proctors' distraction gone wrong.
"Someone knew we'd come," Elara hissed, her voice tight with anger as she pressed her palm against the door. The runes flared brighter, repelling her magic with a sharp jolt that made her wince. "These wards are stronger than I thought. They've been reinforced."
Kael's mind raced, piecing together the clues. Proctor Lysara's midnight warning, the unsigned note, the precise timing of the lock—someone had orchestrated this. The royals, or at least a faction within House Vaelthar, were tightening the noose. His eyes darted to the ledger, the entry about his family's eradication glaring up at him: *"Veyrin bloodline eradicated. Forbidden magic confirmed. One survivor unaccounted for."* They knew he was alive, and now they'd cornered him. He shoved the book into his cloak, the leather binding rough against his fingers, and forced his voice to steady. "We need to get out. Now."
Lir, trembling, shuffled to a nearby shelf, his hands fumbling with a dusty tome. "There might be a way," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Old records sometimes have… escape routes. The archivists built them in case of raids." His fingers traced the spine of the book, revealing a hidden latch. With a creak, a panel in the wall slid open, revealing a narrow passageway shrouded in darkness.
Elara raised an eyebrow, her skepticism warring with necessity. "A secret tunnel? Convenient. But it could be a trap."
"It's our only option," Kael said, stepping toward the passage. "If we stay, they'll find us. And I'd rather face a trap than a royal executioner."
The group exchanged tense glances before following him into the tunnel. The passage was tight, the walls rough-hewn stone pressing against their shoulders, the air cold and stale. Kael led the way, his dagger drawn, the faint glow of Elara's fire magic casting eerie shadows ahead. The tunnel twisted and turned, descending deeper beneath the academy, the silence broken only by their uneven breaths and the occasional drip of water.
After what felt like hours, the tunnel opened into a cavernous chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center stood a stone pedestal, atop which rested a small, ornate box carved with the Veyrin family crest—a falcon clutching a broken sword, identical to the one his mother had worn as a pendant. Kael's heart lurched. This was the heirloom his mother's journal had mentioned—the catalyst for stabilizing Severance. But the chamber wasn't empty. A figure stood in the shadows, cloaked in black, their face obscured by a hood.
"You've found it," the figure said, their voice low and genderless, carrying an edge of amusement. "The last piece of your legacy, Kael Veyrin."
Kael tightened his grip on his dagger, stepping in front of Elara and Lir. "Who are you?" he demanded. "And how do you know my name?"
The figure chuckled, stepping into the light. The hood fell back, revealing a man in his thirties with sharp features and eyes that glowed faintly gold—royal blood. He wore no crest, but the air around him crackled with restrained magic. "Call me Dorian," he said. "I'm… a friend, of sorts. I've been watching you since you entered the academy. Your power—Severance—it's a threat to House Vaelthar, but also a key to their downfall."
Elara's fire flared, illuminating the chamber. "You're one of them," she spat. "Why should we trust you?"
Dorian raised a hand, his magic dimming. "I'm not here to fight. I'm a bastard son of the royal line, cast out for questioning their methods. The Veyrins were allies once, until the current king feared their magic could challenge his rule. Your family was erased to protect a secret—the Vaelthars' power isn't pure. It's sustained by a ritual that drains other bloodlines, including yours."
Kael's mind reeled. The ritual his mother had warned about—it wasn't just a myth. "And the box?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm inside.
Dorian gestured to the pedestal. "Open it. It contains the Veyrin catalyst—a crystal infused with your bloodline's magic. With it, you can stabilize Severance and use it to break the royal ritual. But beware—it will mark you as a target. Lysara and Aric are closing in, and they know you're here."
Kael approached the pedestal, his hands trembling as he lifted the box. The lid clicked open, revealing a deep blue crystal that pulsed with a faint, familiar energy—the same warmth he felt when he used Severance. He reached for it, but a sudden tremor shook the chamber, dust raining from the ceiling. The sound of boots echoed from the tunnel—proctors, drawn by the disturbance.
"We're out of time," Dorian said, urgency creeping into his voice. "Take the crystal and follow me. There's another exit, but we must move fast."
Kael pocketed the crystal, its energy surging through him, steadying his nerves. He nodded to Elara and Lir, who followed Dorian into a side passage as the chamber's entrance burst open. Proctor Lysara stepped inside, her silver hair glinting, her staff raised. "Kael Veyrin," she called, her voice cold. "Surrender now, and your death will be swift."
But Kael was already gone, the tunnel swallowing them into darkness. The passage twisted upward, the sound of pursuit fading behind them. Dorian led them to a hidden grate that opened into the academy's gardens, the night air cool against their skin. "This is where we part," he said, his golden eyes meeting Kael's. "Use the crystal wisely. And find Rylan—he's the key to exposing the ritual. I'll contact you again."
Before Kael could respond, Dorian vanished into the shadows. Elara leaned against a tree, her breath ragged. "We've got the catalyst," she said. "Now what?"
Kael clutched the crystal, its pulse syncing with his heartbeat. "We train," he said. "We find Rylan. And we bring down House Vaelthar."
The gardens were silent, but the weight of their mission hung heavy. The next Culling Trial loomed, and with it, a chance to strike back. Kael knew the royals would come for him, but now, armed with the catalyst, he was ready to fight.