Marian blinked once, slowly as if his words needed time to settle inside her.

"She's alive," he repeated, voice lower now. Firmer. "I believe she's here. Or at least, that she was brought here. Isn't that what happens to those with Elder blood? Doesn't Aetherhold... collect them?"

Marian sat back in her chair. Her expression, carefully schooled up to now wavered for the first time. "Yes," she admitted. "That's true. If anyone with Elder blood manifests power, Aetherhold ensures they're brought in. One way or another."

Thorne leaned forward. "Then that's where they took her. After my parents were killed, after they took her from me, they must've brought her here. That's what the soldiers said. That they were taking them to where they belonged."

Marian's eyes dimmed, her hands tightening slightly around her teacup. "Was Bea... like you?"

"No," Thorne said, shaking his head. "She wasn't like me. She took after our father. She wasn't Elderborn."

The professor's frown deepened. "Then it's not certain," she said carefully. "If she wasn't of Elder blood, then she wouldn't have been considered... valuable. Not in the same way. If she was brought here..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.

Thorne's jaw tightened.

"But she was taken," he said. "I was young. But I remember the soldiers laughing. Talking about Aetherhold, about the academy. About bringing them here...."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I never saw her again."

Silence stretched between them, thick and unbreathable.

Finally, Marian looked away. Her voice was quiet, almost hollow. "If she was brought here as part of a purge... and she wasn't Elderborn... then the chances she's still alive..."

"Don't," Thorne said, sharper than he meant. "Don't say that."

She looked up, startled by the sudden steel in his tone.

"I've survived this long," he said. "I've done everything I had to, killed, lied, served monsters, because one day I'd find her again. I don't care how slim the odds are. I'm close. I can feel it."

Marian studied him. Something shifted in her gaze, respect, perhaps. Or grief.

"I'll look," she said at last. "I can't promise anything, Thorne. But I'll search the archives. The intake logs. The student histories. If she came through Aetherhold's gates... there might be a record."

"Thank you," he said, the words coming out almost like an exhale.

But Marian's expression was bleak.

"And if she was here... and didn't survive the process..."

"She wasn't Elderborn," Thorne repeated, as if saying it aloud made it true. "They wouldn't have used her in those tests. Would they?"

Marian didn't answer. Not with words.

Her silence was answer enough.

Thorne looked away. A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"You don't need to feel guilty," he said. "What you did... you did to survive. I know what that's like."

His voice softened, losing its edge.

"We all break differently."

Marian's eyes closed for a moment. Then she nodded, once. Slow and deliberate.

"If your sister is here, was here, we'll find her."

The stars outside pulsed like embers through the ancient forest beyond the glass, a thousand unseen things watching from the dark. But tonight, for the first time in years, Thorne didn't feel alone in his search. He wasn't the only one looking anymore.

Thorne's voice cut the quiet like a blade. "How did you do it?"

Marian turned her head, her expression unreadable.

"How did you hide?" he asked. "All these years, here of all places, among the most powerful mages in the world. How did no one notice?"

A smile touched her lips, bitter and knowing. "Because two people helped me," she said quietly. "The first was my father. He was a tinkerer, not a warrior. Obsessed with artifacts, enchantments, hidden mechanisms. Before he was taken from me, he taught me everything he could. He even helped me unlock a skill, Mystic Inlay."

She glanced at the pendant beneath Thorne's uniform, the one he'd always worn like a talisman.

"That amulet you wear? I made it using the principles he taught me. I advanced that skill to a level where I could enchant artifacts directly to my aether. Cloaking devices. Dampeners. Layers of concealment so intricate even other professors here can't see what I am. What we are."

Thorne touched the pendant unconsciously.

"And the second person?" he asked.

Marian's expression changed, her eyes gleamed, a softness creeping into her features. "My sponsor," she said. "He was like us. An Elderborn mage, hiding in plain sight. He was a professor here, too. Powerful. Respected. Connected."

She exhaled, and her lips curved upward in a strange, faraway smile. "As I said before, history tends to repeat itself."

Thorne stared at her for a long moment. Then his hand dropped to his side, and he asked, abruptly, "Will you train me?"

She blinked. "Train you?"

"Yes." His tone was steady. Cold, even. "I need control. I need to learn how to manage this... this wild thing inside me before it makes a mistake I can't undo."

For a moment, Marian said nothing. Then her smile returned, different this time. Pleased.

"I thought I'd have to convince you," she said. "But you're asking me instead."

She rose from her chair and walked to the tall window, her eyes lost in the spectral blue glow of the primordial forest surrounding them. "Of course I'll train you. You're Alera's son. But you must understand, this won't be easy. And it can't be official."

Thorne nodded, already expecting that.

"We don't want to draw more eyes than you already have," Marian continued. "I'm not in the same position my sponsor was. I don't have the reach or protection he did. So we'll train in secret. When my schedule allows it, I'll send for you."

"Understood," Thorne said simply. For the first time in weeks, something cold inside his chest thawed just slightly.

She turned back toward him, her expression serious. "But I have to warn you, Thorne. You're already under scrutiny. You've drawn far too much attention. The spell binding ritual. Your core. Your performance in the first class. The lux spell…"

"You heard about that?" he asked, surprised.

Marian smirked. "Of course I did. Professors gossip, more than you'd expect. Especially when there's a first-year with an eclipsed core who nearly incinerated half his peers casting a Tier 1 spell."

Thorne winced. "I'm not planning on getting a sponsor," he muttered. "At least… not yet."

"Good," Marian said, nodding. "A wise choice. Until you can truly control your gifts, the fewer contracts, the better. The kingdoms would pay dearly to claim someone like you. Better not to give them the chance."

Thorne exhaled slowly, his hands relaxing on the arms of the chair.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

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Marian raised an eyebrow, amused. "Don't thank me yet. You've agreed to training, not tea."

A shadow passed over Thorne's face, but he nodded. "I'll do what I have to."

Marian's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the strange blue trees of the primordial forest shimmered against the pink mist. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"We have to be very careful, Thorne."

He turned to her fully. "Why?"

She looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing the words. As if deciding whether to let him bear the weight of what came next.

"Aetherhold is not just a school," she said at last. "It never was."

She stepped away from the window and paced toward the hearth, where the firelight cast long shadows against the crystal walls.

"There's a reason every kingdom in the world fights to place their students here. A reason they send ambassadors, lords, entire delegations just to have a foothold inside these halls. And it's not just because our training produces the best mages. That's only the surface."

Thorne followed her slowly. "Then what is it?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "What I'm about to tell you… is not public knowledge. It isn't taught. It isn't written. It's only whispered among the uppermost circles. And even there, rarely."

She looked back toward the window, and the ancient forest beyond.

"Aetherhold doesn't just teach mages, Thorne. It regulates the flow of aether across the world."

He froze.

Marian nodded slowly. "This school controls access. Allocation. Balance. Every leyline, every nexus, every spill and fracture of raw aether, it's all monitored. Adjusted. Controlled."

Thorne's voice was low. "But… how?"

"Aetherhold is built upon a Convergence Point," she said. "One of the deepest, oldest nexuses on the planet. The heart of the aetheric web. There are ancient devices, older than written language, buried in the roots of the very mountain, machines or mechanisms, no one truly knows, that allow the academy to direct the flow."

She turned toward him. Her green eyes glimmered, intense.

"Not all kingdoms receive the same share of aether. That's why magic is weak in some places. Caledris, for example, your homeland, gets what Aetherhold decides to give it. Enough to survive. Not enough to thrive. And that's by design."

Thorne's jaw clenched.

"Aether is a commodity," Marian continued. "A currency. Aetherhold learned long ago how to turn it into leverage. Want more access? Send your best students. Your brightest talents. Give us your allegiance. Your loyalty. Your silence."

His stomach twisted. "And they just… let it happen?"

"Some protest. Some resist. But most don't even know. Or if they do, they accept it. Because without the academy's blessing, their kingdoms crumble. Their crops fail. Their wards collapse. Their magic fades."

She took a deep breath. "This place is powerful beyond comprehension, Thorne. And dangerous for those who don't understand its games."

He felt the chill settle deeper now, not from the air, but from understanding.

He stepped closer to the window, staring into that ancient, alien forest. The forest that wasn't truly what it seemed. The truth pressed heavy on his chest.

"And you work for them?" he asked softly.

"I serve the students," Marian said carefully. "Not the Council. Not the inner circles. I teach because that's what Alera and I once dreamed of doing together. Because it's how I survive."

She looked at him then, weary and wary. "But I will help you. I will train you. And I will do what I can to help you find your sister. But Thorne…" Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "If they discover what you are, what you can do..."

She didn't finish.

She didn't need to.

Thorne turned from the window. His eyes burned faintly, not with aether, but with something harder.

Resolve.

"Then let's make sure they don't," he said.

Marian nodded once.

Thorne didn't sit back down. He stood by the window, his eyes following the mist curling over the branches of the ancient forest outside, but his thoughts were still on what Marian had just told him. The weight of her revelations pressed on him like the gravity of another world.

"What I don't understand," he said after a pause, voice low, "is if Aetherhold has so much power, if it controls the flow of aether across the world, why does it still need the Elderborn? Why hoard us? Use us?"

Marian gave a long, tired look. Then, with a breath through her nose, she leaned back in her chair.

"You want to know every forbidden truth in a single night, do you?"

Thorne's jaw tightened. "I've waited years to find answers. I can wait a little longer."

That earned him a dry smile.

"Well," she said, "let's start with the system."

He frowned. "The system?"

She nodded, swirling the untouched contents of her cup. "All those messages we get. The notifications. Your stat growth. The skills. Traits. Perks. The structured way we learn, level, evolve... It has an origin, Thorne. A creation point. One so old even the world itself has tried to forget it."

Thorne remained silent, listening.

"No one truly knows how it began," Marian continued, "but the prevailing belief is that the system was forged by the gods, the Old Ones, the Firstborn, whatever name you prefer. It was their design. A framework to guide mortal development. To refine us. Govern us. Temper us."

She rose and walked toward the wall, her reflection drifting across the shimmering glass. Her voice dropped.

"But the system… is dying."

Thorne blinked. "Dying?"

Marian nodded. "It started slowly. Subtle changes. In the old records, people once gained traits simply by expressing emotion deeply enough. A child grieving could unlock Empath. A blacksmith burning with passion could gain Flamebound. A hunter moving like the wind could manifest aetheric swiftness without ever casting a spell."

She turned back toward him.

"Now? Everything is rigid. Manual. Cold. Rewards are minimal. Progression is stunted. Skills are harder to level, traits rarer to awaken. The system barely registers us anymore. It responds late or not at all."

"Why?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Because whatever fueled it… is gone. The gods, perhaps. Or something they left behind. Without them, the system lacks direction. Purpose. Power."

She leaned on the table, and for the first time, Thorne saw a shadow of fear in her.

"And when the system goes… so does the magic. So does everything."

He rubbed the back of his neck, tension knotting his shoulders.

"And the Elder Races?" he asked.

Marian gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"We are the last remnants of that divine architecture. The last beings who carry within us a core that still echoes with their design. All mortals have cores, yes, but ours are… closer to the source. Primal. We are what the system once favored."

She pointed a finger at him, at the air around him.

"The system still responds to you, Thorne. It listens. That's why your skills behave the way they do. Why ambient aether flocks to you like hounds scenting home. You carry what others do not, a tether to something that has all but vanished."

Thorne felt like the room tilted slightly.

"And that's why Aetherhold wants us."

Marian's smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Aetherhold exists to regulate the aether, yes. But more than that, it feeds on it. It studies it. And with the Elder Races, it studies the system itself. We are their key to understanding what went wrong. And, if they're desperate enough… their attempt to fix it."

Thorne turned his face to the window again, the forest outside so impossibly vast and alien it may as well have belonged to a different realm.

"How long has this been happening?" he asked.

"Centuries," Marian answered. "Millennia, maybe. But the decline is sharper now. We feel it more. See it more. Magic flickers where it once roared. Artifacts fail. Bloodlines thin."

"And you think… what?" he asked. "That we're the solution?"

"I think," she said carefully, "we're the last chance."

He didn't respond right away. He stood there, surrounded by ancient glass and distant stars, the echo of truths pressing in around him.

Marian's gaze didn't leave him. "Our cores, Thorne… they're valuable. And not just for what they are, raw, potent, primal, but for what they allow. When harvested, they become more than fuel. They become keys."

"Keys?" Thorne echoed, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded solemnly. "To unlocking what has been buried for millennia. Hidden away, forgotten by all but the oldest, the most desperate. Aetheric abilities, Thorne. The true expression of the soul's bond with the aether. The old magic."

His breath caught in his throat. "But… we already have magic. Spells. Enchantments. Rituals."

Marian's expression turned grave. "Did you know, Thorne… that spells didn't exist until recently?"

The words hit like a slap. "What?"

"When I say recently," she amended, "I mean within the last few dozen millennia. But in the grand timeline of this world, that is the blink of an eye."

Thorne blinked rapidly. "I don't understand."

"Spells," she said, slowly and clearly, "are not divine. They are not ancient, not in the way most think. They're inventions. Creations. Attempts, flawed attempts, by mortal races to replicate what the Elder Races once did naturally. What we once were."

Thorne's thoughts reeled. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. "But… all the training… all the study…"

"Is real," she said gently. "And still valuable. But know this: no matter how many spells you master, no matter how perfect your technique, the system will never acknowledge a single one."

"Why not?" he whispered.

Marian's green eyes gleamed with old sorrow. "Because spells didn't exist when the system was created. They were never written into its language. The system recognizes aetheric abilities. But spells? They are shadows. Echoes. They are humanity's desperate attempt to reclaim what it has lost."

Thorne stared at her, throat tight.

"And that's why," she continued, "they harvest us. Why they capture and study us. Not just to use our power, but to understand it. To decode it. They take our cores, study the abilities they once housed, and then restructure those findings into spells. They are reverse-engineering divinity."

Thorne's legs felt hollow. His breath came shallow. "That's… monstrous."

"Yes," Marian said softly. "It is. And it's all wrapped in ceremony and scholarship, hidden behind words like 'advancement' and 'progress.' But at the heart of it is theft. Butchery. The slow dismantling of what little godhood still lingers in the world."

She stepped closer, her hand rising to rest gently on his shoulder.

"I know it's a lot. I know this feels like too much. But better you understand now, before someone else does. Before you become just another case study, another core locked away beneath the castle in a silver vault."

Thorne turned to the window again. The trees outside, the impossibly ancient ones, swayed in silence, as if bearing witness.

Marian's voice dropped lower still. "This is my belief, Thorne. My theory. But it haunts me more with each passing year. With every Elderborn that dies… the world loses a little more magic. It fades. The aether thins. The gods may be gone, but we... we are their last fingerprints. Their echoes."

Thorne's heart pounded.

"I think," she whispered, "that we are the final links to the divine. The last threads tethering this world to the source. And if we are gone… so is the aether."

For a moment, there was nothing. Only the low crackle of the fire and the soft thrum of sigils pulsing gently along the crystal walls.

Then Thorne said, voice like gravel, "Then I won't let them take another."

Marian looked at him, truly looked at him.

"I believe you," she said.

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