Page 38

“ Do you hear it, Elvana? The silence that speaks of failure. You have come so far, only to find an empty void.” Its words sliced through the quiet, and I clenched my fist around the amulet at my throat, its cool metal a small comfort in the vast uncertainty.

"Then what does it mean?" I asked, more to myself than to anyone present.

My voice echoed in the small space, mingling with the soft hum of magic that lingered in the air.

"How can a room of silence betray its own truth?

" I searched the mosaic for some hidden symbol—a misplaced stone, a glimmer of residual enchantment—but the answer eluded me.

A long pause followed, punctuated only by the distant creak of a settling building. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their collective hope dimming with each passing moment.

Finally, the Raven's Echo spoke one last time, its tone a resigned sigh. “ The gate is not here, Elvana. This alcove is merely a dead end. Your answers lie elsewhere. Your pursuit has been a distraction, a waste of the energy meant for greater revelations.”

My heart sank as the realization crashed over me. “Curse the gods.” I slammed my fists on the mosaic tiles. All this time, the map, the riddle, the clues we so desperately chased... they had led us to a dead end.

I could almost feel the weight of every unanswered question and every false hope pressing down on me. The silence that I had so eagerly embraced now felt like a void, a chasm of disappointment.

Leander cleared his throat, his voice low and uncertain. “So… this isn’t it? No hidden doorway, no secret passage?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with disappointment. The bitter weight of failure threaded through them—quiet, but sharp.

Bethany shook her head slowly, her jaw tight with frustration. “Either we were misled…” she said, eyes narrowing at the unmoving mosaic, “or the gate’s been moved. Or we read the riddle wrong.”

She crouched, fingers grazing one of the shifting tiles, searching for any flicker of reaction. Nothing.

Her voice softened, edged with determination. “But the clue brought us here for a reason. We’re close. I can feel it.”

Lydia stepped forward, her voice calm, though her eyes betrayed the weight of disappointment.

“We followed every clue the map gave us,” she said. “The wards. The alcove. The shifting patterns on the floor—everything pointed here.”

She let out a breath, quiet but final.

“And now we know—this place holds no gateway.”

The words landed hard, echoing into silence.

Not defeat exactly… but something close.

I remained kneeling before the mosaic, the cold stone now feeling like a mirror of my own numb resolve.

The Raven's Echo receded slowly, its taunts fading into a lingering ache of failure.

Yet even as I grappled with the loss of what we sought, a small, stubborn ember of determination flickered within me.

" “This isn’t the end,” I murmured, more for myself than the others. “We always knew this path would be riddled with dead ends. The Raven’s Echo warned me—we weren’t meant to find it here. But I ignored it.”

Bethany nodded slowly, the fire returning to her eyes.

“Then we try again. We always try again. We’ll retrace every step, every clue.

The gate might not be here…”She glanced around the silent alcove.

“…but that doesn’t mean it’s gone. And Crowe—his presence tonight, the things he didn’t say—they could be part of the puzzle. ”

Leander gave a tentative smile, his earlier doubt softened by something steadier.

“Maybe it’s time to stop sneaking around his edges,” he said. “Maybe we ask him—directly. No more shadows. No more games.”

His voice held a flicker of courage—raw, a little unsteady, but real.

A new step. A new thread.

Lydia gently helped me to my feet, and as we gathered our scattered papers and thoughts, the silence of the alcove seemed to whisper that even in failure, there was knowledge to be gained.

The night had deepened around us, the quiet intensity of the academy bearing witness to our missteps and our resolve.

Together, we left the mosaic alcove behind, stepping back into the dim corridor with a newfound determination to seek out the true path—a path that might yet lead us to the elusive gate.

The night air bit at our cheeks as we trudged back to our dormitory, the failure of our library excursion hanging heavy between us.

Leander and Bethany parted ways at the courtyard, their whispered goodbyes carrying promises to regroup tomorrow.

Now, only Lydia’s steady presence beside me offered comfort against the crushing disappointment.

“Maybe we were too literal with the riddle,” Lydia murmured, her breath curling into pale clouds in the chilly night air. “Magic rarely reveals itself in straight lines. It prefers riddles dressed as truth.”

I nodded absently, the Raven’s Echo unnervingly silent against my skin.

The moon had shifted position, bathing the academy grounds in silvery light that transformed the familiar landscape into something otherworldly and strange.

Our footsteps crunched against the frost-covered path, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night.

“I can’t stop thinking about Professor Crowe,” I whispered, the chill in my voice matching the air around us. “The way he looked at us—at me. Like he already knew exactly what we were searching for.”

“And chose not to stop us,” Lydia murmured. “That’s what unsettles me most.”

“He’s one of the oldest professors at Drakestone. He must —”

I froze mid-sentence, breath catching in my throat.

Twenty paces ahead, the dormitory entrance loomed through the fog—but something was wrong. Even in the half-light, the distortion was unmistakable.

“Elvana,” Lydia breathed, her voice low and tight with alarm. “ Look. ”

We approached cautiously, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The massive oak door stood slightly ajar, prevented from closing properly by what appeared to be a leather satchel wedged in the gap.

Although it was not the satchel that made my blood run cold—it was the deep, jagged gouges carved into the doorframe, as though something had forcefully clawed its way inside.

“Gods above,” I breathed, reaching out to trace one of the gouges with trembling fingers. The wood was splintered, the marks fresh. Whatever made them had done so recently.

Lydia crouched down, her face pale in the moonlight. “Elvana,” she called, her voice barely audible. “There’s blood.”

I followed her gaze to the ground where dark droplets stained the snow before the entrance, glistening wetly in the faint light. A trail of them led through the doorway, disappearing into the shadows beyond.

“Whose satchel is that?” I asked, my voice suddenly dry.

Lydia carefully pushed the door wider, revealing more of the satchel.

It was crafted of fine leather, now scuffed and torn.

The scent of iron filled the air as we crossed the threshold, our eyes fixed on the trail of dark droplets that gleamed on the marble floor.

The blood, almost surreal against the muted hues of the night, wound its way into the corridor beyond.

I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears, as Lydia’s whispered command—“Elvana, come on”—drew me deeper into the darkness.

We moved cautiously along the corridor, our footsteps hushed against the cold stone floor.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the ancient building settling into the night.

The trail of blood guided us, its course uncertain yet insistently drawing us forward, until we reached a narrow landing at the base of a spiral staircase.

The staircase twisted upward into the gloom, its banister worn smooth by the passage of countless desperate souls.

A single beam of moonlight, filtering through a distant window, illuminated a section of the steps, and that was where we found her.

There, in the center of the landing, lay a body—a girl whose presence struck me with a sickening familiarity.

She was sprawled on the cold stone, her form draped in a pallid shroud of lifeless stillness. The sight was harrowing, as though the very essence of her being had been drained away, leaving only a husk marked by agony and resistance.

Lydia’s hand gripped mine, her touch a fragile anchor amidst the chaos of my thoughts. I could see the fear in her eyes mirrored in my own, an unspoken question hanging in the silence: Who could have done this? And why here, in this secluded corner of the academy’s underbelly?

For a long, heavy moment, neither of us spoke. The silence was not comforting now; it was a heavy, oppressive force that pressed down on my chest, urging me to find some semblance of understanding amid the horror.

I knelt slowly beside the body, my hands trembling as I reached out to gently brush away a stray lock of dark hair that cascaded across her pale forehead. The stark contrast of her lifeless eyes—wide and unseeing—against her delicate features sent a shiver down my spine.

There was an ethereal quality to her beauty, a quiet grace that belied the terror of her last moments.

I found myself pausing, caught between the need to mourn and the sensation that something still lingered nearby.

Her clothing, once perhaps elegant and refined, was now torn and stained—a silent testament to a struggle that ended too abruptly.

“Elvana?” Lydia’s voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of incredulity and sorrow. “Who... who is she?”

I shook my head slowly, my throat tight with unshed tears and unspoken questions. “I—I don’t know, I think she’s a second-year,” I replied, my voice barely audible.

The air was thick with the weight of loss and the bitter taste of violence, and I struggled to steady my racing heart. Every detail of this scene—every shadow, every droplet of blood—seemed to scream out in silent accusation, demanding to be understood, to be pieced together like a macabre puzzle.

“We have to get the Headmistress.” Lydia’s words floated in the still air, a fragile thread of caution amid the devastation.

I rose unsteadily, my legs weak as I joined her.

“We will summon a raven,” I forced out as the walls seemed to close in around us, the cold stone echoing with the whispers of forgotten tragedies. I kept glancing back at the body, unwilling to let go of the connection I felt—a connection I dared not fully understand.