Page 11

“I thought this was Incantations class, not magical combat,” I whispered to Bethany behind the cover of my textbook.

“Up, now! Quentin, dust yourself off and go back to your seat.” Maximort barked his order with rising irritation as Quentin stumbled back to his place.

The room remained tense, an electric undercurrent of dread and excitement as the demonstration unfolded like a crude spectacle. Edric's performance had been brutal and impressive, leaving whispers rippling through the class.

The professor turned on his heels to face Julian and Samael.

“Norwood, step forward and show us the proper incantation for Paralysis. To your places.”

Edric hesitated this time as he lined up to face Samael at the front of the class. The looming repeat of the assignment stretched time; every moment elongated with the weight of uncertainty.

“Don’t go easy on him, Sam!” Julian chided from his seat.

A smirk curled at Samael’s lips as he confirmed. “Believe me, I won’t.”

The two locked eyes, a silent conversation taking place between them.

Maximort let out a loud whistle and Edric took off toward Samael with determination on his face. His footsteps thundered across the room, urgency quickening his pace.

“Immobilis!”

The words poured from Samael’s mouth with chilling precision, commanding and unwavering. There was a surge of magical energy as his hands shot forward. Light crackled from his palms and Edric hit the ground with a sickening thud. He was completely paralyzed, his body frozen mid-motion.

The class fell into a stunned silence. Edric's body remained rigid on the floor, his eyes the only part of him that could move, darting wildly in what appeared to be a mixture of panic and frustration. Professor Maximort's lips parted in a satisfied smile as he approached Samael.

"Excellent demonstration, Mr. Norwood. Perfect pronunciation, flawless execution. That is precisely how the spell should be executed." He circled Edric's frozen form like a predator assessing its prey.

"Notice the complete immobilization, the perfect stillness. This is what happens when intention meets proper pronunciation."

My stomach twisted with unease. There was something disturbing about the casual cruelty of this lesson, something that went beyond the normal boundaries of magical education. Bethany's fingers dug into my arm, her nails leaving crescent moons in my skin.

"How long will he stay like that?" I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from Edric's helpless form.

"The effects typically last no more than thirty seconds," Professor Maximort explained, as though reading my thoughts. "Though a particularly powerful caster can extend that time significantly."

His gaze lingered on Samael with something like hunger.

As if on cue, Edric's body suddenly released from its paralysis. He drew in a ragged breath, his chest heaving as he rolled over and a groan escaped his lips.

"Now," Professor Maximort continued, clasping his hands together, "let's move on to healing. Miss Vale, step forward."

My heart stuttered in my chest. "Me?" I asked, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.

"Yes, you." The professor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Unless there is another Vale in this classroom I'm unaware of."

Bethany gave my arm a gentle squeeze as I rose from my seat, my legs feeling like lead weights beneath me. The classroom seemed to stretch endlessly as I made my way to the front, acutely aware of every pair of eyes tracking my movement.

Professor Maximort gestured toward Edric, who was still on the floor, blood trickling from the gash on his forehead. "Mr. Ashford has kindly provided us with a genuine injury to heal," he announced, his tone suggesting that he was not the one responsible for the wound on Edric’s face.

"Healing is perhaps the most valuable of all the incantations you will learn," Professor Maximort announced, his voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling. "The incantation can mend flesh and bone when properly executed. Miss Vale, you will demonstrate this spell on Mr. Ashford."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. Edric's silver eyes met mine, a complex mixture of wariness and curiosity in their depths.

"The healing incantation is ‘Restaura’ ," Professor Maximort explained.

My amulet warmed against my skin, its weight suddenly more noticeable than before. A soft, silvery whisper caressed my mind, barely audible yet crystal clear above the murmurs of my classmates.

“Steady your breath,” the Raven's Echo murmured, its voice like wind through ancient ruins. “Healing requires compassion, not command.”

I knelt beside Edric, acutely aware of the classroom's collective gaze burning into my back. The cut on his forehead looked angry and deep, a crimson slash against his tanned skin. Placing my left palm over the wound, I closed my eyes and pictured the skin weaving itself together again.

“Restaura,” I whispered gently, pouring my heart into the incantation.

My fingers tingled as a warmth escaped me. I opened my eyes to see an orange glow emanating from my palms. A gentle hum filled the silence as I held my palm over Edric's wound, the orange glow intensifying with every heartbeat.

A collective exhale swept through the room as I removed my hand from Edric’s forehead, punctuated by soft murmurs of awe. Professor Maximort’s stern gaze flickered; a rare spark of approval hidden behind his impatience.

"Extraordinary, Miss Vale," Professor Maximort said, his tone betraying genuine surprise. "It seems you possess a natural affinity for healing magic." He turned to address the class. "This is what happens when one follows proper instruction. Take note, all of you."

Edric’s silver eyes softened as he looked at me, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. I felt the reassuring warmth of my amulet, its silvery whisper echoing in the quiet recess of my mind:

Healing requires compassion, not command.

In that moment, every whispered incantation and every shared glance confirmed that the magic coursing through me was more than just force—it was an extension of my very heart.

Bethany, her usual vivacity tinged with a newfound respect, leaned forward and murmured, "Elvana, that was incredible."

Even Julian, who often masked his admiration with lighthearted banter, nodded solemnly from his seat, his eyes fixed on the mended skin.

The rest of the class proceeded with pairs of students practicing the incantations under Professor Maximort's critical eye. The room filled with a cacophony of Latin phrases—some spoken with confidence, others stumbling from nervous lips.

I returned to my seat beside Bethany, feeling strangely drained yet exhilarated. The magic had flowed through me with an ease that surprised even myself.

“You didn’t tell me you were a natural healer,” Bethany whispered, leaning in, her copper hair slipping forward like a curtain of flame. “That wasn’t luck. The way your magic flared—orange is almost unheard of in healing.”

My fingers drifted to the amulet at my collarbone, tracing its edges as its familiar warmth pulsed against my skin.

“I didn’t know,” I murmured. “It just… happened.”

Throughout the remainder of class, I felt Samael's gaze on me, intense and searching.

Each time I glanced in his direction, his dark eyes would be fixed on me with an inscrutable expression that made my heart flutter traitorously in my chest. There was something in that look—something beyond mere curiosity or suspicion.

Professor Maximort assigned a lengthy reading on the historical applications of healing incantations, his voice nearly drowned out by the rustling of papers and the scraping of chairs as students prepared to leave. Then came the sonorous toll of the clocktower signifying we were dismissed.

Students streamed from the classroom, their voices rising in a chorus of relief and excitement. I gathered my books, sliding them into my satchel as Bethany chatted animatedly about our next class.

"That was intense," she whispered, her eyes still wide with the memory of Edric's paralyzed form. "I can't believe Maximort just—"

“Go ahead without me,” I said, cutting gently into the silence as her gaze flicked toward the ornate clock in the corridor. “You can’t be late for Magical Combat.”

Bethany hesitated, clearly torn between abandoning me and risking Coldwell’s infamous wrath. “Are you sure? We’re supposed to walk in groups—”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, adjusting the strap of my satchel. “There’ll be others heading to Divinations. I won’t be alone.”

With a grateful smile and a squeeze of my hand, Bethany disappeared into the surging river of students. I lingered in the doorway, watching as Professor Maximort meticulously arranged his scrolls and tomes, seemingly oblivious to the chaos his lesson had caused.

The corridor outside was a tapestry of movement and sound—laughter, whispered conversations, the rustle of robes against stone. Gaslight flickered in ornate sconces, casting elongated shadows across the worn marble floor.

I took a deep breath and made my way towards the Divination Tower.

As I wound my way through the labyrinthine corridors of Drakestone, the usual din of voices and footfalls had faded into a rare, almost sacred silence.

No other students were around—just me, the soft rustle of my robes, and the faint echo of my footsteps against ancient stone.

The castle seemed to breathe around me, its quiet pressing in from all sides like a well-kept secret.

My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Incantations class.

Samael’s gaze had lingered on me with unnerving intensity, stirring something deep within me—an unsettling mixture of exhilaration and unease.

There was a gravity to him, a pull I didn’t fully understand.

It felt as though, in that moment, he’d seen straight through me—past my walls, past the girl I showed the world.