Footsteps echoed closer to Adam with each passing second. In the moment before the teachers inevitably confronted them about the ruckus, he held Desmond's uneasy gaze.
"I don't know..." Desmond started, but he interrupted with a heavy sigh.
"Look." He pointed at his left leg as the bleeding stopped and the deep-bone wound began to close under his healing spell, his icy voice contrasting with the warm recovery. "This construct won't get away after wounding me."
Desmond tried to speak, but he gripped the teenager by the back of his neck, drawing him close until their noses almost touched. "This is not about you anymore. I'll dismantle this can of scrap metal with my own hands. You hear me?"
A frown creased Desmond's brow, Adam's intensity making him back a step—just as a firm hand gripped them both from behind.
Fingers wrapped around his shoulder like the talons of an avian beast, Teacher Louis glared at the duo. Five magi stood behind him, gripping staves from which gems pulsed with mana. They gave Adam the impression that they were waiting for the right excuse to unleash rains of frozen fire and blinding darkness to obliterate him.
"You two are in trouble," Louis snarled, his grip forcing them to pivot and face him. "Explain yourselves, but do it quickly. Tolerance wears thin when students trigger the alarm instead of carrying a few boxes as instructed."
Silence engulfed the stone corridor for a moment. Pale from the threat, Desmond's eyes darted between Louis, the mysterious door, and then Adam. The truth was better out. The teachers could help him with the golem, its call, and the nightmares he'd have if he left the situation to fester.
Yet Adam's words rang like the clear chime of a bell in his moment of hesitation. Something was in there, protected by the golem. Something destined for him, who could open the mysterious room. If there were any chance of claiming it, he'd try.
Eventually, Desmond shook his head with a sigh. "Sorry, teacher..." He kept his voice low in feigned shame. "We played instead of carrying your materials. It somehow got out of hand because that blue bastard said I'd never breach his defenses."
Feigning became too hard, and his loud yell slipped out. "YAHOOO! Look at his leg, teacher! I got him so good that he won't dare to boast for a while."
"Who are you calling a blue bastard?" Adam masked his thankful nod by rolling his sky-blue eyes, hair of the same color fluttering. "Look at yourself, Mister Ridiculous Purple. With how skinny you are, someone would take you for a stalk of lavender rather than a human."
"What?" Desmond cupped his ear. "I think I'm hearing your right leg begging for attention."
"Enough!" Louis hissed, shaking them. "Minus two hundred points for each of you. Double it if I hear your nonsense again." Focusing on Adam, he pursed his lips. "Since you're such good friends, you won't mind sharing Desmond's sanction for the next thirteen days, right?"
It wasn't a question, but a command to which Adam nodded. With the agreement, Louis let the two troublemakers down, and the magi grumbled as they left with one last threatening glare. Teenagers fighting? Nothing new. But never in the Reward Hall. This was a silent warning Adam understood loud and clear—once, not twice.
But trouble only began for Adam.
Louis let him and Desmond go, green eyes lingering on his own hand—the hand that had held him up. His abnormal weight. Another secret revealed just like that. He bit his lip, bracing for the barrage of questions.
But Louis shifted his gaze to Desmond, asking none.
"I'm tired of your shenanigans," he commanded in a voice worn by countless scoldings, his gaze shooting to the studded storage door. "Open it, Desmond."
An icy shiver ran down Desmond's spine, jolting his shoulders in a trembling fury that ruffled his robes. For a heartbeat, the sound of the fabric echoed throughout the tunnel. Then, he stepped away from the door, his heartbeat drumming in his ears as he shook his head in silent, desperate pleading.
Adam's blood drained from his face too.
"Desmond!" Louis thundered, pronouncing each word like a curse. "Open. The. Door."
"We'd better not, teacher." Adam tried to convince, but Louis didn't even spare him a glance.
"I'll understand why you fear this storage today—now. I've repeated myself twice already. There won't be a third." Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵※𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮※𝓷𝓮𝓽
Compelled by the threat, Desmond dragged his feet toward the door as if his shoes had become two blocks of heavy metal, each slow step accompanied by a flurry of thoughts.
The golem was still there, sword in hand, likely lying in ambush. How many would die if it rampaged through the college? Hundreds, perhaps, or maybe a few if the teachers reacted without delay to the surprise attack. But that was beyond the point. Any death would be his responsibility, his burden to carry like a brand of shame each time he remembered that someone younger than him had once read on that bench, or tested his spells with his friends in the garden.
He had to tell the truth, to warn Louis about it before the golem lunged out.
A steely glint entered his eyes as he turned. Yet he caught Adam's headshake and narrowed eyes.
"Open the door, Desmond," Adam said through clenched jaws.
Deaths? He'd weep a tear for them and cover their graves with lovely flowers. But the college's inability to protect its students would not cost him the years of understanding he'd save by studying a construct thrumming with mana even after centuries. Of course, he'd help save lives if the worst happened.
But what if it didn't happen? What if the mysterious room had a real purpose, as he suspected? The construct would not leave it. The room might not even appear at all upon detecting a magus. Or... his thoughts drifted to Allistair's message.
Six forgotten great families, six legacies hidden. Was the door leading to one of them, or was he thinking too far ahead?