The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"Speak."

He eyed me as if weighing how much I needed to know. "No one's confirmed exactly who they are," he said, "but rumors point to either rogue Gravekeepers, exiled Council defectors, or something far worse—a cult that worships the Tapestry itself. They've claimed Kael'Thorne, probably feeding off that leyline. If you go there, you'll be walking into a stronghold of unknown enemies, each possibly more dangerous than the last."

I let his words settle into the heavy air. A stronghold of exiles or cultists would be a formidable obstacle, especially given my depleted mana. But a leyline was no small prize. Tapping into its raw power could give me the edge I needed to retake control of my fate—and to keep Belisarius from claiming the realm as his own once again.

Asterion seemed to sense my calculating silence. "Your call," he said. "Valemore—or Kael'Thorne."

His voice echoed in the chamber, a quiet dare reverberating against ancient stone. Outside, or perhaps deep within the ruins, I heard the faint groan of shifting rock. The entire structure seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see which path I'd choose. My mind churned, analyzing outcomes with cold efficiency. Back to Valemore meant stepping onto a battlefield of fraying alliances—Council enforcers, Gravekeepers with hidden agendas, and Lorik's uncertain stance as a mediator, all of them on edge. My abrupt reappearance could tip the delicate balance into outright war.

Kael'Thorne, on the other hand, offered power. If I could harness the conduit, I could restore my reserves, reassert my mastery over arcane forces. But that path was fraught with unknown threats, and if I miscalculated, I'd be easy prey for whichever faction had entrenched itself there. Neither option was safe. Neither was easy. But I had not survived this long by seeking safety or shying from difficulty.

I recalled the ghostly flicker of Belisarius's face in that swirling rift, half-formed, almost pleading—or was it taunting me? The memory ignited a fresh spark of resolve in my chest. I would not allow him to return unchallenged. I would not kneel before whatever design the Tapestry had in store. If I were to defy fate once more, I needed to be at my full strength. To stand at the center of this cosmic game without power would be to invite annihilation—or worse, subjugation by those who wanted to shape events to their liking.

Asterion waited with the patience of a man who'd seen enough battles to know not to rush a dangerous ally. I could almost taste his curiosity as he watched me, those keen eyes searching for hints of my decision. Silence stretched, thick and stifling, dust motes dancing in the faint glow of runes. I imagined how each path might unfold: Valemore's crumbling courtyards, swirling with tension, or Kael'Thorne's mysterious labyrinth, where raw magic pulsed like a living heart.

Despite the ache in every fiber of my being, a grim certainty took shape. "We go to Kael'Thorne," I said at last, voice quiet but laced with unyielding purpose.

Asterion inclined his head, acknowledging my choice. For an instant, he almost looked relieved, as though he'd half-expected me to run back to Valemore and plunge into that maelstrom. But the faint relaxation in his posture vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the steely vigilance of a man who lived on the knife's edge.

He opened his mouth, presumably to elaborate on the route or the hazards we'd face. But before he could speak, a ripple passed through the darkness—an invisible shift in the stale air. I felt it as a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, and from the corner of my eye, I caught the swirl of a shape trying to take form, an echo lingering from the rift's last violent pulse. Something else had come through, or at least left a fragment of itself behind.

The temperature dipped, as if a cold wind had swept through the chamber. Asterion's gaze darted over my shoulder, and I turned just enough to see what he saw: an amorphous silhouette, faintly outlined by a sickly glow. It was not wholly present—flickering in and out of focus, no more substantial than a nightmare given partial flesh. Yet it reeked of longing, a half-formed echo of a presence that craved this plane.

It wasn't Belisarius, but the resonance felt uncomfortably close. Like a reflection cast off the surface of a dark pool, revealing a deeper threat submerged below. A low hum thrummed in my ears, setting my teeth on edge. The shape wavered, almost as if it recognized me, or recognized the anchor runes that had drawn me here.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my voice steady. "We leave. Now."

Asterion's expression tightened, but he didn't argue. His eyes flicked once more to the shifting silhouette behind us, then he stepped back, giving me room to move. The gloom pressed in, as though resentful that we had stolen its secrets, but I paid it no heed. Survival dictated we leave before this half-thing decided to manifest fully, or invite something worse through the cracks in reality.

I turned on my heel, ignoring the ache in my muscles, ignoring the flickers of incipient illusions that tried to tug at my peripheral vision. Asterion fell in step behind me, his own stride smooth and silent. The runes on the walls pulsed in protest, or perhaps in farewell, as though acknowledging that our presence here was a disruption to the ancient quiet that had held sway for so long.

Behind us, I heard a faint hiss, a sound like a strangled whisper, and the shape trembled, sliding one step closer to substance. If it had any awareness, it must have known we had no interest in lingering. One final wave of cold passed across my skin, and then it was gone, blinking out as abruptly as it had appeared.

Asterion didn't look back. Neither did I.

In the depths of my chest, beneath the fatigue and battered pride, I felt something spark to life: a stubborn determination. My exile to the Ashen Expanse had failed to break me, and this realm's illusions would fare no better. Kael'Thorne awaited us, haunted by uncertain foes, but also promising the power I needed to confront Belisarius's looming shadow. I would reclaim my strength, and then I would decide how best to rewrite the Tapestry's design.

"Your call," Asterion said. "Valemore—or Kael'Thorne."

Returning to Valemore meant confronting the Council and the Gravekeepers immediately. It meant stepping onto a battlefield that reeked of mistrust and old blood, where every faction was poised like a viper, waiting for the slightest opening to strike. My absence had already sewn panic into their ranks—of that I had no doubt. If I reappeared in my current state, drained and barely holding my arcane reserves together, I might be crushed between them. The notion of walking into that storm of tension without enough mana to light a simple spell was… unwise.

Kael'Thorne, on the other hand, offered a chance to restore myself—a potential leyline, a conduit of raw magic rumored to pulse beneath those old ruins. It was the kind of place where countless foolish sorcerers had burned themselves out trying to harness more energy than they could handle. But for me, it was a lifeline. If I could tap that well of power, I could reassert some control over this entire mess: the Tapestry, Belisarius's looming threat, and the political madness that was gripping the kingdom. When I weighed the risks, the choice was clear.

"We go to Kael'Thorne," I said, my voice holding a quiet note of finality.

Asterion nodded, as if he'd expected that answer. Perhaps he had. Maybe he was even relieved that I wouldn't be dragging him back into the direct crosshairs of Council enforcers and Gravekeepers thirsting for a target. In any case, he didn't protest.

The silence in the ruin settled again, just for a moment, a stifling hush that made every breath feel louder. Somewhere in the gloom, water dripped with an arrhythmic patter, each droplet echoing against walls that had stood untouched by mortal hands for ages. The runes etched into the stone pulsed softly, casting our shadows in sharp relief. I exhaled slowly, feeling the dryness in my throat and the ache that still gnawed at every muscle.

Asterion's gaze flickered past me, a slight tension lining the corners of his eyes. He wasn't the only one watching. I could almost taste the shift in the air—a faint stirring, like a ripple across the surface of a pond. The presence in the darkness, the silent watcher that had been lurking since I arrived, was no mere figment of my battered senses. It was something else, something that had slipped through the rent in reality, or had been waiting here all along.

The hush deepened, as if the very ruin inhaled and held its breath. My fingers curled around the hilt of my blade, not drawing it, but letting the cold metal press into my palm. My heart thudded once, a steady beat that sharpened my instincts. Whatever lurked in these shadows was no friend. It felt hungry, like an echo of a half-forgotten beast. Perhaps it had no mind, just a raw yearning to exist. Or perhaps it was cunning enough to bide its time.

Then I saw it—a shape near the edge of the flickering glow cast by the runes. For one instant, it seemed to have form: tall, almost human, but not quite. Parts of it dissolved into thin wisps of shadow, only to coalesce again as if struggling to maintain a foothold in this plane. My grip on the sword tightened. My mana was all but spent, but steel would have to do if it came to violence.

Not Belisarius. Not yet.

But disturbingly close. The shape wavered, a suggestion of something that might one day be a man. Perhaps only a faint echo of the power that had tried to tear me apart in the Ashen Expanse. Or, more unsettling, a fragment of Belisarius's will made manifest. Whichever it was, I had no interest in letting it get any closer.

Asterion, for his part, went very still, as if hoping not to provoke the apparition. A thin sheen of sweat gleamed along his temple, and I understood how it felt: an instinctive pulse of fear in the face of something that shouldn't be able to exist. He swallowed, the sound audible in the hush. "We're not alone."

"No," I agreed flatly.

The presence pulsed, flickering between existence and nothingness, as though caught on the edge of reality. I could feel its hunger, a probing eagerness that made my skin crawl. It reminded me of how illusions in the Ashen Expanse had lunged at me, seeking to devour any shred of essence I carried. This was different, more focused. A whisper of power, longing to break free from the half-world it inhabited. My mind conjured a dozen possibilities. None ended well if it decided to strike.

I inhaled, ignoring the ache in my chest. "We leave. Now."

Asterion didn't argue. He simply moved, steps silent, as the shadows stirred behind us.