Varin wept.

He had lost his truest friend, Aiora, and did not pay mind to her absence quickly enough. Not only had he been negligent enough to lose his friend, but he also murdered a girl so naïve and unaware of her power—albeit it was an uncontrollable, dangerous power. Varin was at fault, the magic exuded from him and it made him a murderer.

His father always told him as a child, “Be a man, and take the kill when it comes to you. Do not surrender to your enemies—for they will only return stronger.”

Varin always figured his first kill would be on the battleground, fighting to save his family name—not in the midst of a battle with a young Princess who was bewitched and out of her mind.

The town had calmed, and the fire had since been crushed after Cateline fell. Although there was no longer slithering fingers wrapping around his neck, he felt constricted. The air that filled his lungs came out in shallow breaths, and he was bruised from the curve of his shoulders to the edge of his jawline. As if a beast had wrapped their arms around him in a chokehold rather than a petite, lifeless woman.

Leolina led him back to Lighthelm with Cateline in his arms, her body limp and unresponsive to his every move. As they walked, he would jostle her a little in hopes to hear a groan or see her flinch. There was nothing.

When they entered the entry hall, the air was still. He saw many of the students standing there, their wide eyes staring at the woman who lay still. He had to tear his gaze away to prevent himself from screaming at them to pay their respects. They were amongst the dead.

“Follow me, Varin,” Leolina said, waving her hand as she walked past the group. Her voice was wavering, a somber reminder of the terror that had ensued. Varin didn’t realize he froze when he saw all the staring passersby.

The headmistress led him up to the top of the western wing, shaking her head as she pushed the broken lock to the side. The lock Thaddius had manipulated weeks prior.

“You trio were such troublemakers. Did you not think I would find this little treat?” She muttered, dropping the lock to the ground without a care. She nodded, tapping the tongue against her roof mockingly. “Dear Cateline would have had such a positive impact on your discipline. She was resilient—a pain, sure, but a warrior in the making.”

A Princess as a warrior. Shaking his head, he followed Leolina into the room and rested Cateline on a cot she pointed to. Furrowing his brow, he peered up at the headmistress with a frown.

“You said we had much to do to save her, and now you claim her to be a part of the past?”

“Indeed, right now she is stuck in the past. She is frozen, Varin.”

Leolina unfolded a blanket and rested it over Cateline, her bottom lip poking out in a pout. That was the most emotion Varin had seen Leolina express in his entire time here.

“I do not understand how…”

She sighed, her eyes flickering over Cateline as she continued to radiate a golden glow. A masterpiece stuck in time, apparently.

An irritating, life-altering masterpiece.

“You should know—you were the one to do it, no?”

Varin remained silent, his vision growing hazy as the remnants of that battle flooded his mind. It was a weak one, strife full of hopeless battles and a wandering soul—the same soul that entered this academy and practically burned it to the ground. Varin did not regret showing Cateline mercy, but it pained him that it was a wasted effort. She wound up dead regardless of his deflections.

“I have no idea.”

Leolina hummed, her lips twitching into a smile. A wicked one. “Dark magic lives within you, Varin. Not that I can say I am all that surprised, you were always up to no good.”

Varin clenched his jaw. He always did his best to remain out of trouble. If any of them had dark origins within their soul—excluding the headmistress herself—it was Aiora. His missing Aiora. Deciding to ignore her statement, he kept his focus on Cateline. “What is it you were talking about earlier, then? To save her?”

She waved her finger, signaling for him to stand before leading him down the stairwell again. Turning over his shoulder, his lip puckered into a pout as he closed the door, leaving her to lay silent and still.

He was led into one of the alchemy rooms, tables lined up for potion crafting and practicing. At the back corner was Thaddius, his horns charred at the tips and his skin blackened. Jaspar was holding a wet washcloth to his jaw, shaking his head as the satyr flinched. Carefully taking a few steps towards him, Varin pulled out a chair to rest his legs.

“How is town?” he asked under his breath, stomping his feet when Jaspar touched another burn.

“Sit still, boy!” The Elf warned. “Or else I will stick my finger right in that hole in your cheek.”

Varin narrowed his eyes and let out a sigh, lowering his stare to the ground. “Burned, but under control when I left it.”

Thaddius didn’t immediately respond, he simply nodded and glared up at Jaspar. “I think you have tended to my wounds enough. Your woman is beckoning for you.”

Jaspar turned to look over his shoulder, Leolina giving him a knowing look. Clearing his throat, he straightened his shirt and backed away from the satyr. “Next time your face is met with flames, do not come to me if you only seek a quarrel.”

“Seek a quarrel.” Thaddius chuckled. “Always so formal, Jaspar.”

Muttering something inaudible, he moved to Leolina’s side and started conversing with her quietly.

“Town may be fine,” Varin responded to Thaddius. “But Cateline is not.”

Clenching his jaw, Thaddius balled his hands into fists. “I know. I saw what she was causing.”

Varin peered at him through his lashes, eyeing the burn mark that grew from the right side of his jaw, stopping just shy of his eye. If she had hit him any closer, Thaddius would be blind. “It wasn’t her, Thaddius. You must realize this.”

“Not her? Then who was it?”

Varin turned to look at Leolina, pursing his lips before shaking his head. “Not Cateline, and that is all I can say on the matter.”

Thaddius leaned forward, his lips parted in awe. “Was it a doppelganger?”

“If only.”

“Then, it was Cateline. You should not be so naïve.”

Varin shrugged and stood to his feet, pacing by a bookshelf as he waited for Leolina to return. When she did, she held Jaspar close and whispered something to him before he went to the window. That was the first sign of affection he had seen Leolina give to Jaspar publicly. The prior interactions existed only in the rumor mill.

“You two are warriors, now,” Leolina said, a tone lingering behind her voice. He couldn’t pinpoint it—it was somewhere in between sarcasm and sincerity. “Alas, a warriors job is never done. You asked how you can save Cateline, Varin.”

He nodded, not turning from the bookshelf.

“According to a tale from a century or so ago, the Chosen One created a mark on the world that bred magic through the roots of Denzethea. The first mage in existence knew their fate—that she would be stoned and tossed into a river. This is the origin of dark magic, that mark.”

“Mark?” Thaddius grumbled. “What mark?”

“The Mark of Ellixus,” Leolina nodded. “Named after the region she was rumored to live in.”

“You are trying to tell me our region—of only two major capital Kingdoms—is the origin of all magic?”

“Precisely, Varin.”

He hummed, his nostrils flaring as he finally turned to face them head-on. “What does this have to do with Cateline?”

“That, I am not so sure. She spoke of a pendant her mother gave her soon after the powers within her made their appearance. I am not so sure you noticed, but when we laid her to rest, she was not wearing it.”

“Are you trying to tell me some magical mark is a hellish pendant?” Thaddius chimed in.

“The Mark of Ellixus has not been discovered—it could exist within the souls of all mages, or it could exist as a symbol on Denzethea. Symbols exist in all varieties, from blemishes in the soil to material objects. Just to be safe, we need to locate that necklace.”

“That can’t be all…” Varin said knowingly, crossing his arms over his chest. If Seraphine had bewitched Cateline, he was sure she had something to do with the pendant’s disappearance. “If it was as simple as locating a pendant, then why did you not prevent some crazy witch from wreaking havoc on four of your students?”

“Always so resilient… No, Varin, it does not stop there. Once we locate the pendant, we must make a sacrifice. This sacrifice is then rooted with all the mana spread throughout our world, but there is a catch!”

Leolina tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth at the end of the sentence, snapping her fingers for a final touch. It drove Varin insane as he snapped" “Pray tell.”

“The souls involved must be purified for the sacrifice to be successful. Purified of all conflict… all predisposition… a clean slate. This includes any prior conflict, it must be wiped, eradicated, nonexistent.”

Varin shook his head, his heart resting at the pit of his stomach. “A sacrifice? Cateline has passed, and you are reckoning we save her by offering her as a sacrifice? Let us pretend this makes any sense, headmistress. What comes of this sacrifice?”

“Dark magic, and light magic, shall exist as one. Tying together in harmony, these opposing elements will breathe life throughout the land and resurrect the Chosen One. They will lead us to our triumph. Nonetheless, I never said we would offer her as a sacrifice...”

“Triumph?” Varin chuckled, leaning over as he felt like he was growing ill. The world was spinning, and his stomach had flipped over a million times throughout her explanation. This was it—the headmistress had lost her mind. Aiora would be gone forever, as would Cateline. “A triumph of what, your insanity?”

“I only speak from the tales of our elders, Varin. You and I may be from different wombs, but we exist as brothers and sisters of magic. If we stand together, the wronged mages of Denzethea can rise again and reclaim the land we lost. You wanted to save your family name, did you not?”

Varin snapped up, his lips curled into a snarl as he pointed his finger at her. “Listen, you crazy witch, you do not tell my fate for me! Cateline is presumptively dead, Aiora is gone, and there is a wild witch running free bewitching every mage on this side of the Emerald Strait. What do you say, then? Fancy a cup of tea and catch up on our potion crafting?”

She took a step forward, her eyes turned into slits and irises as golden as the sun. Thaddius stood, wincing with each step as he inserted himself between the two of them.

“I don’t know much of what is going on—” he paused, looking between the two of them. “—but nothing will come of this quarrel.”

“It is no quarrel,” Leolina hissed. It was terrifying and abnormal; he had never seen an elf hiss. “Varin is ignoring the fate our elders had paved for him and you both!”

“Always a puppeteer,” Varin cheered. “Pulling your strings to move the puppets. That is all this academy is to you—that is why you have doppelgangers running amuck, waiting for your orders to attack. You want to start a war, do you not?”

Leolina remained quiet, shaking her head. “The war never ended—not with your father’s death, and certainly not with the death of the Chosen One. Cateline is the one that carried the mark, she is the only way we can do what the Elder’s decree.”

Varin snickered, shoving his way past Thaddius who held his hands defensively on his shoulders. Without another word, he stormed out of the room and made way to the Western wing. Just as he exited the doors, he heard Jaspar’s annoying voice exclaim in frustration.

“That boy has too big a temper and too ugly a mug.”