Just then, the heavy door creaked open, spilling a golden slant of light into the dimly lit office. The scent of old parchment and ink mingled with the crisp morning air.
The moment Kaelan registered the intrusion, he straightened in his chair, the boyish nonchalance vanishing in an instant. His fingers drummed once against the armrest before stilling, sharp eyes locking onto the figure stepping inside.
A tall man stood in the doorway, his shoulder-length, tousled black hair slightly unkempt, adding to his air of quiet intensity. His piercing green eyes swept over the office, sharp with intent. Professor Thalor. Unlike those caught in last night's chaos, he had not been there. As part of the morning shift, he had been spared from witnessing the uproar firsthand—but not from hearing about it.
Concern was etched across his sharp features as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His normally composed demeanor carried an undercurrent of urgency, his academic robes neat yet still carrying the faintest scent of the city's unrest, as if the weight of the news clung to him.
Kaelan leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable.
"Good morning, Professor." His voice was calm, measured. "May I know the reason of your presence ."
Thalor had met many formidable individuals in his lifetime, but there was something uniquely unnerving about the young man before him. He sat there—relaxed, composed—yet the weight of his presence was suffocating.
Why me?
The question had gnawed at him from the moment he received his orders. There were plenty of others—more senior scholars, advisors, those accustomed to handling delicate matters. People who could stand in a room with Kaelan and not feel as though they were balancing on a knife's edge.
Yet, they sent him.
The academy's reasoning had seemed logical—on paper. As a professor, he held a neutral position—not an administrator, not a researcher, but an educator. Someone who could inquire without provoking, observe without threatening. They claimed that made him the ideal candidate.
But Thalor knew better.
They hadn't sent him because of his diplomacy.
They sent him because, at first, he had been clueless. When he arrived at the academy, he had believed in its structure, its order. He had been naïve. But now? Now, he had agreed to something dangerous.
He took a careful step forward, schooling his expression into one of quiet professionalism. Stay composed. Choose your words carefully.
His sharp green eyes met Kaelan's, but only for a moment—just long enough to show attentiveness without overstepping. He had heard rumors about this young man, and standing before him now, he could feel the weight of them.
He gave a small nod of respect. "Mr. Kaelan," he began, his voice measured—not too firm, not too hesitant. "I don't believe we've had the chance to formally meet. I am Professor Thalor—I oversee morning lectures on Aetheric Affinity and its influence on spellcraft."
A pause. His heartbeat was steady, but a little too fast. Do not fumble. Do not misstep.
"You may not have seen me at last night's meeting," he continued, carefully choosing his words. "I wasn't there. My shift ends before sundown, and my residence is near the academy. By the time I was informed of the… events, the situation had already escalated."
He let the statement linger, watching Kaelan's reaction. Not too probing, not too distant—just enough to acknowledge what had happened without pressing.
Then, finally, the reason he was here.
"The academy has decided that I should bring forward a matter requiring your opinion," he stated, his tone smooth but deliberate. "However, if this approach is not to your preference, they are prepared to reconsider. In that case, what course of action would you suggest?"
A safe offer—one that positioned him as an ally, but did not let him forget why he had been sent in the first place.
Kaelan's Internal Thoughts & Response
Kaelan's gaze remained steady, but internally, his mind sharpened like a blade against a whetstone.
A matter requiring my opinion.
He turned the words over in his head, dissecting them. Thalor's approach was careful, too careful—his phrasing deliberate, as if ensuring he didn't step on hidden thorns. That meant this wasn't just a formality. It wasn't an update, wasn't a report—it was something they wanted him to weigh in on.
And yet… Kaelan had no idea what the professor was talking about.
He let the silence stretch for a few seconds longer, watching Thalor, reading him. The professor was competent—well-spoken, methodical. But he was also tense. Not shaking, not visibly anxious, but measured in a way that told Kaelan he wasn't entirely comfortable in this room.
Which meant two things.
One: The academy sent him despite knowing that.
Two: Whatever "matter" they wanted his opinion on… it wasn't simple.
Kaelan exhaled softly through his nose. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk, fingers interlacing. His expression didn't shift much, but his voice, when he spoke, was low and firm—just enough to press down on the moment.
"Slow down."
He watched for Thalor's reaction—not out of malice, but to see how the professor handled the shift in pace.
"Before we discuss anything, I need to know exactly what this is about. No vague wording, no careful maneuvering—just tell me what they want."
His tone wasn't harsh, but it left no room for sidestepping.
Professor Thalor's Measured Recovery
The moment Kaelan told him to slow down, Thalor felt the balance of the conversation shift. His carefully laid-out delivery had been dismantled in an instant. It wasn't outright rejection—it was something worse. Kaelan was scrutinizing, calculating.
He had to adjust. Quickly.
Thalor inhaled subtly, forcing his body to remain at ease. Adapt. Keep control.
"Of course," he said, his voice smooth but deliberate now, his tempo adjusting. "I'll be direct, then."
He let the words settle before continuing. "The academy has decided that your position must be formalized—not just as an influential figure, but as an official pillar within its structure."
He watched Kaelan closely.
"The Vice Principal will step down. Willfully."
That word—willfully—nearly caught in his throat. But he didn't falter. Pressed forward.
"And in his place, you will take the role."
Silence.
Thalor remained composed, though the weight of his words hung thick in the air.
"This is not merely a gesture. It will grant you full administrative authority—control over academy affairs, decisions, and policies. It will remove any lingering questions about your influence."
Another measured pause.
"However, if this is not the course you prefer, the academy is willing to reconsider an alternative. Or… if you have a different approach in mind, they are prepared to hear it."
He had delivered it. A proposal wrapped as a decision—but with just enough room for maneuvering.
Now, all that remained was Kaelan's response.