The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls. My footsteps echoed softly as I followed Percy’s path, my heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and unease. The tower was quiet at this hour, most apprentices either in their rooms or still in the dining hall. The silence felt heavy, almost oppressive, as if the walls themselves were watching me.

  I turned a corner and saw Percy’s silhouette ahead, his robes swishing as he walked. He didn’t look back, but I knew he was aware of me following him. We passed the blueish crystal staircase that connected the first and second floors, its steps glowing faintly in the dim light. Percy turned down a narrow corridor, and I quickened my pace to keep up.

  The air grew cooler as we moved deeper into the tower, and the faint smell of old parchment and ink grew stronger. The walls here were lined with faded tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and mythical creatures, their colours muted by time. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of history pressing in on me, as if the tower itself was alive with secrets.

  Why is Percy leading me this way? I thought, my unease growing with every step. The corridors here were less familiar, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being led into a trap. But I didn’t have much choice. Percy was the only one who could help me figure out what to do with the murlock scales and water grass—and, more importantly, what was really going on in the tower.

  As we walked, my mind wandered back to the murlock encounter and the water sprite gardens. I’d been lucky—too lucky. If I wanted to survive in this tower, I couldn’t rely on luck forever.

  I need to learn a spell, I thought, my fingers brushing the scar on my leg. Something simple but useful. Something that could give me an edge.

  I glanced at Percy’s back, his robes swishing as he walked. He moved with confidence, as if he knew every inch of this place. I envied that confidence. If I could just master a basic shadow spell, maybe I’d feel a little less out of place.

  Shadow Bolt, I mused. That might work. A small bolt of shadow energy—nothing fancy, but enough to defend myself if I need to.

  But spells weren’t easy to learn, especially without a proper teacher. Percy might know a thing or two, but I wasn’t sure I could trust him. Still, the thought lingered. I need to do something. I can’t keep relying on luck.

  We passed a series of closed doors, each marked with strange symbols that seemed to shift and shimmer in the torchlight. I couldn’t read them, but they gave me an uneasy feeling, as if they were warning me to turn back. Percy didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care. He moved with purpose, his steps steady and confident.

  Finally, he stopped in front of a door that looked no different from the others. It was unremarkable, just like all the rest, but I knew this was his room. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving it slightly ajar.

  I paused for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorframe. Was I walking into a trap? Or was this the break I needed? Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The room was a chaotic mess of papers, books, and strange artifacts. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars of glowing liquids, strange crystals, and what looked like preserved animal parts. A cluttered desk sat in the centre of the room, its surface barely visible under stacks of scrolls and half-finished projects. Percy was sitting at the desk, his eyes fixed on a glowing crystal in his hand.

  I closed the door behind me and crossed my arms, keeping my distance. “You wanted to talk?” I asked, my tone neutral but firm.

  Percy looked up, his brown eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I did,” he said, setting the crystal down. “But first, tell me—what do you know about Corwin’s death?”

  The question caught me off guard, but I kept my expression carefully blank. “Why do you ask?” I countered, avoiding his question.

  He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Curiosity. And concern. Corwin’s death wasn’t just an accident, Ayana. It was the start of something… darker.”

  I hesitated, studying his face for any hint of deception. “I don’t know much,” I said carefully. “Just what everyone else knows. Vayentha killed him during the inspection. It was shocking, but it happened.”

  Percy’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you really believe that? That it was just a random act of violence?”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  I didn’t respond immediately, my mind racing. Corwin’s death had always been a sensitive topic, shrouded in rumours and whispers. Some said it was sabotage. Others claimed it was part of Wilson’s experiments. But no one knew for sure.

  “What are you suggesting?” I asked, my voice steady but cautious.

  Percy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I’m suggesting that Wilson’s experiments have always been dangerous. And Corwin’s death was no accident.

  -------

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Percy and Ayana, who were deep in conversation about the recent events in the tower, more and more of the other apprentices began to grow restless. The air in the tower grew thick with tension, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon. Whispers echoed through the corridors, and small groups of two or three apprentices scurried about, their faces etched with unease. The tower, usually a place of order and discipline, was beginning to unravel at the edges.

  On the second floor, a pair of beginners huddled near the stairwell, their voices low and urgent. One clutched a crumpled piece of parchment, their eyes darting nervously as they discussed the implications of Ysondre’s sudden summons. “Did you see her face in the dining hall? She looked like she’d seen a ghost,” one whispered. Nearby, a trio of intermediates lingered by a flickering torch, their conversation punctuated by sharp gestures and wary glances

  Up on the third floor, the advanced apprentices were each holding court with their factions, their meetings cloaked in secrecy and urgency.

  Ysondre’s Faction: In a dimly lit chamber, Ysondre stood at the head of a long table, her sharp green eyes scanning the room. Her followers sat in tense silence, waiting for her to speak. The scroll from Master Wilson lay open before her, its contents still a mystery to all but her. “We must be prepared,” she said, her voice cutting through the stillness.

  Grimshaw’s Faction: In a corner of the training hall, Grimshaw leaned against a stone pillar, his arms crossed and his expression grim. His followers—a rowdy bunch of intermediates—gathered around him, their usual boisterous energy subdued. “Ysondre’s hiding something,” Grimshaw growled.

  Tasselia’s Faction: Tasselia’s meeting was held in her private quarters, the air thick with the scent of incense. Her followers sat in a loose circle, their faces filled with concern. “We must tread carefully,” Tasselia said, her voice calm but firm. “The tower is on edge, and one misstep could cost us everything. Stay close, and trust no one outside this room.”

  Dorceti’s Faction: Though Dorceti himself was absent, his followers had gathered in the library on the first floor, a place of quiet refuge amidst the growing chaos. The library’s towering shelves and dimly lit alcoves provided the perfect cover for their hushed discussions.

  Geranis’s Faction: Similarly, Geranis’s followers were scattered and leaderless, their usual meeting place near the kitchen eerily empty. A small group of them had retreated to the gardens, where they huddled under the cover of the fog, their voices barely audible over the rustling of leaves.

  As the factions convened, the rest of the tower buzzed with activity. Apprentices moved through the halls like shadows, their movements quick and furtive. Some carried messages, others supplies, and a few even weapons. The sense of unease was palpable, a current of tension that ran through every corridor and chamber.

  The tower was a powder keg, and the spark that would ignite it was drawing near. Unbeknownst to Percy and Ayana, their quiet conversation was but a small ripple in a sea of turmoil. The factions were mobilizing, the apprentices were growing restless, and the balance of power was shifting. The question was no longer if something would happen… it was when.

  -------

  I felt a chill run down my spine but didn’t let it show. “And you think Wilson had something to do with it?”

  Percy’s expression darkened. “I don’t think. I know. But proving it is another matter. That’s where you come in.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Me? What do I have to do with this?”

  “You’re resourceful. Clever. And you’ve got a knack for surviving things that would kill most apprentices. That makes you interesting—and potentially useful.”

  I didn’t like the way he said useful. It sounded too much like what Vayentha had said about the murlock corpse. “If you’re trying to flatter me, it’s not working,” I said flatly. “What do you want, Percy?”

  He sighed, as if disappointed by my lack of cooperation. “Fine. Let’s cut to the chase. I need you to talk to Hannah.”

  “Hannah?” I repeated, trying to place the name. “The crafter apprentice?”

  Percy nodded. “She’s the best in the tower when it comes to crafting. If anyone can turn those murlock scales and water grass into something useful, it’s her.”

  I frowned, my unease growing. “And why can’t you talk to her yourself?”

  Percy’s smile turned wry. “Hannah doesn’t trust me. She’s a bit of a loner, keeps to herself. But she might listen to you.”

  I studied him for a long moment, trying to read his intentions. Percy was always playing some kind of game, and I wasn’t sure if this was a move in my favour or his. But I didn’t have many options.

  “Fine,” I said finally. “I’ll talk to her. But if this is some kind of trick—”

  Before I could finish, a loud knock echoed through the room. Percy’s eyes flicked toward the door, his expression tightening. “Wait here,” he said, rising from his chair.

  He opened the door to reveal a young apprentice, barely out of their beginner years, clutching a stack of papers. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but Master Wilson asked me to deliver these to you,” the apprentice stammered.

  Percy took the papers with a curt nod. “Thank you. You can go.”

  The apprentice scurried away, and Percy closed the door, his expression unreadable. He returned to his desk, setting the papers aside without a second glance.

  “Where were we?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

  I crossed my arms, my unease growing. “You were about to tell me why I should trust you.”

  Percy chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “Trust is a rare commodity in this tower, Ayana. Alliances shift faster than the fog around the garden...”