Aurelius, in his state of unconsciousness, was suddenly jolted awake by a sharp, tingling jolt against his arm.

  It had been a small lightning spell, cast by the dean.

  The barrier that had separated the lounge from the desk had been lowered, the three students nowhere to be seen. The sun peeked through the large windows of the office, hanging over the mountains like a holiday ornament.

  It was already evening, around 3 hours after his loss of consciousness.

  On the opposite sofa, Seraphine stirred as well, her eyes full of both bewilderment and discomfort. She sat up slowly, grimacing in pain.

  This was no surprise given the sheer amount of magic she had unleashed. Left on its own, it would have been enough to completely immobilise a mage for several days.

  Magic was the manipulation of one’s soul and its shape.

  However, the body was also bound to the soul, leading every use of magic to inflict physical and mental strain. Training your focus could lessen the toll, and repeated casting could ease the burden over time.

  Though Seraphine’s skin had fully healed from the burns, the grime clinging to her body and the tangled chaos of her hair remained, stubborn reminders of the ordeal.

  Aurelius was almost certain he looked worse. He could feel the unnaturally smooth patches along his arms and legs, body hairs sacrificed to the heat that had engulfed them.

  The front of his robe had been torn from the first explosion and he had lingering phantom pain from where the now healed burns.

  The dean sat leaned back on a cushioned armchair, evidently enjoying his coffee. He stroked his chin in silence, as the dragon curled itself around him.

  His gaze lingered on the two students, expression complicated, furious and curious.

  Neither Aurelius nor Seraphine dared to speak under his scrutiny. Seraphine in particular, slumped back into the sofa, utterly exhausted, her face gazing up mindlessly at the globe that hung above.

  Aurelius straightened slightly, though his demeanour remained grim.

  “Let’s start with what exactly you two were doing,” the dean said at last, his calm voice breaking the silence.

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  “The two of you were engaged in some sort of illegal, highly dangerous ritualistic magic involving the spirit realm—and nearly killed yourselves,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “NO! I mean- I mean, it was ritualistic magic, yes, but basic and legal magic that I’ve done before!” Aurelius protested. “Just a simple charm-making and spirit summoning! We have no idea what went wrong!” Aurelius stammered.

  “Then explain how you released such an absurd amount of mana during this… basic ritual of yours, young man?” the archmage replied evenly.

  “The three witnesses I interrogated were utterly useless in clarifying this lovely detail. Perhaps you can enlighten this old, senile man instead,” he added, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Look, I—” Aurelius began.

  “And there’s the fact that you killed a spirit.” The dean cut him off flatly.

  The words stopped Aurelius cold. Seraphine’s head snapped up, shaking side to side slightly in disbelief, as though to confirm she had heard correctly.

  Spirits were beings made entirely of mana, pure soul forms. Killing one was considered almost impossible. Only other denizens of the spirit realm could consume the mana of weaker spirits. The most a mortal mage could do was banish one—or tamper with its mind.

  Even familiars, all of whom hailed from the spirit world, could only be banished. Transported back into the spirit realm with the death of their vessels.

  The spirit that Aurelius summoned hadn’t even descended fully like a familiar.

  Anchored by a mana core, destroying the vessel only severed its tether, unable to affect the spirit residing in its own realm.

  What the dean claimed was, by every rule of magic, impossible.

  “We did what?” Seraphine asked incredulously, disbelief etched across her face.

  The dean said nothing at first. Instead, he summoned an object from his desk.

  It was a black, spherical orb, no larger than a marble. At first glance it was unremarkable, save for its impossibly smooth surface. No unusual mana radiated from it, and it appeared to be nothing more than ordinary obsidian glass.

  “This is the remains of a lesser spirit,” the dean said calmly.

  “I know this because it bears the distinct mark of the earth angel. That mark has faded, but even now, this seemingly ordinary glass marble still carries a connection to the spirit realm.”

  “Most curious of all, it contains no mana of its own, nor is it composed of any magical material.”

  “Naturally, I attempted to enlist Noxus’s help in tracing the spiritual connection.” He gestured to his dragon.

  “But imagine my surprise to find no spirits left in the vicinity, and no mystical link to follow. It was as though the spirit had simply ceased to exist.”

  “Every angelic mark, especially that of the Draconic Angels is immutable and unique. Once planted, it cannot be so easily replicated or transferred. It becomes one with the soul-body.”

  He leaned forward slightly, a slightly crazed look in his eyes. “So tell me. How does an ordinary glass marble come to bear the mark of an angel?”

  “It can’t!” Seraphine exclaimed, shaken. “There must be dozens of explanations more plausible than the true death of a spirit!”

  “You see, I would normally agree with you,” the archmage replied evenly.

  “However, I am reasonably certain… for I have seen the true death of a spirit once before.”

  Both Seraphine and Aurelius froze, jaws dropping.

  “And more troubling still,” the dean continued, “that death was caused by a magic rarely seen, much less, recorded.”

  “The man responsible for it had a name for this magic.”

  He paused, letting the silence hang.

  “It was called… true creation.”