Argolaith stood silently in the narrow stone corridor, the cold air humming faintly with the residue of spatial magic. The hidden entrance Elder Mirith had passed through was now sealed—its archway unmarked by anything obvious, but Argolaith could still sense the weight of the runes embedded in its surface.
The passage was dimly lit by slow-burning wall glyphs, casting faint shadows that danced like ghosts.
He didn't approach the door.
Not yet.
Instead, he leaned against the wall just beyond its reach, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Watching. Waiting.
It wasn't long before footsteps echoed once more.
Soft. Deliberate.
Argolaith straightened slightly.
From the dim corridor beyond came a figure—then two, then three. All dressed differently than the average student robes. Their silhouettes were tall, composed. Their clothing bore the academy's crest, yes—but customized with flourishes rarely granted to anyone outside the Top-100 Registry. And the aura they carried…
Power.
