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I straightened, glancing at Raven. The wellspring. I had felt its pulse beneath Wickem’s foundations, the steady current of power running through the ley lines.

“Wellsprings serve as anchors for ley lines, fueling the magical ecosystem around them,” Esteban continued. “When properly nurtured and protected, they enhance all forms of magic. However, they are not indestructible. Historical accounts have shown that in times of magical strain, wellsprings have destabilized—sometimes with catastrophic results.”

I tightened my grip on my pen. My father had written about this, too.

“Contrary to popular belief, protecting wellsprings isn’t solely the job of combat witches or the Shroud Guard. Collaboration between magical disciplines has always been crucial. Necromancers, healers, and evokers each play a role in ensuring stability.”

A boy near the back scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure necromancers are just great for keeping things stable.”

Laughter rippled through the room, low and biting. My shoulders tensed.

“Necromancers understand patterns better than anyone,” Esteban countered coolly. “Death energy, when properly managed, reveals imbalances long before they become visible to other magic users.”

The whispers died down.

“Miss Raynoff, would you assist in today’s demonstration?”

Aurora stood, flicking back her copper hair. “Sure, Professor. You want me to keep it warm and friendly?”

Esteban nodded. “Precisely. Fire, while often seen as destructive, has historically played a vital role in both protection and restoration. Please demonstrate controlled life-energy infusion.”

Aurora held out her hands, and flames bloomed, steady and warm—not destructive, but sustaining.

“Observe how the flame stabilizes the magical field,” Esteban said. “Evokers have traditionally used fire to purify ley lines and sustain energy flows.”

The way Aurora’s fire pulsed in rhythm with the room’s magic made something in my chest tighten.

Keane’s magic didn’t pulse. It jolted. It stuttered. It fought against itself.

Because it wasn’t flowing naturally anymore.

“Miss Grimley,” Esteban called. “Would you care to assist in demonstrating how death traces interact with restorative magic?”

I hesitated, but Scout nudged me forward.

I walked to the front, slowly reaching for my magic. The dead things stirred at the edge of my senses—curious, but not disruptive.

I extended my awareness to meet the warmth of Aurora’s fire. Instead of clashing, our magic balanced. Death energy rooted the flame, stabilizing it.

“It’s… balanced,” I murmured. “The death traces aren’t disrupting the energy. They’re reinforcing it.”

“Precisely,” Esteban said. “This is how wellsprings have been safeguarded throughout history.”

The room fell silent. The tension had shifted. No longer hostile—curious.

As I returned to my seat, Aurora leaned over. “See? You’re a natural. Let them talk all they want.”

I smiled faintly, but my mind was elsewhere.

The diary had said the same thing.

Magic was meant to flow freely. Not forced. Not controlled.

And yet, Keane’s portals weren’t free-flowing anymore.

His magic was being caged. Compressed.

Like the Council was trying to reshape him—the same way they had tried to reshape wellsprings.