Even as time marched forward, the buzz surrounding the duel at the Excalibur clock tower remained fresh in the minds of every student, professor, and even the denizens of Caerleon. Despite the approaching Yuletide festivities, conversations often circled back to the now-infamous battle and the brewing anticipation for the Yuletide Ball—a grand celebration marking the end of the term before the academy emptied for winter. Meanwhile, the streets of Caerleon transformed for the season, decked in glittering decorations. Lights blazed from storefronts and lampposts, crystalline ornaments adorned towering trees, and the air was alive with the warm voices of carolers braving the biting chill.
Within the walls of Excalibur, a quieter but no less significant moment was unfolding in Professor Workner's office. Alongside Workner and Serfence sat Godric and Raine, sharing the plush leather sofa. Godric's hand rested firmly over Raine's, their fingers entwined as if to anchor her nerves. Raine's golden eyes flickered with unease as they both watched the man before them—a stern-looking individual meticulously sifting through stacks of documents. His thick-framed glasses perched on his nose as his sharp hazel eyes scanned every signature and line of text. He wore a finely pressed shirt, a vest, and slacks, with a pin emblazoned with the emblem of the Slaver's Guild Administration pinned to his chest.
The man adjusted his glasses occasionally, glancing up at Godric and Raine with brief, unreadable expressions. Each grunt or faint "hmm" from him made the boy tense, his breath momentarily catching in his chest.
Finally, Booth set the papers down, folding his hands over the desk as his gaze settled on them. "Well, it appears that everything is in order," he said. "However, as a matter of protocol, I must ask you one last time, Mister Gryffindor: Is this your final decision?"
Godric turned to Raine, his smile soft and unwavering. "Yes," he said firmly. "Without a doubt, Mister Booth."
Booth gave a small, approving nod, his stern demeanor softening slightly as he returned the smile. "Very well, then," he said, leaning forward to finalize the paperwork.
Mister Booth rose from his chair and made his way to Raine. Kneeling before her, he slipped his wand from his pocket, its polished wood gleaming in the soft light. With deliberate precision, he pointed the wand at the metallic collar around her neck. His lips moved in silent incantation as the tip of the wand emitted a faint, white glow. The runes etched into the collar illuminated, gears shifted, and with a soft, final click, the collar unlocked. He carefully removed it, standing as he held the now lifeless object in his hands.
"Congratulations, Miss Raine," he said with a small nod. "You're finally free."
For a moment, Raine sat motionless, her hand moving instinctively to her neck, now bare and tender to the touch. As the reality of her freedom washed over her, her golden eyes filled with tears. A sob escaped her lips, and she turned to Godric, throwing her arms around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder. Her sobs grew heavier, her emotions raw and unrestrained. Godric held her tightly, his own smile warm and filled with relief, whispering words of comfort as he stroked her hair.
Mister Booth stepped back toward the table, gathering the stack of documents before slipping them neatly into his leather suitcase alongside the collar. He straightened his vest, glancing at the others in the room. "If there's nothing further, gentlemen, I'll take my leave."
"Thank you, Wilkins," Workner said, extending a hand for a firm handshake. "It's always good to see a familiar face."
Booth returned the handshake with a polite smile. "Likewise, old friend. If you're ever in Camelot, do look me up. I'd love to catch up." With that, he turned and made his way out of the office, his steps steady and purposeful.
As the door clicked shut, Serfence raised an eyebrow at Workner. "You know, of all people, I'd have pegged you as the last to keep company with anyone from the Guild," he remarked, his tone laced with skepticism. "Considering your rather vocal disdain for their kind."
Workner adjusted his glasses with a measured calm. "Believe it or not, Wilkins is one of the few exceptions. He's helped me out of a bind more times than I can count." His gaze lingered on the now-empty doorway. "I trust him."
Serfence scoffed, folding his arms with a wry smirk. "A good one, huh? Sure, let's go with that."
"Hush now, my love," Godric whispered, steady and soothing as his fingers gently combed through her long, silvery hair. "I'm here, and I'll always be here."
The professor's gaze lingered on Godric and Raine. Though his signature scowl remained, there was a subtle softness in his eyes, a hint of unspoken understanding. Workner caught the shift and shrugged slightly, his own expression carrying a tinge of weariness. Clearing his throat, he placed a reassuring hand on Godric's shoulder.
"Well," Workner began, "it's been a long, rough, and emotional few weeks for all of us. I'd imagine you and Raine could use some time to yourselves."
"Thank you, Professor Workner," Godric looked the man in the eye. "For everything you've done—for me, for Raine—for all of it. I can't tell you how much it means to us. Truly."
"That's putting it mildly," Serfence muttered, rolling his eyes. "But don't let me interrupt your heartfelt moment." He turned toward the door, his boots clicking against the floor, but paused just before stepping out. Glancing back over his shoulder, his sharp features softened ever so slightly as he addressed Raine.
"And Miss Raine…"
Raine's wolfen ears perked up, her hand brushing away lingering tears as she looked toward him.
"Congratulations," Serfence said, firm but sincere. "On your freedom. Your life is your own now—go live it to the fullest." He hesitated for a beat, then added, "And… if you ever find yourself on the wrong side of slavers again, mention my name. I guarantee they'll think twice."
With that, he strode out of the room, leaving behind a faint echo of his words.
Both Godric and Raine stared, their eyes wide with surprise, as Workner chuckled. "That's Edward for you," he said, his gaze softening. "Never been one for expressing himself properly."
Raine turned her gaze back to Godric, her cheeks flushed a warm pink. "I still can't believe it," she said softly. "After everything… after all this time." Her golden eyes shimmered with tears. "And it's all because of you, my love. My brave lion."
Godric leaned in, his hand gently cupping her face as their lips met in a deep, heartfelt kiss. They held one another tightly, the weight of the moment pressing them closer.
"Ah—my apologies," came a voice from the doorway, causing them to pull apart slightly. Bran stood there, leaning casually against the frame, a faint smile on his lips. "I certainly hope I'm not interrupting… too much," he added with a chuckle. His piercing green eyes softened as he addressed Raine. "Congratulations on your freedom, Miss Raine. Truly."
"Bran, don't be a stranger," Workner called, gesturing toward the room. "Do come in. It wouldn't be right to leave the Adjudicator of the Clock Tower lingering in the hallway."
"Please, Professor Workner," Bran replied with a light laugh, stepping into the room. "I'm no one special." He glanced at the both of them, his smile warm. "Though I must say, I do regret missing the moment. It's not every day one witnesses history in the making."
"Modesty doesn't suit you, lad," Workner remarked with a grin. "Seems like only yesterday I was hauling you out of a dungeon after a nasty run-in with a pack of rabid beasts. Never did strike me as the delving type."
Bran chuckled, shaking his head. "And I never was. Let's just say those dungeons and I had a mutual understanding—we were better off far apart." He paused, his tone shifting to one of respect. "But we all have our callings, Professor. Yours lies in the shadows of Avalon's depths, and mine in the chambers of The Clock Tower. Each to our own."
Workner chuckled warmly. "Right you are, Bran. Nevertheless, you've proven your power in your own right," he said with a note of admiration. "One doesn't simply become a Visionary without extraordinary talent. I still get chills remembering your final battle at the Trials."
Bran offered a modest smile. "I've had the privilege of learning from exceptional teachers," he replied, giving Professor Workner a respectful nod. His gaze shifted to Godric and Raine, his expression turning serious yet composed. "That being said, I do have some matters to discuss with Professor Workner. Would you two mind giving us the room?"
The both of them exchanged a brief glance before turning to Workner, who nodded reassuringly. "Oh, my dear, you don't need my permission. Not anymore," he said warmly. His gaze softened as it landed on Raine. "You're free now. You can go anywhere, do anything. So go on—enjoy that freedom."
Godric smiled down at Raine, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Let's go say hi to Sofea and the others," he said. "I'm sure Hikari misses you."
Raine's face lit up with a radiant smile, her sapphire dress swaying gracefully as she stood. She nodded, her fingers laced with Godric's, and the two of them rose from the couch. Pausing at the door, they glanced back at Bran and Workner, giving a polite nod before stepping out and closing the door behind them.
****
As the door closed behind Godric and Raine, Bran let out a weary sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken burdens. Workner noticed the shift in his demeanor, his sharp grey eyes narrowing slightly before he adjusted his glasses.
"I take it that's a no," Workner said quietly.
Bran shook his head. "I gave it everything I had, Professor. Pulled every string I could, appealed to every department, even went directly to my superiors." He paused. "It just wasn't enough. I'm truly sorry."
Workner exhaled deeply. "No need to apologize, Bran. You tried, and that's more than most would have done." He offered a faint smile. "Even Edward hit a wall, and his influence in the Clock Tower is no small thing."
Bran removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as frustration flickered across his face. "It's maddening, truly. The laws I've devoted my life to—meant to uphold justice—feel more like chains than instruments of fairness. I've spent years placing my faith in their design, but in moments like these..." He trailed off. His gaze distant as he slipped his glasses back on.
"Cruelty and fairness often walk hand in hand," Workner said softly. "It's a bitter truth I've had to learn repeatedly. The laws of man don't allow for shades of grey—they deal only in absolutes."
Bran nodded slowly. "And now I understand why so many of my colleagues walk away. Growing up in the Clock Tower, I thought those who left their careers were weak or misguided. Now, I'm not so sure." His eyes met Workner's, steady and resolute. "If you'd prefer, I can speak to Gryffindor."
Workner waved the offer away, shaking his head firmly. "No. He should hear it from me." He hesitated, his expression softening. "But... I'd like to let them enjoy this moment a little longer. Let them have this time, even if it's fleeting."
Bran smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth breaking through his otherwise solemn demeanor.
"Naturally, Professor. Even I'm not so heartless as to deny them." He smoothed down his coat as he straightened. "I'll hold back the administration and the Tower for now, but when the year's end arrives, I will require an answer."
Workner nodded, his expression grim. "I'll tell him after the Yuletide Ball. You'll have your answer then. That's a promise."
Bran gave a faint smile. "Fair enough. And thank you, Professor—for handling this. Gryffindor and Raine deserve as much time as they can get."
****
The spirit of Yuletide was alive in every corner of Excalibur Academy. The halls shimmered with festive decorations, and the air buzzed with the excited chatter of students. Some eagerly discussed their plans for the upcoming ball, while others anticipated returning home to celebrate with their families. Even the hospital wing was adorned with cheerful streamers and glowing garlands, but for one patient, the joy of the season was a cruel contrast to his inner turmoil.
Volg sat on his hospital bed, his posture tense, his hands gripping the white blanket like a lifeline. His face was pale and gaunt, his expression a mask of grief and despair. Dried tear tracks stained his cheeks, and his dark thoughts churned relentlessly in his mind.
The news of The Calishans' disbandment and his excommunication from The Congregation had been devastating, but nothing compared to the blow of Rance's death. The loss tore through him, leaving a hollow ache in his chest. It felt surreal, like a waking nightmare he couldn't escape. Everything he'd built, everything he'd fought for—his clan, his reputation, his closest friend—was gone. And with each passing moment, the crushing realization of how much more he might lose tightened its grip on him. Anger and sorrow collided within him, a maelstrom of raw, unchecked emotions.
His gaze drifted to the mirror on the wall opposite his bed. The reflection staring back at him was a stranger—a fractured, ghastly visage he barely recognized. Cracks ran along his face, faintly glowing with a subtle lavender hue. A scar, resembling a burn, stretched from his left eye down to his upper lip. His left eye, once piercing blue, now had a black sclera and a golden iris. Doctor Adani had told him it was a permanent side effect of the Nova—a grim reminder of the reckless choices that had brought him here.
Even now, Volg could feel it: the alien changes taking root in his body. His muscles ached in ways they never had before. Seizures came and went unpredictably, leaving him shaken and vulnerable. The physical pain was a constant, unrelenting reminder of his new reality—a life irreversibly altered, a future shadowed by regret.
Volg's gaze dropped to the bandaged stump where his right arm had once been, severed cleanly at the elbow. The ghost of its presence haunted him, an agonizing reminder of what was lost. He could still feel it—the phantom weight, the phantom pain. The memory of cold steel slicing through flesh and bone was vivid, the gushing blood, and above all, the blazing fury in Gryffindor's crimson eyes.
His remaining hand instinctively moved to his stomach, fingers brushing over the wound where Godric's blade had run him through. The ache was more than physical; it was a relentless churning of rage and humiliation. His teeth clenched as his heart screamed for vengeance, but even that fire was suffocated by the crushing weight of his helplessness.
The sound of footsteps approached the door, drawing Volg's attention. He looked up as the figure of Laxus appeared, his older brother's piercing blue eyes locking onto him. Laxus stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with deliberate force. The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension, but the simmering anger radiating from Laxus was unmistakable.
Volg sneered. "Took you long enough to show up." His glare hardened. "What's the matter? Here to gloat? Rub salt in the wound? Go ahead, I know you've been waiting for this."
"Shut it, Volg," Laxus snapped. "You've pulled your fair share of stunts before—joyriding in Dad's prized car and smashing it into a tree, running up a five-figure tab at The Ritz, even pawning off the family heirlooms for some half-baked scheme. Mom and Dad have let you off the hook more times than you deserve, but this?" He gestured at his younger brother, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief.
"This takes the damned crown. Embezzling company funds, failing to deliver on a contract, instigating a No Quarter duel, and overdosing on Nova?" His jaw tightened. "I don't even have the words for how profoundly you've screwed up."
"Save your breath, Laxus," Volg spat. "I don't need a lecture from you, and I couldn't care less what you think of me. I've lost everything. The Clan, my place in the Congregation, Ra—" He choked on the name. "It's all gone. So, if you came here to kick me while I'm down, just get it over with. I know you're enjoying this."
"Enough!" Laxus roared. Volg flinched, his sneer faltering.
"Enough." He repeated, his tone colder now, measured but no less searing. "I wish I was the monster you think I am. At least then, maybe all this hatred you've hoarded for me would make sense. But I'm not."
"So, I'm done. Done trying to reach you, done hoping you'd grow out of this self-destructive pit you've buried yourself in. I've bent over backward, Volg—tried to make you see reason, tried to believe you could be better than this pathetic shell of spite and entitlement."
Volg opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but Laxus didn't give him the opportunity. His sharp glare and commanding presence silenced any retort before it could leave Volg's lips.
"I gave you everything. I left the Calishans to you, thinking it might inspire you to lead, to grow into someone better than the bitter child you've always been. And what did you do? You destroyed it. You burned everything it stood for to the ground and spat on its ashes. For what?"
Laxus's jaw tightened, his words seething with restrained fury. "Not only that, but you had to drag an innocent girl into this. A slave, Volg. For the Gods' sake, hasn't life already dealt her enough misery without you piling on?"
"Innocent?" Volg shot back. "She's just another filthy little slave. We deal in thousands of serfs every day, and you decide to cry over one?"
Laxus's composure snapped. "You tried to send her to the Mills, you wretched, despicable little shit!" he roared. "All because you wanted revenge—petty, vindictive revenge—against someone who bruised your bloated ego. Someone you wanted to hurt to make yourself look like a big man!" He let out a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've called you a lot of things—bitter, cruel, reckless, stupid—but evil? Evil wasn't one of them. Until now."
His fists clenched at his sides. "And believe me, if you'd succeeded, I swear on everything holy, I would've jumped on the first airship here, and strangled the life out of you with my bare hands. I wouldn't have cared if it meant spending the rest of my life in chains. You wouldn't have lived to see another sunrise."
He leaned in closer. "I'll be damned before I let filth like you tarnish the Dryfus name any further, let alone continue to breathe the same air as I do. Never have I been more ashamed to call you brother."
Volg's eyes widened slightly, recoiling at the look etched onto Laxus' face. He'd seen his brother angry before—many times—but never like this. There was a chilling intensity in his gaze, a cold, unyielding fury that sent a shiver down his spine. These weren't just idle words; they were a vow, spoken with the weight of an unbreakable promise.
"Bottom line is, you've failed, Volg. Not just the Calishans, not just the family. You've failed yourself. For that, I. Am. Done." Laxus then drew a sharp breath, his expression hardening. "And if you think The Congregation is the worst of your problems, you'd better brace yourself—it's only beginning. Remember Don Seville? You made a deal with him, and now he's coming to collect."
"So what?" Volg snapped, his tone defiant. "Just get Dad to pony up the penalty, and we'll be done with it!"
Laxus's gaze turned steely. "Do you see Dad here?" he asked. "Do you see anyone from our oh-so-esteemed family standing by you right now? Anyone besides me?" He paused, letting the silence settle like a weight. "And do you have any idea how he reacted when he found out exactly what you did? I swear, I can still hear him roaring from halfway across Avalon."
Volg's bravado faltered, his expression slackening. "Wait... what are you saying?"
Laxus's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "If you weren't such a blithering idiot, you'd have bothered to read the terms before signing your name on the dotted line. The 'product' you promised to Don Seville is rare—exceptionally rare. The penalties for failing to deliver? They're not something you can just throw money at, and here's the kicker: Dad has no intention of paying."
Volg's eyes widened in panic. "Laxus... what... what do you mean?"
"You dug yourself into this hole, Volg," Laxus said coldly. "You'll have to get yourself out of it."
Turning toward the door, Laxus paused with his hand on the handle. Without looking back, he added, "I suppose this is goodbye, little brother. If I'm not mistaken, Don Seville and his men should be on their way here as we speak."
He opened the door and walked out, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.
"No… no, don't leave me!" Volg cried, his voice breaking as his hand reached out in desperation. "Don't leave me like this, Laxus! Don't leave me!"