The next morning at the Academy was strangely silent.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet but the tense, watchful stillness that usually comes before a storm.
Arin could feel it in his bones as he walked through the corridors. Whispers followed him. Eyes lingered too long. Even the statues seemed to tilt slightly, as if watching.
Whatever happened in the Hall of Mirrors last night... it changed something.
He just didn't know what yet.
When he reached the central quad, he found Master Kael waiting for him arms folded, face unreadable.
"You've been summoned," the professor said flatly.
Arin blinked. "By who?"
"Headmaster Talmar. Immediately."
The Headmaster's tower was carved from dark obsidian stone, laced with runes that pulsed faintly as Arin passed. The air inside felt heavy, enchanted, ancient.
Talmar sat behind a desk made of living wood, its roots stretching along the floor like veins.
He didn't look up. "Close the door, Arin."
Arin obeyed.
"You've been... busy," Talmar said finally, still not looking at him. "Walking into restricted chambers. Summoning fire in your sleep. Making contacts with people long thought dead."
Arin's heart skipped.
"How do you—?"
Talmar finally looked at him, eyes like knives. "Nothing happens in this academy without my knowledge. You think the Hall of Mirrors is unguarded? You think the Mirrorbinders are forgotten?"
Arin swallowed hard.
"I didn't go looking for her. She called me."
"Because your blood called first."
Talmar stood and walked toward the window. Below them, the entire Academy sprawled like a fortress of knowledge and secrets.
"Do you know what happens to Heirborn who awaken without control?"
Arin stayed silent.
"They burn. The power eats them alive from the inside out. It does not care if you are noble, brave, or clever. It simply... consumes."
Talmar turned to face him fully. "But there is another path."
Arin followed him down to a chamber beneath the tower one he hadn't known existed.
Here, seven massive stone pillars encircled a glowing sigil carved into the ground. The air buzzed with raw energy.
"This is the Binding Circle," Talmar said. "Every Flameblood, every Wielder of ancient lineage, must make their Oath here — or risk losing themselves."
"Oath?" Arin asked.
"To your path. Your purpose. And your control."
As Arin stepped inside the circle, the sigil pulsed red then gold then violet. A rush of heat surged through his chest, and visions flashed before his eyes:
Lyra crying, her back turned.
Flames bursting from his palms in a battlefield.
A sword forged of living fire.
A throne built from ash and bone.
He gasped, and dropped to one knee.
Talmar's voice rang out: "Name your Oath, Arin Flameborn."
His throat burned, but he forced the words out.
"I swear... to master this power. To protect those I care about. To seek the truth... no matter where it hides."
The circle ignited in a blast of white fire then went dark.
Talmar knelt beside him.
"Good," he said quietly. "Because now they know."
"Who?" Arin whispered.
"The ones who will come for you."
That night, Arin returned to his dorm to find a crimson feather on his bed.
He recognized it instantly. Only one creature bore feathers like that.
A Night Raven.
Which meant only one thing.
An assassin had entered the Academy walls.