Chapter 19

"Did you hear about the reward the council's offering?" someone said from a cluster of bodies to my left.
"Who would even be brave enough to go after it?" another student pondered aloud.
I could only scoff at their naivety, their ignorance of the true dangers that lurked beneath the surface of their mundane concerns. My steps quickened, eager to escape the suffocating chatter, the lingering images of my dream clawing at the edges of my consciousness.
"Alright, everyone gather 'round!" The booming voice of the physical education teacher cut through the noise, commanding immediate attention. We congregated around him in the gymnasium, an open space where his presence was as large as his voice. "I've got an important announcement," he continued once the last whispers had been stifled.
"Alan's efforts yesterday saved us all from what could've been a disaster," he began, casting a stern eye over the assembly. "He put himself on the line for every single one of us here, and we're going to show our appreciation."
A collective murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, but my heart sank. Alan, the unassuming hero, now at the center of a gratitude I couldn't share. The mere thought of facing him again sent a shiver down my spine, resurrecting the terror of the water pressing in, the panic of breaths that wouldn't come, and the eerie calmness with which he had pulled me back from the brink.
"Each class will take turns visiting him this afternoon to thank him personally. It's the least we can do," the teacher finished, his look sweeping across our faces to ensure compliance.
My mind raced, desperation clawing at my insides. The idea of standing before Alan, feigning gratitude when all I felt was an unsettling mix of fear and suspicion, was more than I could bear. The weight of that anticipated encounter threatened to crush me, and I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that I would not—could not—be part of it.
I kept my head bowed, fingers tracing the cold metal of the desk, as the others stood eagerly. Their chairs scraped against the floor in a unified chorus of readiness to visit Alan. The sound grated on my nerves, pricking at my resolve like thorns on a vine. I stayed seated, an island of resistance in a sea of compliance.
"Come on," whispered Jenna from beside me, her voice laced with enthusiasm she assumed was contagious. "It'll be good to say 'thank you.' He did save us, after all."
Her words buzzed around me, an irritating fly I longed to swat away. Save us? Maybe he had for them, but for me, it was different. Alan's face flickered through my mind, his expression unreadable as he'd pulled me to safety. How could I thank him when every instinct screamed that there was something more behind his calm demeanor?
"Are you coming?" Jenna nudged me, her brows knitting together in concern.
I shook my head, the movement sharp, decisive. "I can't," my voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of my conviction.
The physical education teacher's eyes zeroed in on me, the only statue amidst the flurry of movement. "You have something else to do?" he asked, the edge in his tone suggesting that no excuse would be good enough.
"Personal reasons," I managed to say, my throat tight, my gaze unflinching despite the tremor I felt within.
"Alright, everyone else, let's go," he commanded, not wanting to create a scene. The students filed out, leaving me in the lingering silence that filled the empty classroom.
"Personal reasons" didn't begin to cover the tempest of emotions that Alan’s name evoked. Gratitude wasn't one of them; not when the shadows of doubt clouded my thoughts, not when my gut told me that his heroics weren't as straightforward as they seemed. No, I couldn't face Alan, not until I uncovered the truth lurking beneath the surface.
The sunlight had long since dipped below the horizon when I heard the soft murmur of voices from the living quarters next door. I crept closer to the wall, pressing my ear against its cool surface. They had come to thank Alan—my classmates. The relief in their tones was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual gaiety that filled the academy's halls.
"Alan, we owe you a debt we can scarcely repay," one voice said, undoubtedly Mark, with his characteristic formality. "Without your courage, she might not..."
I could imagine Alan's modest shrug, his hand running through his disheveled hair as he interrupted, "No debt, friends. We look out for each other, right?"
A chorus of agreement followed, and the tension in my chest eased. Alan had saved me, yes, but it was more than that. He had preserved the delicate balance of our lives here, where danger seemed increasingly pervasive.
The parents, noble in both spirit and lineage, had not missed the shadow that incident cast upon the safety of the campus. Their words echoed in my head, the concern sharpening their usually soft tones. "Is this the environment we've chosen for our kids? Where their lives are put at risk?"
They were ready to act, to pull strings and exert pressure. But, as discussions unfolded, resolution came without the need for drastic measures. Understanding, perhaps, or reassurances given in hushed rooms—I wasn't privy to the details. Yet, peace was brokered, quiet promises made to fortify the safety we all took for granted.
As for me, I sought solace in solitude, letting day merge into night while the world outside continued unaware. My bed remained untouched as daylight hours passed, while under the cloak of darkness, I pored over ancient texts and practiced incantations, seeking answers in the only way I knew how. The noble blood in my veins demanded nothing less than mastery, and I wouldn't—couldn't—falter now.
The boardroom's mahogany door swung open with an authoritative push, a signal that the meeting within had reached its conclusion. I glanced up from the dusty tome spread across my lap. Through the crack in the library's heavy curtains, a sliver of light betrayed the fading evening. I'd been here since the first hint of dawn, nestled between shelves that whispered secrets of a time when magic was young.
I watched as they filed out, these members of the board of directors, their expressions a blend of concern and resolve. Their murmurs were low but carried the weight of decisions made, of futures altered by the stroke of a quill or the nod of a head. They had stood as mediators between my parents' fears and the reality of our campus—a place of learning, yes, but also a cradle for the arcane and unpredictable.
"Miss Heyes," a voice called, breaking through the hum of quiet conversation. It was Mr. Wethersby, the head of the board, his face creased with lines etched from years of stewardship over this sanctuary of knowledge. I rose, smoothing the folds of my skirt, and stepped out from the shadows.
"Mr. Wethersby," I acknowledged with a small nod, mindful of the respect due to his position.
"Your concerns have been heard, rest assured," he said, his eyes kind yet sharp behind thin-rimmed spectacles. "We've taken measures to ensure the safety of all students. Your well-being is paramount."
"Thank you," I replied, though my thoughts were already drifting to the more pressing matter at hand—the one person who might hold the answers to the questions clawing at the edges of my mind. "I trust your judgment."
With a final nod, Mr. Wethersby excused himself, the last of the board members disappearing down the corridor. The silence that followed felt like a breath held too long, and I released mine slowly, feeling the weight of solitude settle once more.
Footsteps approached, a familiar cadence that quickened the pulse at my throat. Professor Hargrave with his keen eyes and unyielding quest for truth, entered the library. His gaze found me instantly, as if drawn by an invisible thread connecting student to teacher, apprentice to master.
"Professor," I began, rising to meet him halfway. "I've been waiting for your return. There's something I need to discuss with you—"
His hand raised slightly, a motion that bade me pause. We both understood the gravity of what lay unsaid between us. The rune, the intangible yet potent symbol of protection, had failed—or so it seemed. But there were layers to the arcane that defied simple explanation, and he was the one who could unravel them.
"Let's find a quieter corner," he suggested, his voice low. "There are matters here that require... discretion."