The armored figure moved with the eerie stillness of something not entirely alive. Heat shimmered around its form, but the temperature in the chamber plummeted.
Hope's fire dimmed slightly, responding instinctively to the unnatural cold.
London's fists clenched. "What are you?"
The thing tilted its head, smoke leaking from the eye slits of its blackened helm. It said nothing, just raised one gauntleted hand—and the air cracked with pressure.
Hope barely had time to shield them.
A pulse of dark flame burst from the figure, colliding with Hope's barrier. Her body was pushed back into London, who steadied her, both of them skidding along the stone floor.
"Definitely not friendly," he muttered.
Celeste, standing behind them, stared at the figure—not with fear, but familiarity. Her breath hitched.
She'd seen something like this... not long ago.
In a dream?
No. Not a dream.
> That night in the garden. When the cloaked girl appeared.
She remembered the flicker of the same runes beneath the girl's cloak. The faint black smoke from her hands. The eyes—blank, soulless.
Celeste's pulse thundered.
She had seen this thing. Or someone like it. And the girl who warned her had mentioned a name she hadn't dared repeat: Ashbringer.
She didn't know what it meant yet.
But somehow… she knew the name would matter.
Still, she said nothing.
Instead, she raised her hands, letting silver-blue light dance along her fingers. Hope and London were fighting—but this was no ordinary threat.
Whatever this creature was, it had magic older than the school itself.
Hope blasted forward, golden fire trailing from her hands, twisting into spears of heat. The armored creature swatted them away as if brushing off cobwebs.
London burst into flames—his phoenix self taking over.
With a yell, he hurled into the air and came crashing down in a blazing punch.
The impact knocked the creature backward—but not far. Its armor cracked slightly, but no blood spilled. It didn't bleed.
And it didn't fall.
London stumbled back, panting.
"This thing isn't dying."
Hope grit her teeth, eyes glowing fiercely. "Then we make it wish it could."
She unleashed a concentrated blast—like a cannon of sunlight—slamming the creature into the chamber wall.
Dust filled the air.
Silence.
Celeste stared at the rubble.
> Say something, she told herself. Tell them what you know.
But her mouth wouldn't open. A strange weight coiled in her chest.
Something about the name Ashbringer terrified her. And something else told her that speaking it aloud might... invite worse.
The rubble shifted.
Stephen's voice crackled from her magical earpiece. "How's it going over there? Daemon and I just uncovered something you're going to love-slash-hate."
Celeste clicked the crystal. "Define love-slash-hate."
Stephen's chuckle was breathless. "I'll explain once we're back. Just know that the chapel's basement has a tomb with Richard's initials carved on the wall. With a ward meant to keep him out."
Hope heard it too. "A tomb?"
"Yeah," Stephen said. "As in someone didn't want Richard going down there. Daemon's breaking the seal now. Let's just say, this school's secrets are beginning to annoy me."
The rubble in front of them exploded.
The armored figure reemerged, cracks all over its chest, leaking… shadows.
Not smoke. Not blood.
Shadows.
Celeste's stomach dropped. "It's not just a creature," she whispered. "It's a container."
Hope turned. "What?"
Celeste bit her lip. "It's carrying something. Or... someone."
But before she could elaborate, the creature let out a hollow scream.
Its body erupted in a vortex of fireless heat.
London leapt toward Hope, shielding her. Celeste slammed up her barrier just in time.
And then—darkness.
---
When they awoke, they were outside the chamber.
No one spoke for a moment.
Then London sat up, groaning. "Did we lose?"
"No," Hope said. "It ran. Or... vanished."
Celeste rubbed her arms. "It didn't come to kill us. It came to warn us."
Hope looked over sharply. "How do you know that?"
Celeste hesitated. "I—I just do."
London didn't press her.
But Hope's stare lingered a moment longer.
Stephen and Daemon arrived shortly after, dragging something wrapped in black cloth between them.
"What is that?" London asked.
Stephen unwrapped it.
A mirror. Old. Cracked. And humming with a dark magic that stank of ash and iron.
"We found this in the tomb," Daemon said. "It wasn't reflecting us."
Hope stepped forward. "A soul mirror?"
Daemon nodded grimly. "Someone used it recently. Which means..."
"Richard's trapped," Celeste said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Everyone turned to her.
She backpedaled. "Just a guess."
But she knew.
She had seen it in a dream. Or maybe a vision. A reflection that didn't show what was—it showed what was missing.
The Ashbringer hadn't come to kill them yet.
It had come to test them.
To see if they were ready to descend into the real battlefield beneath Blackmoor.
And Celeste knew… the worst was yet to come.