Page 10

A Lesson in Cruelty

A fter another restless sleep, the ornate doors to the Incantations classroom groaned on their ancient hinges as Bethany and I crossed the threshold into a room alive with an invisible hum of magic.

Nestled on the third floor of the castle, the classroom featured towering ceilings that stretched upward like the gates of a cathedral.

The walls were decorated with intricate carvings, each depicting ancient symbols that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.

Every whispered syllable bounced against the stone walls and echoed through the cavernous space.

At the front of the classroom, Professor Thaddeus Maximort paced with a mixture of impatience and barely concealed enthusiasm.

His round frame, robed in slightly singed, ink-stained fabric, contrasted sharply with the precise art etched into every surface of the room. Untamed, thinning hair, streaked with shades of silver and gold, framed a face etched with the lines of age and wisdom.

Bethany grabbed my hand as she pulled me to the table in the back row closest to the windows.

The atmosphere was still tense after the events yesterday, but even amidst the chaos, the professors acted as if everything was normal.

I settled onto the hard wooden chair, the cold seeping through my skirt as I absently traced the edge of my amulet with my fingertips.

Outside, an unkindness of ravens circled the spires of Drakestone, their dark silhouettes stark against the morning sky.

“You’re doing it again,” Bethany whispered, nudging me with her elbow. The enchanted candlelight caught in her copper hair, casting a halo of flickering gold around her head. “That thousand-yard stare. What’s haunting the inside of that broody skull of yours, Elvana?”

I didn’t look at her. My gaze stayed fixed on the ravens wheeling above the courtyard, their wings carving slow, silent arcs through the morning sky. “Do you think they’ll mention it?”

Bethany snorted softly. “Please. They’ll sweep it under the rug like they always do. My father says Drakestone’s built on secrets—layered in charm and ritual so no one asks too many questions.”

Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm against her open textbook.

“At least we’ve got Incantations today,” she added. “If something is creeping through the halls, I’d rather know how to blast it to ashes than spend the hour interpreting which tarot card means ‘congratulations, you’re next.’”

A smile tugged at my lips despite the heaviness in my chest.

The screech of a chair dragging across the floor interrupted my thoughts as I stared at the ravens. Then, there he was, and my heart stumbled over itself.

Was I relieved he wasn’t missing, or should I be worried that he was here, seemingly alive and well? Samael, Julian, and an unfamiliar man settled at the table across from us.

Samael's dark eyes found mine immediately. There was a look there—a silent challenge, an unspoken plea, or perhaps a mixture of both.

Every muscle in me tensed as our gazes locked across the crowded room. Julian's light, teasing remark about the class was drowned out by the silent dialogue between Samael and me.

I noticed how his posture shifted ever so slightly, as though preparing for something I couldn't quite grasp. The tension between us was palpable, an undercurrent that rippled through every whispered incantation and every breath we took.

As I struggled to regain my composure, Bethany's voice broke the spell. "Are you alright, Elle?" she asked softly, her eyes narrowing in concern.

I managed a tight smile, my thoughts still tangled in the weight of Samael’s stare. "Yes, just... caught off guard," I replied, my voice betraying none of the storm raging inside.

Professor Maximort didn’t wait for everyone to take their seats before he penned his name across the chalkboard. His eyes swept over us as he cleared his throat in a booming voice.

"Today, you will master three critical incantations: Healing, Expel, and Paralysis,” Professor Maximort announced.

His sharp voice sliced through the murmur of the classroom, laden with both authority and a growing impatience.

“The magic you learn at Drakestone Academy can be used in a variety of situations, but most important of all is protection. "

At this, Julian and the unfamiliar man beside him exchanged glances, amusement flickering like sparks between them. Julian’s mouth twitched with barely contained laughter; the other man—tall, elegant, silver-eyed—simply arched a brow in a way that made mockery look effortless.

Professor Maximort huffed, the sound heavy with exasperation. "Basic magic can be cast without uttering a word. Focus and intention alone are sufficient. But when you harness the ancient Latin incantations, you amplify your magic’s potency and gain finer control over the outcome."

A quiet snicker escaped Julian, the sound slicing through the professor’s carefully measured tone.

Professor Maximort’s eyes snapped toward them. "Mr. Ashford! Would you care to enlighten the rest of us on what you find so amusing?"

The silver-eyed man offered a polite incline of his head, his voice cool and perfectly measured. "Merely admiring the irony, sir. A lesson in control… delivered by a man who has none over his own temper."

A ripple of muffled laughter spread through the room. Julian covered his mouth, shaking silently. Even Samael allowed the barest flicker of a smirk to pass over his lips.

Professor Maximort’s eyebrows knotted into a formidable scowl. "My name," he said, voice stiff with suppressed fury, "is Professor Thaddeus Maximort."

Edric blinked once, feigning deep thought. "Of course. A formidable name, sir. Though, forgive me—the way it echoes off the stone does lend it a certain... theatrical flair."

Julian lost it completely, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

The professor’s face purpled.

“Expello!”

The command cracked through the air like a whip. A surge of compressed force launched the silver-eyed man across the room in a blur of dark coat and cold elegance. He hit the stone wall with a dull thud, the impact rattling a few nearby portraits.

For a beat, the entire class sat frozen—the only sound the faint clatter of a frame landing askew. Then, from where he sprawled against the wall, Edric’s voice drifted out—bone-dry, unimpressed: “Rather proved my point, didn’t you?”

“By the gods!” I exclaimed, more to myself than anyone else, as the young man struggled to his feet.

Blood dripped from his forehead, marking his face with crimson streaks as he dusted himself off with an air of sheepish disbelief.

Professor Maximort lowered his palm with a sort of grand disdain and picked a piece of lint off his robe, the gesture almost absentminded.

“That,” he gestured toward the chaotic scene, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “is a perfect example of the incantation, Expel . When used properly, it can force an object… or a person, to be expelled away from you.” He eyed the young man sternly.

“Now, Edric Ashford, because you chose to disrespect me in my classroom, you will be the guinea pig for today’s lesson.”

Confusion and unease rippled through the classroom; Bethany was right. Drakestone had a way of burying secrets, one layer deeper than the next. A student was just assaulted in plain sight—by a professor no less—and no one dared to move.

Professor Maximort had already turned his attention to another student near the front.

“Mr. Blackwell, you will be conducting the incantation for Paralysis.”

Bethany piped up beside me, her green eyes wide beneath the curls of her copper hair. “But sir, he’s still bleeding!”

The professor waved off her concern, his nonchalance as practiced as it was dismissive. “We will get to healing at the end. Come forward, Edric. Quentin.”

He motioned at the two students, pairing them off in a gesture that promised more spectacle—and more danger.

As Edric reluctantly approached, his pale silver eyes darkened with both defiance and resignation. Edric readjusted his long brown hair into a loose knot at the back of his nape.

I couldn’t help but steal a glance at Samael. His features—usually unreadable—now flickered with something like quiet fury, his jaw ticking as he watched his friend wipe blood from his forehead.

The room fell into a hushed anticipation as Edric and Quentin took their positions.

“Paralysis can serve as an effective defense mechanism. Imagine an opponent hurling something at you,” he paused briefly, “or even better, charging directly at you. With swift action and precision, you can immobilize that person momentarily by uttering the word ‘Immobilis’. It’s essential to have proper pronunciation, intent, and accuracy.

Mr. Ashford, please move to the back of the classroom.

On my signal, you will run toward Quentin and try to tackle him. ”

Quentin felt a chill as Edric moved, the size difference between them only heightening his apprehension. Edric was at least a foot taller than Quentin and could easily overpower him in a physical confrontation. A mischievous grin appeared on Edric's face as he looked at Quentin like prey.

“Don't worry, Quentin. One's stature doesn't determine the strength they wield in magic. Focus and stop Mr. Ashford before he reaches you.”

Quentin nodded nervously and prepared himself at the front of the classroom.

“Now!” Professor Maximort shouted.

Edric began running at Quentin like a wolf hunting a rabbit. The air was thick with tension, every student's gaze locked on the two.

“Imm... Immobile... Immobilize! ” Quentin stuttered, aiming his palms at Edric. His voice wavered beneath his attempts to pronounce the incantation, and panic took over. The words fumbled from his lips, powerless, and Edric showed no sign of slowing.

Quentin crashed to the ground with a hard smack as Edric brought a shoulder to his abdomen.

“Despicable,” Maximort huffed.