Rain lashes the stone walls of Aethermark Academy as Kael and Naia dart through the eastern wing, shadows swallowing their footsteps. The corridor is half-lit, the sconces dimmed as if the walls themselves are holding their breath.
Behind them, faint echoing boots—measured, militant. The Inquisition is on the move.
"They're using silencing wards," Naia says under her breath, her hand pressed to the wall, feeling for hidden runes. "They want this quiet."
Kael's pulse pounds in his ears. "Why now? What do they want with me?"
Naia casts him a glance, her voice grim. "You're not the first student they've taken. But you might be the last."
A nearby wall shudders and slides, revealing a secret passage. She grabs his wrist and pulls him inside just as a flicker of magic passes by—a seeking spell. Kael feels it like a cold breeze brushing his skin, searching.
Inside the passage, it's darker and tighter, the air thick with dust and memories. Kael ducks under low beams as they hurry, his mind racing faster than his feet.
"What is this place?"
"Smugglers' veins. The old builders carved them for escaping assassinations and siege magic," Naia says. "Only enchantment students are taught the paths."
Kael looks at her. "Why help me?"
Naia hesitates.
"I saw what happened when you touched the Door," she says at last. "The magic bent around you, Kael. Like it was… returning to its master."
He says nothing. He doesn't know if it was returning—or recognizing him.
They emerge in an abandoned scriptorium beneath the eastern tower. Dust-covered scrolls litter the stone floor, and bookshelves lean like crumbling bones. A dim orb flickers to life above them—Naia's enchantment—casting soft gold light across the ruined chamber.
Kael moves to the center, catching his breath. The runes on his hand throb again. He looks down.
This time, they're not glowing.
They're bleeding.
Dark red lines swirl across his palm like veins surfacing. He falls to one knee, teeth clenched.
"Kael!" Naia rushes to him, but a deep rumbling halts her mid-step.
The chamber trembles. Something awakens beneath the floor.
"Runes can't bleed," she says in a trembling whisper. "They're not alive."
Kael opens his mouth—and something else speaks through him.
"Three names. One face. The boy returns the voice to the world."
The voice is deep and ancient, laced with agony and power.
Naia backs away, hands glowing with defensive wards. "Kael… you're channeling something. Something old."
Then—crack!
The floor beneath Kael splinters, and he falls into darkness.
He lands in a pool of pale-blue light.
Floating above him is a figure—chained, faceless, draped in shadow. The same silhouette from his dreams.
Kael struggles to move, but the light pins him.
"You came," the being whispers, voice like wind scraping glass. "I was patient. I waited through centuries of silence."
"Who are you?" Kael asks, barely able to speak.
"I am the First Lock," it says. "And you… are the Final Key."
Kael's body trembles as a flood of visions assault him—wars forgotten by history, languages swallowed by time, doors that opened not into places, but into ideas.
One by one, he understands them.
"Why me?" Kael asks, tears blurring his vision.
The being smiles without a mouth. "Because only the one who has lost everything can be trusted to open the right door."
Above, Naia watches in horror as the stone seals shut around the hole Kael fell through.
Boots thunder down the hallway.
Too late.
The Inquisition bursts through the broken door.
One of the mages lifts a glowing crystal. "Scan for life."
The crystal pulses—then glows bright red.
"He's still alive," the inquisitor growls.
"Then we dig."
Naia's breath catches.
They'll find him. And they'll destroy him.