Around early morning, the watch burned faintly against Aurora's skin—hot enough to wake her, but not painfully. This time, it pulsed in steady intervals, like a heartbeat calling her back.
She knew what it meant.
Caelum appeared in the corner of her room without a word, his face unreadable.
"It's time" he said.
She didn't argue.
—
The corridors of Eldridge Hall were unnaturally quiet that night.
Aurora stood just outside the circular chamber at the heart of the Hall—the Council Room. The tall double doors loomed before her, etched with glowing runes that pulsed softly in the dark. Beside her, Caelum stood still, his expression as always tense and unreadable.
"You're sure I have to go in alone?" she whispered.
Caelum glanced down at her. "You won't be alone."
Before she could ask what he meant, the doors opened with a low groan.
Inside, three professors sat in their usual places—Lady Mairead, Professor Thornegrave, and Master Enrid. But tonight, a fourth seat was filled.
A woman stood instead of sitting, her presence magnetic.
She wore midnight-blue robes embroidered with silver glyphs that shimmered as if alive. Her dark long hair was tied high, cascading like a waterfall. But it was her eyes—piercing gray, sharp as shattered glass—that caught Aurora's breath.
"Miss Aurora" the woman said, her voice precise and smooth like ink on parchment. "I am Professor Virelda Nyx. I deal with… threats. Especially the ones no one else dares to confront."
Aurora stepped inside hesitantly. Caelum followed, but stopped near the chamber's edge, arms crossed.
"I wasn't told about a fourth professor," Aurora said quietly.
"Because we are not required to tell you everything," Nyx replied coldly. "Not until now."
She walked slowly around the table, her eyes never leaving Aurora.
"There was a surge of energy near your residence tonight. Something dark. Something that should not have been able to cross realms," she said. "Care to explain?"
Aurora opened her mouth, but her voice caught.
Caelum stepped forward. "I was there. It came for her. She didn't summon it."
Professor Nyx's gaze shifted sharply. "Did I ask you to explain?"
Caelum held her stare. "No. But you can't accuse her like that."
Without warning, pain rippled through him. He grimaced, staggering slightly.
"Stop!" Aurora cried, stepping between them. "Don't hurt him. I'll answer."
She took a breath.
"I didn't call or summon anything. I was asleep when it appeared.There was a mark in my wrist when it appeared.The watch glowed—and then Caelum arrived. The shadow vanished into ashes."
Nyx narrowed her eyes and gestured for her wrist.
The professors examined the burn—but found no mark beyond a faint scar.
Lady Mairead frowned. "You said there was a symbol. A mark. Where is it now?"
"It disappeared with the shadow," Aurora said quietly. "The burn—came earlier. When I accidentally mentioned Eldridge Hall to my brother."
Nyx turned to Caelum. "Then why were you there, if she didn't call for you?"
"She didn't mean to. But I heard her." Caelum said, his voice firm. "She was afraid."
"Afraid?" Nyx raised a brow. "That's… unusual."
Aurora frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You are bound to this place now, girl," Nyx said, circling her like a hawk. "And anything bound to this Hall does not get the luxury of fear."
"She's new—and not even a student yet," Caelum snapped. "You know that."
Nyx's eyes flicked between the two, noting the tension.
"I sense something strange about you, Miss Aurora." she said, stopping just inches from Aurora. "Your energy— It doesn't feel like it all belongs to you. It's torn—part of it warm, the other... dangerous. Like good and evil share the same space."
Aurora clenched her fists. "Maybe that's because none of you will tell me what I am."
The flames in the sconces dimmed, the room darkening ominously as her voice rose.
Nyx tilted her head slightly. "Interesting."
Lady Mairead finally intervened. "That will be enough, Professor Nyx."
Suddenly, the ground beneath Aurora's feet trembled—barely noticeable, but enough that dust drifted from the high ceiling.
Lady Mairead stiffened. "That's enough," she said sharply, casting a silencing charm that settled like a veil over the room. "The Hall does not take well to raised tensions."
The tremor faded.
Nyx's gaze locked on Aurora one last time, unreadable. Then she turned without another word.
As the doors closed behind them, Caelum glanced at her.
"Are you okay?" Aurora inspected him.
"Yeah. It's usual here. Don't worry," he said playfully, but the edge in his voice betrayed his tension.
"She doesn't trust me" Aurora whispered.
"She doesn't trust anyone" he replied. "But she's good at what she does."
Aurora looked down at her watch. The heat was gone, but it still pulsed faintly—like a second heartbeat.
"She's right though," she murmured. "There's something inside me. And I don't know what it is."
Caelum's voice lowered.
"Maybe it's not just darkness that's drawn to you... but something older. Something the Hall hasn't seen in a long time."
"Something dangerous?" she asked.
"Something rare," he said. "And the rarest things usually are."
—
Eldridge Hall had quiet corners no one else used.
Caelum led Aurora down a narrow stone hallway that twisted deeper than she'd ever gone. The walls grew darker, colder—but a flickering light danced ahead, casting shadows on the damp stone.
They passed a sealed door on the left. Aurora paused, sensing something cold pulse behind it.
"What's in there?" she asked.
"Old mistakes" Caelum said simply, not slowing his pace. "We don't open that one anymore."
She followed in silence, the weight of his words pressing on her ribs.
They reached a heavy iron door. Without touching it, Caelum raised his hand.
Flames erupted from his palm—not red, but edged with silver, like starlight. The runes on the door responded, melting away with a low hiss.
The door swung open on its own.
Inside, the room was cavernous. Empty. Burn marks lined the walls, cracks split the floor. The air was thick with heat and silence. A training ground—but not one for just anyone.
"This is where I learn not to destroy things" Caelum said softly. "Where they let me burn… so I don't burn the rest of the Hall."
Aurora looked around, imagining him alone here. Fire dancing, rage unfurling, and silence as his only witness. Her chest tightened.
"It's… huge." she said.
"And reinforced," he said, brushing his fingers along the wall. "No sound escapes. No fire spreads."
She moved to the center while he approached a blackened circle drawn with ash and chalk.
"Why bring me here?" she asked.
Caelum looked at her.
"So you understand why I said I'm dangerous."
Then—he unleashed it.
Blue fire—ghostlike—burst from his hand, climbing his arms like serpents. It cast sharp light across his face, illuminating every line of tension, every scar in his silence.
His eyes glowed, the same fire within them—wild and alive.
Aurora gasped and took a step back. But the fire didn't burn her. It curved around her like it recognized her presence.
Caelum moved—swift, sharp.
A burst of fire shattered stone along the far wall. Another step, and flames rose at his feet, lifting him slightly, weightless in the power he barely held.
He looked like a god on the edge of control.
Then—he pulled it all back with one breath.
Silence.
Aurora stood frozen. "You… that was…"
He turned, voice low.
"This is why they fear me. Because if I ever lose control—nothing will be left."
She stepped forward, slow and sure.
"But you didn't lose control," she said. "Not even close."
He looked at her, caught off-guard.
"You brought me here to scare me," she said softly. "But all you did… was show me how much you're holding back."
Caelum froze.
Aurora placed a hand over his chest—felt the pounding of his heart.
"You're not the danger, Caelum. You're just afraid of being one."
His gaze dropped to her hand.
"You don't know what it means to burn from the inside. To constantly hold back... just to survive around others."
Aurora's voice was steady. "Maybe I don't. But I know what it feels like to be afraid of who you might become."
He didn't move.
Then, gently, he took her hand in his.
"I didn't want to show anyone this," he murmured. "Not ever. But you…"
He didn't finish.
But the way his fingers closed around hers said the rest.
In the stillness of the chamber, two forces stood side by side—one of fire, one unknown—and the Hall, ancient and watching, seemed to hold its breath.