Far away from the cold towers of Ravencrest Palace, nestled deep within the misty peaks of the northern highlands, stood a mysterious old fortress known as Grimswald College of Witchcraft. Cloaked in ancient spells and whispering winds, it was the oldest magical school in the realm—hidden from the eyes of ordinary folk and guarded by magic as old as time.
In the tallest tower of the college, beneath a pointed dome of silvered glass, Headmaster Aurelius Dreymark sat quietly in his chamber. His long grey beard rested against his chest, and his sharp golden eyes stared through the arched window that opened to the stormy sky.
Aurelius was no ordinary headmaster. Once the most powerful battle mage in the realm, he was feared in war and respected in peace. Dressed in deep blue robes embroidered with stars, he looked like a figure born from the night sky itself.
Lightning danced across the clouds.
Then, it happened again.
A fourth red flash streaked across the heavens like a bloody comet.
Aurelius slowly stood up and placed his hand on the window frame, his gaze steady. "So… the fourth," he whispered. "Just as I feared."
He turned away and walked across his study. Books floated gently around him, enchanted to never fall or grow dusty. As he passed a glowing orb on a pedestal, he reached out and touched it. The orb shimmered, revealing visions of the past—the royal palace, the death of Elysia, and the cruel smile on Theron Ravencrest's face.
"My old student," Aurelius murmured, his voice quiet but cold. "You've walked too far into darkness. And now… you'll answer for it."
In the Shadowed Forest
Not far from the palace, through the winding paths of the Darkwood Forest, Kalen Ravencrest was being dragged along by two heavily armored guards. The rain poured hard, soaking his clothes and making the muddy path slippery.
"You're lucky His Majesty didn't kill you," one of the soldiers muttered.
The other spat on the ground. "You ask me, he should've. The boy's as weak as his mother."
Kalen said nothing. His head was bowed, his arms tied loosely. His body trembled—not from fear, but from something else.
Something stirring deep inside him.
Suddenly, the cart they were using slowed. The guards stepped out to inspect a fallen tree blocking the path.
Now was the moment.
Kalen closed his eyes and listened—not to the rain, not to the men—but to a small voice inside him. His mother's voice. His instincts. His soul.
He took a deep breath.
"Now," a whisper echoed in his mind.
Then came a blinding fifth red flash in the sky—brighter and faster than the ones before.
The soldiers shouted, shielding their eyes.
By the time the light faded…
Kalen was gone.
In his place lay a small pile of charred rope and a bit of scorched clothing. Smoke rose in the air.
"Wh-Where did he go?" one of the guards stammered.
"Was that… magic?" the other gasped.
They searched frantically, but it was no use. To the world, it appeared the powerless prince had burned away under the red light.
Back at Grimswald
Up in his tower, Headmaster Aurelius watched as the fifth red flash cut across the sky.
But this time, his eyes didn't narrow in fear.
They sparkled.
He chuckled softly, a deep, wise sound. "You followed your instincts, boy. Good."
A wide smile spread across his face—the kind a proud teacher gives when a student finally finds their first spark of true magic.
He didn't wait a second longer.
With a wave of his hand, his blue cloak flew into the air and wrapped itself around his shoulders. He grabbed his staff—tall and carved from silverwood, topped with a glowing moonstone—and strode out of the room.
The College Hospital Wing
Before heading out, Aurelius made one important stop—the Hospital Wing, where the ill and injured students of Grimswald were treated.
The large, arched hallway smelled of herbs and warm candlewax. Beds lined the room, separated by floating curtains that changed color depending on the patient's condition.
Near the far window, a kind-faced man in white robes stood reading a magical chart. He looked up and smiled as the headmaster entered.
"Doctor Maeron," Aurelius greeted.
"Headmaster," the doctor bowed. "What brings you to the hospital wing in the middle of a storm?"
Aurelius stepped forward, lowering his voice. "How is Eirene?"
Doctor Maeron's expression softened. "Still weak, but her pulse has stabilized. The last red flash didn't worsen her condition. She's resting now."
They both looked at the small bed in the corner.
Lying there was Eirene, a pale-skinned girl with soft brown hair and a silver charm bracelet around her wrist. Only nine years old, Eirene was one of the most magically sensitive students ever admitted to Grimswald. When the first three red flashes appeared in the sky, she collapsed from the overwhelming energy and hadn't spoken since.
Aurelius leaned in, placing a gentle hand on her forehead. "She is connected to all of this. Keep her safe, no matter what."
Maeron nodded. "I will. You have my word."
As Aurelius turned to leave, his eyes lingered one last time on the sleeping child. "Take special care of her while I'm gone. The darkness has begun to move. And she may be the light we'll need."
Then, without another word, the headmaster disappeared through the large oak doors, heading down the stone halls toward the ancient Library of the Ministry of Magic—a place where the past and future of all magical beings was carefully guarded.
The war between darkness and light had begun again.
And this time, new players were stepping onto the board.