Villainous Instructor at the Academy

The next morning arrived not with sunlight but with the sound of bells.

Urgent, discordant, the Academy’s emergency bell rang only for two things: invasion, or disappearance.

I shot upright, breath ragged. My clothes were damp from sweat, the Grimoire still warm in my lap. The runes under my skin pulsed faintly, and when I touched the base of my spine, I could still feel the memory of burning ink etched into flesh.

The bells rang again—three times. That meant containment breach.

I threw on my robe, strapped a side dagger to my thigh, and reached for the Grimoire. As my fingers brushed its cover, a message shimmered faintly across the leather:

"A pattern must evolve or be erased."

Charming.

The hall outside was chaos. Faculty in half-armored robes barked orders at each other. Summoned familiars darted across the air—eyes in the sky. I caught sight of a blur: Head Enchanter Nyssen, still in nightwear, hovering two feet off the ground and surrounded by motes of silver flame. Someone screamed about a lost student. Another muttered something about blood on the walls in the sublevel.

I turned a corner and nearly ran into Roderick.

He looked as tired as I felt. His coat was open, revealing the chainmail beneath, and a scar across his neck pulsed with old magic.

"Lucian," he said, gripping my shoulder tightly. "There’s been a breach in Sublevel Theta."