Not far from Ravencrest Palace, along the twisted paths of Darkwood Forest, a lone boy was being dragged through the rain.
Kalen Ravencrest.
His wrists were bound loosely, his soaked clothes clinging to his thin frame as mud swallowed his feet with every step. Thunder growled overhead, and the storm showed no mercy.
"You're lucky His Majesty didn't kill you," one of the armored guards muttered.
The other spat into the mud. "If it were up to me, I would've ended him myself. Weak like his mother."
Kalen said nothing.
His head remained bowed, but his body trembled—not from fear.
Something deep within him was stirring.
The cart suddenly slowed to a halt.
A massive fallen tree blocked the path ahead.
"Damn it," one guard cursed as they stepped down to inspect it.
Rain poured harder.
This was the moment.
Kalen closed his eyes.
He stopped listening to the storm… to the guards… to the world itself.
Instead, he listened inward.
To instinct.To memory.To a gentle voice he knew too well.
Now.
The whisper echoed through his soul.
The sky erupted in a blinding yellow flash.
"Ah—!" the guards shouted, shielding their eyes.
The ground shook.
And when the light faded—
Kalen was gone.
All that remained was a pile of charred rope, a scrap of scorched cloth, and thin smoke curling into the rain-soaked air.
"W-Where did he go?" one guard stammered.
"Was that… magic?" the other whispered in terror.
They searched frantically.
But the forest had already claimed its secret.
Back at Grimswald
High in the tallest tower of Grimswald College of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Headmaster Aurelius Dreymark watched as the yellow flash tore across the distant sky.
This time, his eyes did not narrow in fear.
They sparkled.
A deep, knowing chuckle escaped his lips.
"So… you followed your instincts," he murmured. "Good."
A proud smile spread across his face—the kind only a true teacher wore when a student awakened their first spark of real magic.
Without wasting another second, Aurelius raised his hand.
His blue cloak leapt from its stand and wrapped itself around his shoulders. He grasped his staff—crafted from ancient silverwood and crowned with a glowing moonstone—and strode from the room.
But first, he made one stop.
The Hospital Wing
The air inside the hospital wing was warm and fragrant with herbs and candlewax. Rows of beds lined the hall, separated by floating curtains that shifted color depending on the patient's condition.
Near a far window stood Professor Alric Maeron, dressed in white robes, studying a glowing medical chart.
He looked up and smiled gently.
"Headmaster."
Aurelius approached, his voice low. "How is Eirene?"
Maeron's expression softened. "She's stable. Weak—but her pulse has settled. The final red flash didn't worsen her state. She's resting."
They both turned toward a small bed in the corner.
Eirene lay there peacefully.
When the first three crimson flashes had torn through the sky, she had collapsed instantly. She had not spoken since.
Aurelius placed a gentle hand on her forehead.
"She is bound to all of this," he murmured.
As he turned to leave, his gaze lingered on the sleeping child.
"Watch her closely while I'm gone," he said quietly. "The darkness has begun to move… and she may be the light we'll need."
Without another word, the headmaster departed, his footsteps echoing through stone corridors—toward a place where past and future were tightly guarded.
The Library of the Ministry of Magic.
The war between darkness and light had begun once more.
And new players were stepping onto the board.
The basement of the Ministry's Library was ancient and suffocating. Dust-covered shelves towered endlessly, enchanted tomes whispering warnings to those who lingered too long.
Lanterns flickered weakly.
At the center of it all stood Theron Ravencrest.
His dark cloak billowed as he moved through the aisles, eyes scanning title after forbidden title.
Then—his fingers stopped.
The Tome of the Twin Stone.
His heart pounded.
Suddenly, a calm voice echoed from the shadows.
"I knew you would come here, my dear student."
Theron froze.
He turned sharply.
Standing there, staff in hand, was Professor Aurelius Dreymark—his former mentor.
"Have you come to stop me?" Theron sneered. "It's pointless. No one can stand in my way now."
Aurelius's gaze was steady.
"You are just like your grandfather, Caiden Ravencrest," he said softly. "I warned him too. Power consumed him… and I lost a dear friend."
He stepped closer.
"There is still time, Theron. Repent. Seek forgiveness. Do some good—before it's too late."
Theron burst into laughter—sharp, cruel, echoing.
He opened his palm.
Two stones gleamed—blue and green, radiant as stars.
"I joined Grimswald only to find these," Theron declared. "Now I have them… and the book. Today, I fulfill my grandfather's dream."
Aurelius sighed.
"If you are unworthy," he warned, "the book will vanish—perhaps for centuries."
He turned and left.
Theron approached the pedestal.
Placed the stones.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
"OPEN!" he roared.
The golden light faded.
The book dissolved into glowing particles.
"No—!" Theron screamed.
Gone.
Unworthy.
Meanwhile, beneath twisted branches and mist, Aurelius walked calmly through Darkwood Forest.
Then he saw him.
A boy standing alone near a fallen tree—wet, bruised, silent.
"You there," Aurelius said gently. "What is your name?"
"…Kalen."
The headmaster smiled.
"You're safe now," he said, offering his hand. "Come with me."
Kalen hesitated.
Then nodded.
As they walked together through the forest, the boy said nothing.
But for the first time since that terrible night—
He felt safe.