Three days passed since the Duel of Flame.
And Hollowspire had changed.
The academy grounds, once ruled by noble houses and instructors, now whispered only one name—Lucien Vale.
The boy who challenged the Council.
The boy who didn't just survive… but won.
Some called it madness. Others called it destiny.
But everyone agreed on one thing—Lucien Vale was no longer just a student.
He was dangerous.
Even the headmaster hadn't made a statement. And when silence came from the top, the smart ones started watching from the shadows.
Lucien, meanwhile, returned to his dorm only once—to grab his sword, his scrolls, and to burn the door with a fire sigil.
He had outgrown that place.
Now, he wandered the East Wing, the part of Hollowspire where only the forgotten walked. It was colder. Darker. Less polished. Old stone. Creaking walls. Dusty statues.
The perfect place for someone becoming something no one understood.
He passed by an old cracked mirror—and paused.
For a second, he didn't recognize the person reflected.
Pale eyes glowing with slow fire.
Dark hair longer than before.
A faint gold rune at his collarbone pulsing with heat.
He wasn't the same boy anymore.
And he didn't want to be.
He stepped back into the shadows—and walked deeper.
That's when the message arrived.
A black envelope, floating mid-air, wrapped in green mist. No sound. No mana signature.
It simply appeared.
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "This academy gets stranger by the day."
He grabbed it, and the mist vanished.
Inside, a single note:
"The Viper Court wishes to speak with you. Come alone. Midnight. Room of Roots."
"Say no… and we'll come anyway."
Lucien folded the paper and burned it in his palm.
The flames whispered secrets as they turned the message to ash.
"The snakes are moving," he muttered. "About time."
—
The Viper Court was a secret society—if you believed the rumors.
They didn't belong to any noble family. They didn't serve the Council. They served themselves.
They whispered to kings, pulled strings from the shadows, and collected monsters—not to kill, but to feed.
It was said they could erase names from the records of history.
And Lucien had just been invited.
He didn't hesitate.
Midnight.
The Room of Roots was buried beneath the west gardens. Few students knew it existed. Fewer dared approach it. A natural cave system wrapped in ancient roots, veins of glowing minerals lining the walls like forgotten veins of the earth.
Lucien walked in silently, his boots crunching old leaves.
Torches lit themselves as he entered.
And waiting for him—on stone benches carved into the ground—were six people. Each wore black. Each masked.
But their masks weren't ordinary.
One was carved like a serpent.
Another, a spider.
Another, a skull.
They didn't rise.
Didn't greet.
They simply looked at him.
Lucien stood still.
Then—he smirked. "Nice decor."
"You should be afraid," one of them said.
"I've been afraid before," Lucien replied. "Didn't help. Doesn't change anything."
Another voice, softer, female, spoke from the shadows. "We watched your duel."
"Good. I burned a lot of mana showing off."
"And we're curious," said the spider-masked figure. "You're not a pawn. Not a noble brat. And yet… you won."
Lucien's smile faded.
"I'm not here to explain myself. I'm here because you invited me."
The serpent-masked figure rose. He was tall. Not bulky. But the kind of presence that moved like a knife between thoughts.
"We don't invite," he said. "We select."
Lucien tilted his head. "Then let's not waste time. You want something. Say it."
There was silence.
Then, the skull mask leaned forward.
"There's something beneath Hollowspire. Something older than magic. Older than the academy. Something we are trying to… reach."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "And you want my flames to light the way?"
"No," the serpent replied. "We want your blood to open it."
That made him laugh.
"You should've led with that. I'd have brought a blade."
"You don't understand," the woman said. "Your blood has changed. The dragon flame. The shadowbrand. It's not just power—it's a key. We think you are the final piece."
Lucien took a step closer.
"Why would I help you?"
"Because the thing below," whispered the spider, "it doesn't just offer power. It offers truth. About your past. About your other life. About how and why you were brought here."
That silenced him.
Lucien's face darkened. The fire in his eyes flickered, unsettled.
They knew.
They knew he wasn't originally from this world.
"Who are you people?" he asked, his voice lower.
"We are the ones who remember," said the serpent. "The ones who watched before the world took shape. And we believe you… are not an accident."
Lucien closed his eyes.
The System inside him pulsed. The shadowbrand flared. The pact flame whispered warnings.
[Warning: Unknown soul interference nearby.]
[Location contains sealed fragments of erased timelines.]
Lucien opened his eyes.
"Where is this thing you want me to open?"
The six masked figures stood as one.
And the floor beneath him shifted.
The roots cracked open.
A staircase, ancient and glowing red, stretched downward into darkness.
"We'll guide you," said the serpent. "But from here on… you walk alone."
Lucien smirked.
"I wouldn't want it any other way."
And with that, he took his first step down—toward something no one had walked in thousands of years.
Toward the forgotten core of Hollowspire.
Toward answers that burned.