Blackmoor Academy looked… normal again.
No roses floated above anyone's heads. The sky outside was no longer blushing shades of enchanted pink and gold. No violin music echoed from invisible corners. The magic had settled.
The halls, once glittering with enchantment and dreamy chaos, were now silent.
It was as if prom never happened.
No one remembered Mr. Shawn.
No one remembered how their hearts had been opened like windows in the springtime.
No one… except Stephen.
---
A School Reset
Hope yawned as she padded into the common room, brushing out her tangled curls. "What a weird dream," she murmured, pouring herself some tea from the enchanted kettle.
London emerged behind her, stretching. "Prom, right? Was that real?"
Hope laughed. "I don't know. It feels like it was... everything. And nothing."
He kissed the top of her head and said, "Real or not, I think it did something to us."
In different corners of the school, Raphael and Jessa exchanged glances longer than usual. Daemon offered Celeste a seat beside him in the library. Smiles were softer. Words more gentle.
No one spoke of Mr. Shawn. Not even once.
---
The Note
But in Stephen's room, the morning came with a weight.
He sat up groggily, hair sticking out in nine directions, wearing a shirt that said "Memory Hunter: Certified" with an image of a ghost wearing sunglasses.
And on his bedside table… was a note.
An envelope, parchment smooth and warm to the touch. His name written in swirling gold ink.
Stephen.
He blinked.
Sat up straighter.
And opened it.
---
Mr. Shawn's Goodbye
> "You were always the special one, Stephen."
> "Not because you're the loudest, the strongest, or the cleverest—though some days, you're all three. You were special because you saw through things. You always did. Where others saw the surface, you saw the cracks. You noticed what others ignored."
> "Do you know why I came?"
> "Not to erase pain. Not to lie or control. I came because your school—your friends—your hearts were hurting. You had fought wars with monsters, with betrayal, with fear. You had lost people. Lost pieces of yourselves."
> "And sometimes, after all the fire and the blood and the screaming… the world doesn't end with a bang. Sometimes it ends with silence. With numbness. With forgetting how to feel."
> "So I came, Stephen."
> "To remind you all how to love again."
> "To hold up a mirror—not to your faces, but to your souls. And I needed someone to remember. Someone strong enough to hold the truth when everyone else let it go."
> "That was you."
> "You, with your jokes and your glitter bombs and your stubbornness. You, who hide your grief beneath sarcasm. You, who still ache when you think no one sees."
> "I saw you."
> "You lost someone once, didn't you? Someone the world didn't mourn the way you did. A brother. A friend. A love. You carry that, every day. And yet you smile. You keep them alive with your laughter."
> "You carry so much, Stephen. And you carry it alone."
> "But know this—"
> "You were the light I needed to leave behind."
> "And though they won't remember me… you will."
> "Because the heart that hurts the most is often the one that loves the deepest."
---
Stephen read it once.
Twice.
A third time, mouthing the words.
And as the last line faded into golden sparks—curling off the page and disappearing into the morning light—
A single tear rolled down his cheek.
He wiped it away with the heel of his palm, sniffling loudly. "Oh come on, Stephen. Get a grip. You're not crying over some illusionist love fairy headmaster ghost—"
His voice cracked.
He looked out the window at the quiet courtyard. A rose bush had bloomed overnight. No magic. Just real growth.
He smiled. And for once—it wasn't sarcastic.
---
Later That Morning
Back at breakfast, the group gathered as usual. Hope and London sharing toast. Jessa pouring juice. Raphael teasing Daemon, who didn't even scowl this time.
Stephen walked in, hair brushed (a rare sight), shirt clean, and face unusually thoughtful.
"Hey," Hope said, smiling. "Sleep okay?"
Stephen just looked at her.
Then he pulled out a chair, sat down, and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
He didn't tell them about the letter.
He didn't have to.
Some things… were just his to carry.