The underground training chamber lay two stories below the library stacks, hidden behind an arcane lock that only senior dueling captains knew how to bypass. Stone arches ribbed the ceiling like the bones of a leviathan; dust silted the floor where old wards had cracked and faded. Tonight the vast room throbbed with half-suppressed excitement, because Lissandre had convinced half a dozen night-owls to stage an off-the-ledger mock duel, “no judges, no points, just bragging rights.”

  Nathan slipped through the narrow side door with Krit at his heels. He kept his hood low, every sense tuned to the chalk circles already laid out across the flagstones. A half-moon lantern lit each ring, its glow warded so no beam escaped the stairwell above. All the same, Nathan’s nerves hummed. If a patrolling professor found them, they’d be scrubbing cauldrons until winter term.

  At the far end of the chamber, Lissandre twirled a fire-orb on her fingertip. “Pairings are random,” she announced. “Best of three casts: offensive, defensive, and wild-card.” She winked at Nathan. “Hope you brought surprises.”

  Nathan tried a lopsided smile. The ancient runes pulsed just beyond his sight, ready the moment he let intention sharpen. He wasn’t sure if that counted as a surprise or a disaster.

  Names were drawn; opponents stepped into adjoining circles. Sparks, gusts, and skeletal earth-walls bloomed one after another, each duel concluding before real harm could happen. Then Lissandre’s hand dipped into the cloth bag again.

  “Final match: Roremand versus Nathan.”

  A low murmur swept the group. Roremand, top of every casting rubric, strode forward, bronze hair immaculate even in lantern gloom. Nathan swallowed and entered the opposite ring.

  “Three rounds,” Lissandre reminded. “Offense first. Bow.”

  They bowed. Roremand’s eyes glittered with something like curiosity. “Ready, mystery boy?”

  Nathan’s answer was lost to the thunder of his pulse. Picture a clean attack, he told himself. Something Sun-based, simple. In his mind, golden shards formed, a disk of radiance that could be hurled. The corresponding ancient rune materialized: a tri-ray sigil, each line tipped with a diamond flare. He raised his hand and felt it snap into place ahead of him, humming.

  Roremand was quicker. A textbook Fire-dart sprang from his fingers, spiral flourish, angular rune, flare. Nathan released his disk; the two spells collided mid-air. Sun-shards sheared through the dart, dousing it in molten sparks before smashing into the far wall, where they dissolved into harmless light.

  Gasps rippled. Roremand blinked, then gave a small, respectful nod. “Point.”

  Round two: defense. Nathan inhaled, steadying the tremor in his hands. Roremand snapped a Metal-lash rune, razor arcs of iron-light crackled toward Nathan. Shield, Nathan thought, but instead of the old Sun lattice he’d used in the attic, a new intent bloomed: sunlight hardened into a pane of shimmering air, translucent yet solid. The moment he pictured it, a rune he’d never seen flashed before his mind’s eye, interlocked chevrons, each blazing white-gold. He thrust his palm out.

  The chevron sigil flared, and a wall of crystal daylight rose, suffused with swirling currents. Metal-lash struck; the wall flexed like hammered bronze and scattered the attack into harmless motes. Breezes curled back at Nathan’s heels, but the barrier held.

  Silence, then wild applause. Even Krit’s calm composure cracked into a stunned grin. Lissandre lifted a hand. “Two points, Nathan.”

  Roremand’s brows knitted. “That was Sun and Air,” he murmured as they reset for the wild-card round. “Not possible.”

  “Tell that to the wall,” Nathan answered, pulse racing. The hidden music swelled, a layered chord of bells and strings no one else reacted to. He tried to shake it off, fighting the dizziness it always carried.

  Wild-card. No restrictions. Lissandre counted down.

  Nathan’s vision shimmered; every lantern spark looked like floating notation. Across the circle, Roremand raised both hands. He began weaving a rare dual-motion: Fire spiral for speed, Earth anchors for stability, still legal because they triggered in sequence. The combined rune would manifest a molten hammer capable of shattering most static shields.

  Nathan had seconds. He reached for intent, disorient, end it fast. Before his mind’s eye, an unfamiliar ancient symbol erupted: twin loops orbiting a radiant core, like eclipsed suns locked together. He didn’t know what it meant, only that it pulsed with light and wind. He traced it, barely thinking.

  Illusions burst from the ground, sunlit silhouettes of Nathan himself, five, ten, then twenty, each trailing streaks of warm gale. They shot forward, drawing Roremand’s hammer-strike away. The real Nathan sidestepped and snapped his fingers; the loop-rune pulsed again and the projections exploded into harmless bursts of heated air, rattling Roremand’s focus.

  The molten hammer fizzled mid-swing. Roremand stumbled, his casting circle collapsing around him. Lissandre thrust an arm between the rings. “Stop! Match over. Nathan wins three-nil.”

  The chamber erupted. Krit’s laughter rang like rain on porcelain; Lissandre whooped, flame-orb spiraling overhead. Roremand straightened, cheeks flushed, then offered a graceful bow. “I surrender to the better caster.”

  Nathan bowed back, half dazed. The hidden music still tolled, a thicker harmony now, as though dozens of unseen voices celebrated each successful rune. It was beautiful, suffocating.

  From a shadowed alcove above an old mirror frame, Narcis watched it all, chest tight with pride. He met Nathan’s gaze for a heartbeat and nodded before slipping from sight.

  Mirror Room

  After the crowd dispersed, Nathan ducked through a narrow hallway to the disused mirror-chamber adjoining the arena. Moonlight leaked through a barred vent, illuminating rows of tarnished glass panels that once helped duelists correct form. Narcis waited among them, eyes bright.

  “I saw everything,” he whispered. “Sun-wall, air illusions, no glyph in the syllabus explains those.”

  Nathan leaned against a cracked mirror, breathing hard. “I didn’t plan them. The runes just appeared when I needed them.”

  Narcis’s excitement dimmed into concern. “Are you hearing it now, the melody?”

  “Yes.” Nathan pressed his temple. “Louder when the runes form. Like a choir tuned to my pulse.”

  Narcis tilted his head, listening. The room echoed only with their breaths. “I hear nothing.”

  Realization struck Nathan with a chill. The music, like the runes, belonged to him alone. Whatever ancient source whispered in his blood, even his twin couldn’t sense it.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “You okay?” Narcis asked.

  Nathan managed a weak nod. “Just… adjusting. We’ll keep mapping tomorrow.”

  Narcis casts a moon spell and wraps himself in shadows and they began walking towards the attic.

  Moon-washed corridors were nearly empty when Roremand’s voice cracked like a whip behind Nathan.

  “Quinn! Hold it.”

  Nathan stopped. He’d barely turned when Roremand seized his sleeve and all but dragged him into a narrow service passage, unused, unlit except for a single slit window. Dust glittered in the beam, and Roremand’s eyes gleamed hard as cut glass.

  “Explain,” he snapped. “Last month you could barely ignite tinder. Tonight you’re throwing walls of sun-forged air and illusions that shouldn’t exist, and you expect us to swallow a polite shrug?”

  Nathan yanked his arm free. “People improve.”

  “Not like that.” Roremand’s laugh was brittle. “Merging runes is impossible, Quinn. Impossible. Every master on the continent says so. Yet there you were, glowing like a half-baked deity, while I, who’ve trained since childhood, looked like a first-year with a broken stylus.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a hiss. “Did you steal a relic, bribe a professor, what? Because raw talent doesn’t flip overnight, and you surely are not talented.”

  Nathan’s chin lifted. “Maybe raw talent was always there. Maybe you were too busy admiring your own perfect circles to notice.”

  Something ugly flickered across Roremand’s face, jealousy tangled with genuine fear. “I notice danger, Quinn, and that’s what you are right now. You think I’m worried about my ranking? I’m worried you’ll tear a void in the dueling arena next time your ‘talent’ decides to break another law of physics, and you’re too busy trying to fit in with your betters to notice.”

  Nathan’s pulse thudded in his ears. “I kept it contained.”

  “By accident, maybe.” Roremand’s tone sharpened, every word a blade. “I watched you mis-stroke basic air last term. I was in the infirmary when your rogue breeze knocked Varis off his feet. You’ve been a walking mishap for weeks, and suddenly you outclass senior forms? Spare me.”

  Nathan’s temper flared. “Believe what you want. I’ve been practicing. Hard.”

  “Practicing with what runes?” Roremand barked a humorless laugh. “I traced your casting residue, those sigils aren’t in any archive. They’re not Sun, not Air, not even corrupted Blood. They’re nothing.”

  “Maybe the archives are incomplete,” Nathan shot back.

  “Don’t play coy.” Roremand’s voice softened, unexpectedly raw. “Look… I know what it takes to stand in front of a crowd with power buzzing under your skin. If you’ve tapped something new, fine. But untested magic kills, Quinn. And the Reaper is rumoured awake. We don’t need a second catastrophe walking these halls.”

  Nathan’s anger faltered at the edge of that sincerity. “I’m not looking to hurt anyone.”

  “Then prove it.” Roremand straightened, masking whatever worry leaked through. “Until you do, I’ll be watching every cast, every duel, every flick of your fingers. Slip once, meld another impossible rune, and I’ll haul you to the High Council myself.”

  “That a threat?”

  “A precaution.” Roremand’s gaze slid over Nathan’s face, something softer, almost pleading, hiding behind the frost. “Don’t make me use it.”

  Nathan held that gaze, refusing to flinch. “Keep your eyes wide, Serel. You might learn something beyond perfect textbook lines.”

  Roremand’s jaw set. “Or watch you implode.” He turned, cloak snapping like a banner, and strode away, leaving the passage vibrating with unspoken anxieties.

  Nathan exhaled a shaky breath only when his footsteps faded. Harsh words or not, the warning was clear: one mis-cast, one fusion too many, and Roremand would blow the secret wide open. Nathan pressed a palm to the wall where faint echoes of ancient runes shimmered just for him, and vowed he’d master them before anyone decided they needed to be caged.

  Nathan pressed his back to the cold stone, breathing hard. Roremand’s footsteps vanished into the main corridor, but the sting of his words stayed, sharp and barbed. He scrubbed a sleeve across his eyes, only to freeze when a shadow slid from the nearest archway.

  Narcis unfolded himself from the gloom, arms crossed, silver eyes glinting. “Well,” he muttered, “somebody’s ego is overdue for maintenance.”

  Despite himself, Nathan snorted, a wet, half-laugh. “You heard?”

  “Every frosty syllable.” Narcis made a face. “For a top-tier duelist, Serel’s got the bedside manner of a tax audit.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What a monumental bitch.”

  The word burst out so bluntly Nathan couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. It cracked, tipped into something else, and suddenly tears blurred the torchlight. He tried to blink them away, but a hot sob slipped through.

  “Hey.” Narcis closed the distance, hands gentle on Nathan’s shoulders. “You’re allowed to feel things. Especially after being dressed down by the academy’s golden boy.”

  Nathan shook his head but the tears came faster. “He isn’t… completely wrong,” he whispered. “I can’t explain the runes, I can’t prove they’re safe. And if I mess up, people could get hurt.” His breath hitched. “What if he’s right and I’m just a hazard waiting to happen?”

  “Look at me.” Narcis tipped Nathan’s chin up. “Roremand saw power he doesn’t understand, so he defaulted to fear. That’s on him, not you.” He squeezed Nathan’s arms. “You contained every spell tonight. Your ward didn’t crack, your illusions vanished cleanly. That wasn’t luck, that was control.”

  Nathan wiped his cheeks, but new tears welled. “It felt like the runes were controlling me.”

  “They responded to you,” Narcis corrected, voice firm but soft. “You pictured protection; they gave you a shield. You pictured lift; they raised the chest. If anything, they trust you.”

  Nathan let the words sink in. The corridor’s chill seemed to ease beneath his brother’s steady grip. “But what if I lose focus next time?”

  “Then I’ll be there to anchor you,” Narcis said simply. “We’ll map limits, test fail-safes. You won’t face this alone.” He flashed a wry grin. “Besides, if Serel tries hauling you to the Council, he’ll have to get past me, and I bite.”

  A shaky laugh bubbled out of Nathan. He sagged forward and Narcis pulled him into a fierce hug. For a moment the corridor, the academy, the whole trembling future fell away, there was only the solid reassurance of an identical heartbeat against his.

  “Thank you,” Nathan whispered.

  “Always,” Narcis murmured into his hair. “Now breathe. Then we’ll raid the kitchen for midnight toast and figure out a training schedule that turns ‘impossible’ into ‘routine.’ Deal?”

  Nathan drew a long, steady breath. The ancient runes flickered faintly in the corner of his sight, quiet, waiting, not threatening. He nodded against Narcis’s shoulder. “Deal.”

  Night had settled into the academy’s bones, soft lamps guttering, distant staircases echoing, when Nathan slipped from the north dorm, intent on reaching the attic. He’d promised Narcis another quiet session, and after Roremand’s verbal skewer he craved the hush of chalk and moonlight.

  He took three steps down the deserted corridor before a voice sang out behind him.

  “Quinn! Halt or I’ll unleash Phil.”

  Nathan whirled. Lissandre strode toward him, curls half-tamed by a ribbon, a tiny fire-salamander perched proudly on her shoulder. Phil, an ever-flickering illusion, raised his molten snout and hissed what sounded suspiciously like applause.

  “Badass,” Lissandre declared, poking Nathan in the chest. “That sun-wall? Those light clones? You torched the rubric, Mister Mystery.”

  Nathan flushed. “It was… a good night.”

  “Good night?” She scoffed. “You vaporized Serel’s ego, that’s what you did. The crowd is still buzzing.” Her eyes softened. “Proud of you, Quinn. Been saying you had spark.”

  Phil chimed in with a snap of miniature embers.

  “Thanks,” Nathan murmured, warmth threading through fatigue. “Really.” He glanced down the hall. “I’ve got, uh, extra study plans.”

  Lissandre winked. “Secret late-night grind, I respect it. Just remember us normies when you’re Head Archmage.” She tapped Phil, who saluted with a tiny flame. “Come on, lizard. Bedtime.”

  They parted at the stairwell, her laughter fading into the gloom. Nathan’s grin lingered as he climbed to the roof balcony, where Noctisolar dozed amid curling starlight. The Celestial Dragon lifted its opalescent head when Nathan approached.

  “I won,” Nathan whispered, pressing his forehead to the dragon’s cool scales. “Sun-wall, illusions, everything held.”

  Noctisolar rumbled, a sound like distant bells, and nudged his shoulder in approval. For an instant the weight of Roremand’s suspicion melted; only victory and the quiet promise of untapped power remained.

  “I’ll train harder,” Nathan vowed. “Keep us safe.”

  The dragon’s auric eyes half-closed, as if sealing the promise. Nathan patted its neck once more, then slipped through the maintenance hatch toward the attic.

  Halfway up the hidden ladder a chill prickled behind his ears, an intrusive thought, but stronger, sharper than any stray anxiety. A voice threaded directly into his mind, edged with urgency:

  Practice Convergence. He’s coming.

  Nathan froze on the rung, heart stuttering. The words echoed, then dissolved like breath on glass. No further guidance, no identity, just that warning.

  Voices didn’t usually ride the secret melody inside him; this cut across it like a warning bell. He swallowed hard, climbed the last steps, and pushed into the attic where Narcis waited cross-legged beside fresh chalk lines.

  Nathan shut the hatch softly, pulse still racing.

  “Nate?” Narcis asked, brow furrowing at his pallor. “Something wrong?”

  Nathan forced a shaky smile. “Later,” he whispered, eyes scanning the quiet rafters as if the disembodied voice might linger there. “Let’s work on Convergence.”