It took Cecil no more than fifteen minutes to reach the towering structure that resided in the heart of the island. The polished stone walls were adorned with intricate carving and statues of three Ancient Gods.
To the left stood a majestic celestial dragon surrounded by stars, Janus, the Ancestor of Dragons.
To the right, a blindfolded giant with a set of scales in hand and a skeletal scythe in the other, Morvagur, the King of Giants.
At the center of the two, rising in flame, was Lothric, the Ancient Sun God in the form of a great phoenix.
The building felt more like a temple than an academy.
Two ornate wooden doors marked the entrance, opening into a grand lobby. The floors were polished vinyl, etched with delicate patterns. Across the room sat a half-circle reception desk, behind which worked two secretaries, an older woman and a younger man, the latter likely being her apprentice. Behind them, a bifurcated staircase ascended and split at the landing, rising to the upper levels.
As Cecil approached the desk, the older secretary glanced up from her papers and spoke without hesitation.
"The Headmaster is waiting for you in his office, Professor."
"Thank you, Madame," Cecil said, striding past toward the stairs.
He ascended to the third floor, stopping in front of an ornate door. A brass nameplate to the side read:
'Albus Ludovic Ambrose-Volsung'
He knocked three times with the back of his gloved hand and took a measured step back.
A calm, melodic voice, with a distinct Elkenheart accent, replied almost immediately.
"The door is unlocked, my dear friend."
The office beyond was an organized chaos. Towers of books stacked like miniature citadels. Trinkets, baubles, and other curios littered every spare surface. Painting lined the walls, and in a locked display case, a staff of interlocking metal segments adorned with rose motifs gleamed beneath the glass.
Near the back, behind all the clutter, sat a wide desk. Behind it was a young man, looking no older than twenty-six, with an almost ethereal appearance: robes, long fluffy hair, and cloud-like eyes were all shades of white.
He looked up at Cecil briefly, then back down at the stack of papers before him.
"Headmaster, you wished to see me?"
"Give me a moment, my dear friend. Just need to finish up these papers Madame Lily insisted I complete."
Cecil sighed lightly and adjusted his monocle. Something in the corner of his vision drew his attention, a painting. One he was certain hadn't been there the last time he'd visited.
It depicted five figures, gathered at what appeared to be a villa overlooking the city of Etheridge, the Capital of the Elkenheart Theocracy. The scene drew the viewer's eye immediately to the woman seated at the center. Even sitting, she exuded an imposing presence.
She wore a sleek black-and-white suit with subtle crimson accents, a black rose pinned to her collar. Her hair, white streaked with black, was styled into a long ponytail with asymmetrical bangs. Her face was sharp and elegant, yet unreadable. She stared forward with unblinking stillness.
To her left stood two figures; to her right, the remaining two.
Closest on her left was Albus himself, unchanged from how he looked now. He stood smiling, his signature staff in hand. Beside him stood a shorter woman, at least a head smaller, with a sharp bob of black hair. She wore a dark brown suit and black gloves, her expression detached and precise, almost surgical.
To the right of the central woman stood a delicate, androgynous figure draped in flowing black robes traced with golden lines. The garment left their shoulders bare. Their crimson hair, worn in a long ponytail that mirrored the seated woman's style, fell in asymmetrical bangs, leaving one eye hidden. The visible one gleamed amethyst, striking and strange. A thorned tattoo curled along their neck, and they wore a cocky, self-assured smirk as if everything was going to go their way.
The last figure stood furthest to the right, a small woman with a soft, round face and long, inky black hair. She wore a plain black dress, unadorned. Even rendered in oil, she seemed somehow disconnected from the moment, as if her mind were elsewhere.
"Sir," Cecil said, his gaze lingering on the painting, "who are the people in this portrait? I recognize Ms. Volsung... and of course, yourself. But the others?"
Albus glanced up from his paperwork and followed Cecil's gaze.
"Ah. That is my family," he said, a faint smile curling at his lips. "The painting dates back to around the end of the Third Era. I rediscovered it while visiting the family villa on my recent visit to the Evernia Continent, in the East."
He set his quill aside and, almost unconsciously, crossed one leg over the other, folding his hands in his lap. It was the same elegant, poised posture as the woman in the portrait. His cloud-colored eyes shimmered with a distant fondness.
"The woman in the middle, as you noted, is Rosalie Sicar Volsung: my adoptive mother, founder of Theocracy, and all that."
He gestured toward the right side of the painting.
"To her right is, despite what his appearance may suggest, my elder brother: Raziel Hermes."
Albus continued, his tone light but fond.
"And at the far ends, Yennefer on the left, and Asteria on the right, the Lestrange Twins. Or as Rosalie used to call them, her little shadows, since they used to constantly follow her around."
He sighed and gestured toward the chair opposite his desk with a sweep of his hand. "As much as I'd love to indulge in the eccentricities of my adoptive family, that isn't why I summoned you, Professor Hollows."
Cecil leaned his cane against the chair as he sat, placing his suitcase neatly beside it. His posture, as composed as ever.
Albus rifled through one of the towering stacks on his desk and, with the ease of practiced grace, retrieved a folder. He extended it across the desk to Cecil.
"I received word from my old friend, Viceroy Nightingale," Albus began. "An ancient ruin has been uncovered in the northern stretch of the Lioren's Reach." He folded his hands, his voice calm but heavy with purpose. "Given your role as our prized historian, I've taken upon myself to recommend you for the expedition."
Cecil opened the folder and began scanning its contents: maps, letters bearing official seals, brief reports scribbled in haste. He raised a single brow, eyes flicking toward Albus, lips pressed into a neutral line.
"Me. sir?"
"Who better, my dear friend?" Albus replied, tone easy. "You have a deep mastery of ancient tongues and histories. And let's be honest, it wouldn't hurt to have a newly discovered Second Era ruin tied to your name, now would it?"
Cecil's eyes dropped back to the folder, brow furrowing. "But these documents state that Lady Viceroy is seeking out Sorcerers only..."
He glanced up. "And as you well know, I'm not one. Not yet at least."
Albus raised a single white eyebrow, a sly smirk curling on his lips. "Ah, but you do plan on becoming one, don't you?"
"Yes... I do. I just…" Cecil hesitated, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. "I've no desire to take needless risks. I may already have the Emanation, but I want to gather as many of the Secondary Ingredients as I can beforehand."
"I already have the Gold Freesia Extract. But I still need three grams of Dragonblood Powder and a plucked Blinkwolf eyeball. Blinkwolves are already rare enough, and adding in their nearly impossibility to catch. And Dragonblood Flowers only bloom in winter, back in Evernia..."
His voice faded into thought as what Ablus said earlier crossed his mind again. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted to meet Albus's. He sighed once again.
"... And that's why you just so happened to have been visiting your home country over the winter, wasn't it?"
Albus laughed, clearly pleased with himself. "Am I that predictable?"
He opened a drawer and retrieved a small leather pouch, tossing it across the desk. Cecil caught it with practiced ease and loosened the cord. Inside, nestled among soft folds of cloth, was a perfect mound of deep crimson-purple powder. The faint scent of crushed herbs and iron rose from within.
Exactly three grams of Dragonblood Powder not a flake more, and not a speck less.
Albus leaned back, hands folded with a level of calm patience. "As my mother used to say, the first step is always the hardest. But once it's taken... the rest will naturally follow."
Cecil was silent for a moment. He slipped the pouch into his pocket with care, his gloved fingers lingering at the edge of the fabric. Then, without a word, he rose, grasping his cane.
He gave a short, measured nod.
"Thank you, sir. And… I'll take up this assignment."
"Ah, just a few more things before you go. This and a favor I need to ask you before you go."
Albus raised a hand, halting Cecil mid-turn. He reached beneath the desk and retrieved another item: a package wrapped in waxed parchment, bound neatly with a black ribbon.
Cecil took the item, studying the package for a moment longer than necessary.
"The package," Albus added, his voice quieter now, "is to be opened if... no, rather, when you become a Sorcerer. Just remember..."
His eyes met Cecil's, serious now, though still laced with his signature warmth.
"If you don't take the first step yourself, the world will push you. Better to start walking on your own terms… then be dragged by theirs."
Cecil gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Thank you for the advice, Headmaster. I'll remember it." He glanced down at the package once more, then tucked it securely beneath his coat. "And the favor?"
Albus cleared his throat and straightened. "Well, the ship you need for Grandport City doesn't depart until nearly six. So you've got a bit of time to spare."
He trailed off, fingers idly fidgeting an unusual gesture for someone typically so poised.
Cecil arched an eyebrow, waiting in patient silence.
Finally, Albus sighed, looking both sheepish and hopeful. "I need you to take over for Professor Francis—she's come down with something rather nasty. One of the Covenant-endorsed S.P.E.L.L. courses… Please?"
Cecil sighed and gave a resigned nod. "Yes, sir."
Albus responded with a grateful smile, back to being as serene as ever.
Cecil turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.
"I still think that's a stupid acronym."
Albus let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah. I agree."
With that, Cecil stepped into the dim hallway, the door clicking shut behind him. He descended the stairs in silence, his footsteps muffled by the vinyl flooring beneath. His hand rose to his monocle, fingers absently massaging the gem at its endpiece, a familiar gesture, one born of habit and thought. Thoughts swirled, tangled in memory and uncertainty, the weight of past and future shifting quietly in his chest.
The lobby was quiet as Cecil descended the final steps. Madame Lily offered him a polite nod, which he returned. Outside, the double doors groaned softly as they swung open, releasing him into the midday sun.
The sea breeze greeted him first, cool, briny, and insistent, tugging gently at his coat and tousling the edges of his hair. The towering silhouette of the main academy loomed behind him, its spires and statues catching the light casting a shadow over the city. He paused for a breath at the base of its steps, casting one final glance back at its stone façade: Janus, Morvagur, and Lothric staring back in silent judgment.
Then he turned, exhaling slowly, letting the weight of the meeting roll off his shoulders.
The city was fully awake by now. The students on summer residency wandered the cobbled streets in clusters, some rushing with arms full of books, others lingering by street vendors selling roasted nuts and sweet pastries. Banners bearing the Academy's crest fluttered overhead between lamp posts.
Cecil moved with practiced elegance through it all, his cane tapping rhythmically at his side, suitcase in one hand and the package from Albus still tucked securely beneath his coat.
The architecture began to shift as he walked. Grand stone arches gave way to narrower, older walkways, their walls strangled by ivy. This was the untouched heart of the Academy, the original buildings, preserved more out of reverence than practicality.
One such structure was his destination: the History Department.
Built from dark stone veined with moss, the building stood like a relic itself. Gargoyles perched above the entrance had long since eroded into grotesque half-smiles.
Cecil stepped through the heavy wooden doors.
The old scent of dust and parchment welcomed him back.
The hallway beyond was far quieter than the streets, lined with display cases of ancient relics and portraits of long-dead historians. His heels echoed as he walked past closed classroom doors and study alcoves littered with scrolls and half-finished research papers.
Cecil stopped before a closed door. The brass plaque beside it read:
"Room 3C - Caecilius Galileo Hollows."
He stood before the door with one gloved hand on its handle, taking a deep breath and straightening his posture, before finally opening it.
Midday light poured through tall windows, spilling golden warmth across the classroom. Four columns of eight desks formed a semi-circle around a central lectern, each row staggered upward for a clear view. The walls were lined with shelves, crammed full of history books, sketches of ancient ruins, and annotated accounts of lost civilizations.
The soft murmur of first-year students filled the space, their young voices mingling in whispers, rustling papers, and the occasional stifled laugh.
Cecil stepped into the light.
And, slowly, the room quieted.