“Come on in.” Dean Godsthorn commanded and as if the doors had minds of their own, they opened up, revealing a tensed Ace. The guard had panic written all over his face and even with the way he fidgeted, those present could tell it was something serious.
“Where are the guests?” Dean Godsthorn asked; his eyes scanning the entire entrance along with his magical senses.
Ace quickly answered the Dean, stammering as he spoke. “The… they’re at the te… teleportation hall.”
Dean Godsthorn furrowed his brow, his interest piqued as to who these new guests could be to make Ace so tense.
Lord Terrace and Lord Acheon were equally curious. Just over an hour ago, they’d arrived and were welcomed by these same figures who showed no fear toward them and now he was acting like he’d seen the Grim Reaper all of a sudden.
Ace stood at attention, the tension radiating off him like heat. “The guests are at the portal, Dean,” he repeated with a quiver in his voice.
The news was enough to jolt Dean Godsthorn to his feet. Rarely were visitors kept at the teleportation hall rather than being granted direct entry into Elderglow Academy—only the most serious or unpredictable arrivals warranted such a measure. Whatever awaited them demanded his attention.
Lord Terrace stood as well, his expression hardening. He cast a glance at his son, Damon, who was standing nearby. “Stay here,” he ordered, pushing the young man gently toward Lord Acheon.
However, the moment he turned to follow the Dean, Lord Acheon rose, a determined light in his eyes. “I’ll come as well,” he said, refusing to miss whatever was happening.
And so, they departed together: Dean Godsthorn led the way, his robes sweeping the floor with every determined step.
Behind him walked Lord Terrace and his son Damon, followed by Lord Acheon and his son Daveon. Ace hurried ahead to lead the group through the maze-like halls of the academy, his earlier nerves now masked by duty.
The suspense grew heavier with every step they took as they headed for the teleportation hall.
As they drew closer, the air became noticeably colder, a creeping chill that burrowed into their skin. Lord Terrace and Lord Acheon exchanged wary glances, each acutely aware that this was no ordinary arrival. The sinister edge to the magic around them left little room for doubt—the guest was not a friend.
Dean Godsthorn’s expression darkened. He knew who it was, even before they reached the hall’s threshold. His grip on his staff tightened. There was only one person who could bring such malice into the very air—a man who had been his rival for decades. “That annoying bastard is here.” Dean Godsthorn cussed.
Dean Dethrein, head of the Crowgarth Institution, the only other academy that could boast of producing elite talents in the Northern Ireleone Continent, albeit never quite on par with Elderglow Academy.
The doors to the teleportation hall opened with a slow creak, revealing the room within. Standing in its center was Dean Dethrein, tall and gaunt, with dark robes that seemed to absorb light. His hair was white as bone, and his piercing eyes, dark and cold, met Dean Godsthorn’s with a mix of contempt and barely concealed amusement.
The two men locked gazes, the air between them vibrating with invisible energy.
Wooooong~
Their auras surged, colliding and battling for dominance, sending ripples of pressure outward. Everyone in the hall felt it.
Beside Dethrein stood two women. They were striking, their presence as intense as the man they accompanied.
The first woman had long, jet-black hair that fell like a curtain to her waist, framing a face that was both captivating and cruel. Her eyes, a burning crimson, seemed to pierce through whatever she focused on, and she wore a tight, dark dress embroidered with symbols that glowed faintly.
The second woman, slightly shorter, had silver hair and pale skin, giving her an almost spectral appearance. Her eyes were a cold, grey that seemed to lack life in them, and her lips curved in a smirk that never seemed to leave her face. She wore a flowing robe that seemed to shift and twist, as though alive.
The black-haired woman fixed her gaze on Lord Terrace, her eyes narrowing. The silver-haired woman, meanwhile, focused on Lord Acheon, her smirk widening ever so slightly.
The silence in the room grew unbearable. Neither side spoke, but the pressure in the air doubled, then tripled. Damon and Daveon, the sons of Lord Terrace and Lord Acheon, felt the weight crushing down on them, their knees threatening to buckle. Damon clenched his fists, fighting to stand straight, but his face had turned pale.
Snap!
With a flick of his wrist, Lord Terrace snapped his fingers. A soft, protective light enveloped the two young boys, shielding them from the suffocating auras.
“Gahh…” Damon gasped, the weight on his chest easing, while Daveon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I almost died.” He added with a frown, glaring back at the woman who kept giving his father a creepy look.
The dark-haired woman’s eyes narrowed further, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Oh?”
She hadn’t sensed Lord Terrace’s power until that moment. Her lips twisted into a scowl as she sent a telepathic message to her companion.
“That one’s a monster.”
Dean Godsthorn took a step forward, his voice low but cutting through the charged silence. “Dethrein, what is your purpose here?”
Dean Dethrein’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Always so direct, Godsthorn. You haven’t changed. But then, you never did understand diplomacy.” His voice dripped with disdain, each word laced with malice.
Lord Acheon’s eyes flared, his hand twitching as though itching to reach for a weapon. “Enough games. State your reason for appearing here uninvited,” he demanded, his voice carrying an edge of barely controlled fury.
Dethrein’s gaze shifted to the two Lords, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words. “The Demon War is upon us, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not,” he said, his tone turning icy. “You can act ignorant all you like, but you know the stakes. I am here to… offer a partnership. Crowgarth Institution is prepared to act.”
Booom!
The pressure in the room spiked and the walls splintered.