Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Created By:

Dana Terrace

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TonyArts05

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Chapter Text

Prologue

Two months had passed since Luz, King, and Atlas had departed the Boiling Isles, leaving behind friends, family, and an entire realm still reeling from the Archive Collective's assault. Though time continued its steady march forward, the memories of that invasion remained sharp, as if carved into the bone of the Titan itself. For many, the days that followed felt strangely stretched, caught between fragile attempts to rebuild and the ever-present fear of what might come next.

The Boiling Isles had weathered destruction before. Its history was a tapestry of calamities—Belos's reign that resulted in the Day of Unity, which was followed by Atlas' reign and the desperate battle that determined the survival of the Isles. Yet this devastation was different, as it was alien in its very nature. Where Belos had corrupted from within, the Archive Collective had descended from beyond, bringing with them an unearthly chill that could not be explained away by mortal conflicts or old grudges. For the citizens of the Isles, survival had always been tied to the land beneath their feet, to the Titan who had once been both guardian and home. Now, that sense of security felt fractured, as though the very foundation of their world had been hollowed out.

The invasion's aftermath stretched across the Isles like a scar. Villages and towns bore the marks of invasion: roofs collapsed inward, walls scorched by unnatural energy, streets cracked and broken beneath the weight of cosmic constructs that had trampled them. Pockets of lingering distortion remained, shimmering faintly in the light of day. Healers and builders alike worked tirelessly to contain these unstable remnants, sealing them beneath layers of stone, spellwork, and wards. Each repair was a small victory, yet every day revealed how vast the damage truly was.

Reconstruction became the Isles' heartbeat. The clang of hammers, the rumble of carts, the hiss of enchanted tools echoed from dawn until dusk. Families who had once prided themselves on crafting spells now found themselves laborers, lifting timber, weaving their own magic into foundation stones, or stirring cauldrons of quick-set mortar enchanted to harden in seconds. Children carried buckets of nails or water, their youthful energy redirected into survival. What had once been a nation of wild magic and bustling marketplaces now resembled a great worksite, every corner turned toward recovery.

Yet not all wounds could be patched with stone and wood. Countless families had been displaced, as their homes reduced to rubble, and their belongings becoming scattered or lost. Temporary settlements sprouted in the shadow of the Isles' great bones. Rows of tents lined the valleys, stitched from scraps of cloth or conjured through hasty spellwork. Their thin walls did little to keep out the damp winds rolling off the Boiling Sea.

For those fortunate enough to retain their homes, life resumed in fragments. Market stalls reopened, though their goods were fewer and their colors duller. Which in hindsight, filled the irony of the gloominess that everyone was experiencing in this new age. Taverns were filled once again, though the laughter of their guests rang hollow. It was replaced by the heavy thrum of tired voices recounting the same memories over and over. Even simple routines—brewing tea in the morning, walking children to lessons, tending small gardens—were tinged with a weight they had not carried before. The invasion had not only broken structures but had altered the rhythm of daily life. Every action seemed shadowed by the unspoken truth that it could all be ripped away again.

That fear lay close to the surface. People rarely spoke it aloud, but it lingered in glances, in silences, in the way mothers clutched their children tighter or shopkeepers locked their doors earlier at night. The Archive Collective had proven themselves beyond comprehension—vast, powerful, and nearly untouchable. Though the Isles had survived, many whispered to themselves a single thought that refused to fade: What if they return?

In Bonesborough, the scars were most visible, as it had been the epicenter of where it all occurred. Entire districts remained cordoned off, marked by the skeletal remains of buildings that could not be salvaged. Sections of the marketplace were sealed behind shimmering barriers where fragments of Archivist constructs still pulsed with unstable energy. There were crystals that jutted from the earth like jagged teeth, which were caused by the machinery that were used during the invasion. These crystals hummed faintly as if echoing some distant, alien heartbeat. Wards shimmered across these ruins, maintained constantly by rotating teams of witches. To approach them was to feel the air grow sharp, heavy, filled with the faint metallic tang of magic gone wrong.

Despite the devastation, the University of Wild Magic stood tall, its branches patched and braced, its banners stitched together from salvaged cloth. The University had become a symbol of resilience. It was a place where the future of magic could be reimagined, even amidst the ruins of the invasion. Its attending students walked its halls cautiously, their books and scrolls clutched tightly to their chests, as though knowledge itself could shield them from the unknown. Professors carried their own burdens, teaching lessons with voices that wavered, trying to inspire confidence they themselves did not fully feel.

Eda Clawthorne had never imagined herself as a headmaster. She had built her life on chaos, on freedom, on defying rules rather than enforcing them. However this time, she now carried the responsibility of guiding the University forward. Her days were consumed by paperwork, council meetings, and endless decisions. Her days also came with curriculum proposals, safety protocols, and resource allocations. To those who saw her bustling across the University courtyard, she looked like a leader, sharp-eyed and unyielding. However, when the halls emptied, when the weight of her role settled on her shoulders. She also felt the truth of the invasion had left her shaken. For weeks, sleep had been elusive and nightmares replayed the Archive Collective's descent, blending with the visions she had once dismissed. Now she could no longer deny them. Each dream carried the same relentless imagery: infinite hands stretching through the void, voices echoing in tones too vast to comprehend, the Isles crumbling under celestial shadows. Eda would wake gasping, her feathers bristling, and her sweat slick on her brow. Even Raine's steady presence at her side could not quiet the unease. To her, the nightmare was no longer a memory but a warning. Something greater and darker had awaited, it was only a matter of time for it to happen.

Driven by that conviction, she sought allies. Alongside Raine and Lilith, she turned to Alador Blight and Darius Deamonne, pooling their skills into a singular mission: to ensure the Isles would never again be caught unprepared. They worked alongside the government of the Republic of the Boiling Isles to develop a defense system unlike anything seen before. This was known as the Titanic Islandwide Tactical Arcane Network or T.I.T.A.N. and it included a vast array of different technologies used for the defense of the isles. Towers rose on the ridges, braced with Abomin-tech and pulsing with crystalline cores scavenged from wreckage and technology left behind from the invasion. There were also ray cannons, their barrels inscribed with protective runes. Each of them pointed skyward, waiting for a threat yet unseen. The defense system also included concealed launchers embedded into the cliffs, their mechanisms a fusion of machinery and spellcraft. Workshops across Bonesborough bustled with fevered invention, the smell of scorched abomination goo mingling with smoke and metal as prototypes were tested, broken, and rebuilt. The defenses represented both hope and fear. To some, they were a symbol of progress, proof that the Isles would stand strong against whatever came next. To others, they were a grim reminder that danger was inevitable, that peace was only temporary. Arguments flared in taverns, in markets, even within families. Some whispered that the leaders had failed them once already, that no defense could undo the trauma of being caught unprepared. Others insisted that anger solved nothing, that the Isles could only move forward by embracing both magic and innovation.

Beneath the surface of reconstruction, resentment simmered. A minority of voices grew sharper with each passing week. Survivors who had lost loved ones spoke of betrayal, of abandonment, of leaders who had promised safety and delivered chaos. They remembered the invasion not as a story of survival but as a story of helplessness. Helplessness such as running through collapsing streets, clutching their children as shadows swallowed the sky, and praying for rescue that never came. These memories hardened into bitterness over time. The government of the new republic and even the heroes who had once saved the Isles—The Hexsquad—all became targets of frustration. The people were tired of rebuilding their homes and businesses, tired of burying their fallen friends and family, and tired of being told to endure.

Yet, despite every single hardship the isles had to face, life still went on as usual. The sun still rose over the Titan's skull and the Archive House that rested upon it like a crown, casting golden light across scaffolding and camps. The tide still washed against the shores, carrying with it the scent of salt and seaweed. Children still found ways to laugh, chasing one another between piles of rubble, their play a fragile act of defiance against despair. Families still shared meals in the glow of firelight, savoring what little they had, holding each other close. Beneath the weight of exhaustion, the Isles endured, as it always had.

Although, the invasion had left more than ruins. It had planted a shadow in the collective heart of the Boiling Isles. It was a fear that could not be shaken, no matter how many homes were rebuilt or how many weapons were forged. It was the knowledge that the invaders had not been defeated, only delayed. That somewhere beyond the stars, there are forces too vast for comprehension. Such forces that lingered, watched, and waited. If they ever returned, the people of the Boiling Isles could only hope they would be ready.

For now, though, they carried on. Broken, bruised, but not yet broken beyond repair. Their anger simmered and their fear endured but so, too, did their determination. In the silence that fell over the Isles when the builders laid down their tools at night, one truth lingered above all others: the Boiling Isles had survived but the storm was not yet over.

Chapter Text

Just an Average Tuesday

The house creaked in the early hours of the morning, that soft groaning of wood and stone that usually blended into the chatter of Luz's voice or King's barked demands for breakfast. Now it only underlined how still the Owl House had become. Eda Clawthorne blinked awake, her eyes catching the dim gray light seeping in through the broken blinds of her window. For a long moment, she didn't move. Her hand brushed instinctively across the bed to her left, only to meet the cool sheets. Her partner Raine wasn't there. She didn't feel the warmth of their body but simply emptiness.

She groaned under her breath and sat up, her hair sticking up in wild tangles. She gave a wide and big stretch, her joints popping around her. A clear reflection of her age though that itself didn't deter her, as she was used to these types of things. She followed through this with a yawn of her tiredness. Just before she stood up from her bed, she noticed her scroll had the faint blinking of a new message. She decides to reach for it and her scroll revealed that Raine had left her a note—sent hours ago. She clicked on the contact application and clicked on the message that had been left behind for her. She read it and it said:

"Had to get into work early! Didn't want to wake you! Don't forget your faculty meeting this week! Love you!"

Eda huffed a laugh. "Always the responsible one," she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She stared at the words a little too long, then set the scroll down and pushed herself to her feet. Her body moved on autopilot: shuffle to the sink, splash cold water on her face, comb out the knots, tug on the patched-up jacket she'd promised herself she'd replace months ago. She kept up a steady rhythm of muttered complaints—about mornings, about paperwork, about the university's obsession with schedules. Although, the rhythm broke when she padded upstairs.

The old door to Luz and King's shared room loomed at the end of the hall. Its paint chipped from years of Hooty's unhelpful renovations. Eda's hand closed around the knob, and before she realized it, she pushed the door open. "Alright, kid, up and—" Her voice soon stopped speaking as she saw the sight, both of their beds were empty. One made neatly, the other a tangled nest of blankets where King once burrowed himself.

She froze in the doorway, her words fading into the dust-moted air. "...up and at 'em," she finished weakly, forcing a grin to no one at all. "Oh, right. You're... still out there. Cosmic road trip. No big deal."

"Guess I'm talking to walls now," she muttered, forcing a crooked grin. "Typical Tuesday." The silence pressed back at her.

Eda closed the door gently this time, her smirk slipping away. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and whispered to herself, "Still can't break the habit, huh?" She soon began making her way downstairs shortly. As she arrived, she gathered her things—lesson notes scrawled on napkins, a half-finished mug of apple blood from last night. Before heading out, she opened her scroll once more, scrolling through unanswered messages to Lilith on her contacts.

"Any updates Lily?"

Nothing.

"Hope the expedition's treating you well!"

Nothing.

"Don't make me come drag you back, nerd!!!"

Nothing.

There were hardly to no replies, though the only thing that was there, was just the little timestamp of days slipping by. Eda frowned, chewing on her lip slightly. She knew Lilith was off with Amity, cataloguing ruins and digging through dusty archaeological sights. Although the silence of her responses gnawed at her very deeply. As she knew how much of an impact Luz's disappearance had on Lilith after all. Maybe this was her way of coping too—burying herself in work. "Guess it runs in the family too." Eda muttered.

With no other excuses left to stall, she stepped out into the cool morning air. Bonesborough spread out in the distance, rooftops patched with new shingles, scaffolding bracing up still-wounded buildings. The city buzzed faintly even this early, hammers clinking against nails and witches hauling supplies in carts.

As Eda rolled her shoulders, feathers soon began sprouting as her harpy form took over. Her wings unfurled, they still remained sharp and sleek despite her aging body. Her wings were still able to catch the pale light of the early morning hours. For a moment, the sensation lifted her heart, while the wind rushed past her, and the ground fell away beneath her. Although, as the Owl House shrank behind her, the ache of her misfortunes returned. Flying toward the University of Wild Magic should have felt like progress and purpose. Instead, it only underlined how far away her kids were, how much quieter things had become without Luz pointing out constellations or King clinging to her back.

The closer she drew to Bonesborough proper, the heavier the atmosphere felt. The town looked alive, busier than it had in years, but life was born of necessity. Streets once crowded with markets and chatter now hosted thirteen lines of carts piled with timber, stone, and salvaged scrap. Witches moved in pairs, hauling beams too heavy for just one individual. There were groups of people that painted over the ruined infrastructure due to the invasion, their brushes glowing faintly as they scrubbed at the scars that refused to fade. From her vantage point above the rooftops, Eda's eyes were drawn past the bustle of Bonesborough to the sprawling structure at its edge; the Demon-Human Port of Entry. It dominated the outskirts like a strange marriage of artistry and pragmatism. It was here that it contained Collector-made spires of silver-blue stone curled skyward in improbable arcs. Their tips glowing with starry light, while scaffolds of timber and steel braced them in place with a decidedly less elegant touch. There were also lantern-crystals hovered in midair along invisible tracks. These lanterns shifted between colors of red and green in a slow, hypnotic cycle. Although the walkways beneath these lanterns were paved with plain cobblestone and etched with practical wayfinding runes, added later by the New Republic.

The surrounding space of the entry port carried both wonder and wear. It contained portal gates that shimmered in neat rows across the plaza. Each one of them were rimmed in ornate sigils that pulsed faintly, as if they were alive. Between them, utilitarian checkpoints bustled with clerks hunched over ledgers, stamping charms and passing them into the hands of tired travelers. Witches and demons queued in smaller numbers than in years past, their chatter softened by the low noise of the gates. Some emerged from Earth clutching bags of strange snacks or bits of human belongings, as they were wide-eyed and amused; others entered with solemn determination, bound for exploration. A few gates stood dark, as their frames were wrapped in warning wards and guarded by patrols. They were once again reminders of the Archive Collective's invasion, which had scarred even this place.

Eda let out a low whistle as she banked in the air. She remembered when the Port first opened, when lines of witches and demons had snaked for miles, as it was the novelty of seeing Luz's world had pulled most out of every corner of the Isles. Back then, it had felt like a festival: magic and laughter spilling together into something entirely new. Now the energy was quieter, practical, driven by duty, and necessity more than curiosity. And yet, watching a pair of kids skip through the gate while their parents smiled faintly behind them, Eda felt a tug in her chest. As it reminded her of her kid that had lit the spark that made this possible.

Even battered, patched, and half-hidden beneath scaffolding, the Port still stood as proof of bridges built between worlds. With a small, tired smile, Eda angled her wings back toward town, the lavender glow of the gates trailing like embers in her wake.

Soon Eda would make her way below to the town of Bonesborough. Upon landing, she noticed at one corner, a new shrine had sprung up overnight. It contained flowers—real and conjured—spilled over the base of a broken lamppost. Alongside it, it had dozens of candles that burned slowly yet softly. Their wax pooled and hardened against the ground, each flame flickering stubbornly against the dawn. Eda slowed as she passed, her eyes flicking over carved names etched into a board nailed to the lamppost: families, friends, and even apprentices.

A young witch knelt there, her shoulders hunched over. As she was whispering something under her breath. Her palisman, a tiny bat, curled close against her neck.

Eda's chest pinched by the sight. She angled her wings, gliding low until her talons skimmed the street. "You doing okay, kid?" she asked softly.

The girl noticed her and was slightly startled by Eda's approach. Though, she realized who it was and now wiped at her face, though the red rim of her eyes betrayed her. "Yeah," she croaked, then forced a nod. "Yeah. Just—my brother... he was at the market when..." Her words cracked, but she steadied herself. "But it's fine. We're fine. Everyone's pulling together."

Eda folded her wings in slightly, hovering closer before shortly transforming back into herself. "Well kid, it doesn't gotta be fine right now and it doesn't gotta be anything except what it is."

The girl looked up at her, her lips twitched like she wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. Instead, she gave a tiny, grateful nod.

Eda offered the barest smile before pushing herself back into the air. She didn't trust her voice to hold if she lingered.

From above, the signs of resilience tangled with signs of grief. Families stood shoulder to shoulder outside shops, repainting cracked signs and sweeping away debris that had lingered too long. A baker set out loaves on a stand rebuilt from old crates, calling out cheerfully, though her voice wavered at the edges. In the square, witches raised fresh banners bearing the Boiling Isles' crest, the fabric snapping in the wind like they were daring anyone to tear them down again.

Although not all faces were lifted with pride. In the tavern windows, Eda caught sight of tight shoulders and hunched figures, voices low and bitter. The mutters were sharp enough to cut through the din of hammer and chisel.

"The Republic promised safety."
"Five years for promises... and when the sky opened up, where were they?"
"They couldn't even warn us. Hell, they couldn't stop it when it happened..."

Eda had heard these same words in every corner of the Isles these past months. Their anger was no longer burned at the shadows of Belos or the husks of his Coven loyalists—it turned now toward the very government that was supposed to be different. The New Republic had risen out of the ruins of tyranny, carried on the backs of reformers and dreamers who swore to never repeat the past. It had been celebrated as a symbol of freedom, of the Isles finally breathing without chains. Although freedom had meant little when the Archive Collective descended.

The sense of betrayal clung to the air heavier than smoke. What once felt like democracy, like stability, now tasted like weakness. Neighbors who once praised the Republic's elections and town councils now whispered in doorways that it was all a show. When the Isles needed them most, their leaders had frozen, and were blind to the storm gathering above.

"The Coven system failed us, Belos failed us, and now the Republic has too!" a voice hissed from an alley as Eda passed. A pair of witches leaned close together, eyes sharp with grief turned sour. "What's the point of a council if they can't protect their own people?"

"They had five years," the other replied, her hands trembling around a mug of bitterroot brew. "Five years to rebuild, to make us strong again. And when those monsters came, who was it out there fighting? Not them. It was the Hexsquad that did it!"

Eda's chest tightened, while her feathers bristled. She wanted to swoop down, to snap back that those children were stronger than anyone gave them credit for, stronger than most adults she knew. Though in finality, she didn't but instead just flapped her wings harder, carrying herself above the conversation. Before it could dig deeper under her skin, yet despite it, the truth still gnawed at her.

The Republic had tried, sure. Committees and ministries had sprung up overnight, cobbling together laws and schools and trade systems in place of Belos' decrees. Although there were too many gaps and too many cracks left unfilled. They had been building a house while the storm clouds already gathered, and when the lightning struck, it all came crashing down. What scared Eda wasn't the anger but it was the quiet layers beneath it. The way some witches stopped talking altogether when the Republic was mentioned. The way hope itself seemed to shrink back, cautious, and fearful to show its face. Five years ago, the Republic had been a promise. Now, to so many, it was just another broken one.

The streets of Bonesborough pressed close around Eda as she made her way down the cobbled lane, her boots clicking softly against the stone. She kept her harpy form tucked back, wings folded, trying to look more ordinary than she felt. It was better to stay on foot, to walk among the people rather than soar above them. Flying made her feel untouchable—walking reminded her how heavy the Isles had become.

The marketplace was already alive with voices. Stalls leaned half-finished under patched awnings, baskets of fresh herbs and potions sitting beside crates of salvaged wood and glass. Yet the air wasn't filled with the easy chatter she remembered; it carried a sharper edge, like every word was weighed against the ache still hanging over the Isles.

"Say what you will, but things were safer under Belos," a thick-shouldered witch muttered near a bread stall, as his arms were crossed. His voice was pitched low, but Eda's ears twitched to catch it all the same. "There weren't space-monsters dropping down from nowhere, were there? No invasions. No chaos. There was order!"

A woman at the stall snapped back, her voice brittle as glass. "Order? He slaughtered witches that didn't do anything wrong! He poisoned us with his lies! Don't you dare, don't you dare, call that safety!"

The first witch sneered. "And yet the Republic's so-called democracy couldn't even conjure a spell to protect us. Belos would've crushed those things before they even touched the Isles."

That drew gasps, then an angry shout from another voice in the crowd. "Careful what you say, or folks'll start thinking you're one of his sympathizers! The kind who crawled out during the Witch Warlord mess, remember them? Flying his banners, saying he'd come back and save us? That's the kind of rot you're spreading!"

A murmur swept through the market. Some nodded fiercely, others looked away with guilt or fear tightening their mouths.

Eda paused by a stall selling healing salves, watching the exchange from the corner of her eye. The tension crackled in the air, sharper than any duel.

The thick-shouldered witch barked a bitter laugh. "Sympathizer? Please. I lost family to that tyrant same as you. But at least we knew where he stood. At least he didn't hide behind bureaucrats and promises that meant nothing when the sky fell!"

The woman's hands trembled as she clutched her loaf of bread. "He would've fed us to those monsters himself if it gave him more power. Don't twist the past to fit your perspective of how better things were before!"

Eda looked on at horror over witnessing how far people had become in the wake of the invasion. She'd thought she'd left Belos behind, buried under Titan's bones and dust. Yet here he was again, clawing his way back into conversations, his shadow lingering like rot in the foundation stones. She couldn't blame people for being scared. Fear made folks grab onto whatever felt solid, even if it was a ghost. Regardless, it still made her stomach turn to hear Belos' name tossed around as if he were anything other than a butcher.

The crowd's murmurs didn't fade when the argument at the bread stall quieted, as they only fractured, spreading down the street like cracks in glass. Words once whispered in kitchens and taverns now spilled out into daylight.

"Yeah, and what about that child god?" someone called from the back, their voice sharp with scorn. "He's the reason the sky turned red and half the Isles burned! You all saw that thing come down! That warship wasn't after us, it was after him!"

Another witch, younger, stepped forward from a potion stand, her face drawn tight. "The Archive Collective followed him here. He led them right to our door! Don't tell me that wasn't his fault. He's supposed to be all-powerful, why couldn't he stop them?"

Someone else muttered, "Because he didn't care to."

That drew nods, though they were hesitant and fearful ones at first. Yet they grew in confidence as the crowd found a common target for its grief.

A third voice, an older demon with cracked horns and soot-stained gloves, spat onto the cobblestones. "We welcomed him like he was one of us! Let him play with our kids, build those little stars in our sky. And what'd we get? Fire raining from above! My brother's shop got torn in half when one of those Archivist drones approached it!" The marketplace erupted in uneasy agreement upon hearing this demon.

Eda's heart instantly sunk as she'd seen this before. The kind of slow, festering anger that built when fear couldn't find direction. People needed someone to blame, someone tangible to curse when the world stopped making sense. Besides the Republic, over time The Collector, for all his childlike innocence and power, had become that scapegoat.

Still, she couldn't quite bring herself to disagree. She remembered the day the Archive Collective's warship blotted out the clouds. The sound that wasn't thunder but a low, mumbling rumble as the sky itself split open. She remembered the way the Titan's bones had trembled under the weight of foreign magic, and the panic in the Collector's glowing eyes as he'd tried to hide and undo what he'd caused.

A vendor near Eda's shoulder slammed a crate shut, rattling a row of potion bottles. "He was running from them! Said he was just hiding! What kind of god runs away and lets everyone else pay the price?"

"Maybe he didn't mean it," another said quietly. "He's just a kid."

"A kid?" The first vendor scoffed. "A kid who has unlimited immense power? Don't fool yourself. Whatever he is, he's not like us. He never was."

The argument raged, a dozen smaller voices threading together in discord. Their emotions merged with grief, rage, fear, that all tangled up in the marketplace air. Above it all, banners from the newly formed Isles Republic fluttered, faded and torn, but still stubbornly clinging to the poles. Eda could see the cracks in the stonework, the scaffolding from half-rebuilt towers, the scorch marks that no amount of magic could quite erase.

She exhaled through her nose, wings twitching faintly beneath her coat. This was the Boiling Isles now — rebuilding, healing, but not yet whole. The scars of Belos had barely closed before the cosmos themselves had decided to open new ones.

And somewhere, in the quiet corners of her heart, Eda wondered if the Collector could feel it too, the weight of what he'd done. Or if he was still out there, drifting between stars, scared and alone with Luz and King, hiding from the very beings that had chased him to her home.

"Poor kid," she muttered under her breath, mostly to herself. "You wanted to play games... and look how the game ended."

A gust of wind swept through the street, carrying with it the smell of salt and ash, remnants of a world still learning how to breathe again.

Eda adjusted her cloak and kept walking, boots clicking against the cobblestones. Around her, Bonesborough buzzed with voices that carried equal parts exhaustion and defiance. The Isles had survived again. But as the shadows stretched longer across the market, she couldn't shake the feeling that this peace, fragile as it was, wouldn't last forever. Her eyes were directed onto another memorial wall at the edge of the square—boards plastered with names scrawled in ink and charcoal, flowers wilting in jars beneath them. It contained the dozens who perished during the invasion and the dozens who went missing. Children, shopkeepers, soldiers, and healers. Their faces stared back in fading sketches, reminders of what had been taken.

She clenched her jaw. Belos hadn't saved them then, and he wouldn't have saved them now. Even with all of the Republic's flaws and all of its stumbles, at least it wasn't built on lies and blood. At least it had also given Luz, King, Amity, Willow, Gus, Hunter—her kids in all but name—the chance to fight back.

"Sympathizers," she muttered under her breath as she moved on. "Always the loudest when things fall apart." Yet in her heart, she felt the weight of the silence too. The silence that had belonged to the ones who didn't shout. Who just walked past with their heads bowed, unsure what to believe anymore. That silence was heavier than anger. It was a specific silence that scared her most of all.

Soon as she continued through, she walked past a food stall where a family stood waiting in line. The father, a lanky witch with soot-stained sleeves, rubbed his temples while the mother tried to hush their children. The little ones pointed at the bread loaves stacked behind the counter, their voices piping high.

"Is it free for heroes?" one asked, her eyes wide. "Like the Hexsquad? Mama says they saved us."

The baker, a squat woman with flour dusting her apron, smiled despite her clear fatigue that showed. "The Hexsquad saved more than we'll ever repay. But bread still costs a snail, sweetling."

The girl's shoulders slumped. Her father fished for his snails, his hands shaking slightly as he counted.

Eda felt her chest tighten once more after hearing the little girl's remark. Luz would've grinned and paid for the whole family, probably with money she didn't even have. King would've puffed his chest, declaring the bread belonged to him by Titan's decree. The ache in her gut sharpened as she turned away.

Further down, a wall had been transformed into a mural. Children clustered with brushes and colored chalk, sketching bright stars and glyphs, their strokes bold despite the uneven bricks. At the center of their work stood the Hexsquad—Amity with her abomination magic, Willow holding vines in bloom, Gus conjuring illusions of light. Hunter's sketch looked rougher, like the kids couldn't agree on his cloak. Luz was painted in the middle, her smile radiant, her hand stretched high as if casting a spell.

One boy added a crown of jagged triangles on Luz's head. "Like the Titan's," he said proudly.

Another child frowned. "No, it should be King's crown. He's the Titan."

They argued in whispers, while their brushes flew as the figures became brighter, almost alive to a degree. Around them, adults stopped to watch, some with tears in their eyes, some murmuring thanks under their breath.

Eda stood still for a moment, as it was becoming too much for her. She then moved on quickly before anyone noticed her that she had been watching.

As Eda pressed forward through Bonesborough's winding streets, the air around her carried the sharp tang of burned wood mixed with herbal remedies; healers had set up makeshift clinics along the sidewalks, tending to those still bearing injuries from the invasion months prior. Elsewhere, a chorus of children's laughter rang out from a courtyard where an illusionist projected simple, glowing shapes in the sky, their fleeting joy layered atop the quiet sorrow of the adults watching nearby. There were also street musicians, with their instruments battered but serviceable. Their music filled the air with lilting ballads. The notes wove through the alleys like threads trying to stitch together something broken. Snails clinked sparingly into their open cases—many had little left to spare—but Eda noticed people offering bread, bandages, or charms instead. A sense of bartering kindness had grown where money often failed.

She rounded a corner and almost didn't recognize the figure hauling crates of supplies onto a wagon. Tibbles—yes, that Tibbles, the shifty little pig imp who once swindled customers at the "Trickster's Trap"—was red-faced from effort. No flashy banners, no sales pitch, no scam. Just sweat and the grunt of real labor. A cart stacked with blankets and spell-bottles bore the crude hand-painted sign: Free! No Tricks!

"Eda!" Tibbles puffed, spotting her in the crowd. For a moment, the old instinctive smirk twitched at his lips, but he suppressed it. "Don't look so shocked. Even though I'm known for pulling many schemes to make a profit, this is something entirely different. I might be a trickster... but I'm not a monster!".

Eda raised a brow, crossing her arms. "Hell, maybe the world has ended. Tibbles doing something without trying to squeeze a single snail outta it."

He shrugged, tugging the crate into place. "Conning folks doesn't seem worth it anymore. If the Isles are gonna crawl back from this mess, everyone's gotta pitch in. Even... even me." His tone was quieter on that last part, as though admitting it took more courage than any scam. Further down the street, a crowd had gathered before an elegant tent draped in velvet and silk. Inside, attendants distributed parcels of food, potions, and clothing. At the tent's entrance loomed the Bat Queen, her wings spread wide as if to shield the line of waiting families. Alongside her tiny palismen fluttering under her command. Her enormous eyes soon softened when they fell onto Eda.

"Clawthorne," the Bat Queen said, her voice reverberating like low thunder. "I hope you are doing well..."

Eda tilted her head toward the crates of goods. "Looks like you've been busy."

"I was fortunate enough to hoard wealth for centuries," the Bat Queen replied, almost shamefully. "It means nothing if my children or this realm cannot thrive. So I gave it away to help with food, medicine, and shelter. As well handing donations to the Republic's rebuilding fund. If treasure cannot protect the Isles, then perhaps generosity can." She glanced toward a small witch clutching a bundle of clothes, their smile faint but grateful. "I never imagined I would... enjoy watching wealth disappear."

Eda smirked faintly. "Guess tragedy makes philanthropists outta the strangest folks. Even Tibbles."

Tibbles, still lugging a crate nearby, threw his hands up. "Hey, I heard that! I'm reformed, thank you very much!"

The Bat Queen let out a low rumble that might have been laughter. For the first time since the invasion, Eda felt something lighter stir in her chest. It wasn't joy per say, but the sense that healing could grow in unlikely places. Bonesborough wasn't the same as before. It never would be but maybe, just maybe, that wasn't the end of the story.

Eda left the makeshift relief square behind and wandered further until the shadow of the Bonesborough Library loomed over her path. Its spires still rose tall, but they bore jagged cracks. Whole sections of the roof had collapsed inward, leaving gaps where the light of the sun was able to peirce through. There were also shattered stained-glass windows that had been hastily covered with wooden planks. As well scaffolding wrapped around the southern wall where stone had crumbled from an Archive blast. The great oak doors, once polished and proud, now hung uneven on their hinges, their surface pockmarked with scorch scars.

At the base of the steps, workers bustled with hammers, saws, and construction spells. Eda blinked twice when she recognized two of them. Matt Tholomule, sweat dripping down his brow, balanced a plank of lumber on his shoulder. His once-snide expression had hardened into something earnest. Beside him, Kikimora—in an oversized hard hat—directed a crew of witches levitating bricks into place. She barked orders with her usual sharpness, but Eda noticed her talons were calloused and her robes covered with dust.

"Careful with that support beam, blockheads! It's not going to levitate itself!" Kikimora snapped.

Matt muttered back, "Yeah, yeah, we know. Besides, I'm practically a professional! Nothing to worry 'bout!"

Their banter almost coaxed a smile from Eda. The Isles were strange these days—villains turned builders, tricksters turned helpers. Maybe that was a kind of magic all its own. Within moments she went her way inside the library. As she traversed through the building, she soon entered into a specific hallway that led her into the newly established Museum Wing of the building.

The museum wing of the Bonesborough Library had always been a quiet place—dust motes drifting through beams of sunlight, relics from forgotten eras locked in glass. Although now, under Hooty's "curation," it was equal parts exhibit and carnival.

The first thing Eda noticed was the signage. Every artifact was labeled not with the library's neat bronze plaques but with Hooty's sprawling, childlike handwriting on scraps of parchment. "Totally Not Cursed Staff Fragment!!!" hung beneath the broken half of a palistrom staff, its edge charred from the Day of Unity. Another read: "Luz's First Ever Doodle Spell—Wow! Historic!" above a yellowed scrap of paper in a frame, the faint traces of glyphs glowing faintly. The displays themselves leaned between reverent and absurd. A case of shattered masks of the very scouts that served under the Emperor's Coven sat next to a pedestal where Hooty had coiled himself protectively around a dented bard lute. He whispered reverently, "This belonged to a brave bard who played during the invasion. I play it sometimes... but only when the moon's right!"

A group of witches lingered at the Titan's relic display: jagged bits of bone and preserved glyph carvings salvaged from fallen shrines. Hooty narrated enthusiastically, weaving half-true history with melodramatic flair.

"And here we have proof—yes, proof!—that the Titan loved sandwiches. Don't argue with me, I have the vibes to back it up!"

The crowd snickered. A young witch raised a hand timidly. "Um... isn't that just a fossilized jaw fragment?"

"Sandwiches," Hooty repeated gravely, his eyes narrowing in mock authority.

Despite the ridiculousness, Eda caught something genuine in the way visitors listened. Survivors leaned closer to cracked spellbooks and scorched banners not just to laugh at Hooty's antics but to remember. Each artifact was a reminder of what had been lost and what was saved. Even when Hooty exaggerated, he gave the pain a strange, bearable frame. It was something you could joke about without dishonoring it.

Eda let her gaze drift to a corner where Hooty had arranged an impromptu memorial wall: drawings from children, notes to loved ones, charms for safety. Above it, in bright red paint, he'd written: WE REMEMBER. It was messy, heartfelt, and somehow perfect.

When Hooty turned to her with that single hopeful eye, she understood why he'd thrown himself into the role. He wasn't just filling in for Lilith—he was keeping the Isles' memory alive in his own, weird way.

"Eda!" Hooty screeched the moment she crossed the threshold. "Welcome to the grand opening of my very important and super curated museum wing! Please don't touch the displays unless you're prepared for a five-hour lecture!"

Eda snorted. "Good to see you're keepin' busy. Say, have you heard from Lilith lately?"

The question made Hooty's eyes droop. He sagged dramatically across three pedestals. "Nooooo, I haven't heard a peep! Not even a scholarly postcard! My dearest Lilith, gone on her grand expedition while leaving poor, loyal Hooty behind! Do you know how lonely it is to recite historical fun facts with no one correcting me every five seconds?" He sniffled loudly, his voice wobbling with cartoonish heartbreak. "I miss her so much, Eda!!"

Eda chuckled, shaking her head. "She's out there doin' important work, bird tube. Don't worry, she'll write when she can. You're holdin' the fort just fine."

Hooty perked up instantly, puffing out his chest. "You really think so? Then I'll curate harder than anyone's ever curated before!"

"Good luck with that," Eda said, giving him a small wave as she turned toward the exit. "Try not to scare the patrons too much."

Once outside, Eda drew a steadying breath. The library's wounded frame loomed behind her, but inside, it was still alive—still breathing. She allowed her feathers to unfurl as she let the Harpy form overtake her once more. With a strong beat of her wings, she rose into the gray sky, banking toward the University of Wild Magic. The Isles were heavier now, but Eda wasn't about to let them crumble. Not while she still had a fight left in her.

The skies over Bonesborough were still hazy with dawn light when a streak of feathers cut across the clouds. Eda flew low in her harpy form, wings beating against the cool morning air, her hair whipping behind her like a silver mane. The weight of another sleepless night hung on her face, and for a moment, she considered skipping the landing and making herself scarce. Although it was her duty tugged her down. The University of Wild Magic was just ahead, its mighty branches still remained in place despite the destruction that occurred two months before. From above, the grounds shimmered faintly with protective wards — sigils etched after the invasion, glowing whenever a student's spell went too far astray.

Eda banked low, as her talons scraped against the stone before she touched down. With a mutter, she let her harpy form fade away, feathers withdrawing into skin, claws becoming a calloused hand again, while her hook remained. She rolled her shoulders, brushing off stray plumage before anyone noticed. Not because she was ashamed — the harpy was hers, through and through — but because a headmistress had to look the part.

She exhaled through her nose, muttering, "Showtime, Owl Lady."

The courtyard was already alive with students buzzing between classes. Dozens of glyph diagrams sprawled across the flagstones in uneven circles, some glowing faintly, others sputtering in bursts of smoke. A pair of older students knelt close together, sketching carefully with measured precision, while a younger witch darted around their work, adding unnecessary doodles of bats and stars to the margins until they were shooed away.

On the far side, a duel had broken out between two sparring partners, each of them creating hoops of magic to release alternating bursts of fire and ice. Soon a teacher stepped forward and placed a protective ward around them, a precaution set in place after too many students accidentally scorched the library walls. Their classmates formed a noisy semicircle, cheering and jeering as the duel tipped back and forth, one fireball snuffing out against a sudden spray of frost.

Near the center of the courtyard, a cluster of freshmen huddled around a woven basket that trembled on its own. Inside, a pale green palisman egg wobbled furiously, its shell etched with faint swirls that pulsed with every shiver. The students leaned in close, whispering, their faces caught between fear and awe. "What if it hatches right here?" one gasped. "What if it doesn't like me?" another whispered, clutching their staff tighter.

Just beyond them, a pair of beast-keeping students struggled to corral a wayward gremlin familiar that had stolen someone's homework scroll and scampered up a wall. The little creature chattered triumphantly, unrolling the parchment and shredding it like confetti. A third student muttered a spell that briefly transformed the gremlin into a puff of dandelion fluff — only for it to pop back into its original form seconds later, landing squarely on their head.

Even in the chaos, there was order. Professors drifted between groups like shepherds keeping their flocks in line, offering sharp corrections or gentle encouragement. The clamor of voices, spellfire, and laughter blended into a rhythm unique to the university: loud, unruly, but undeniably alive.

At the edges of it all, a few students sat quietly under the shade of tree branch beams, their noses buried in grimoires borrowed from the library. One traced their fingers along an illustration of the Titan, mouthing the words of an old prayer. Another scribbled frantic notes about glyph fusion, smearing ink across their sleeves in their rush. The courtyard, messy and vibrant, carried the weight of a world still healing yet within it pulsed the promise of something new.

"Headmistress Clawthorne!" a cluster of voices called.

Eda turned, only to be nearly bowled over by three students bouncing with energy.

"We loved your lecture on spontaneous spell fusion yesterday!" one gushed, eyes wide. "I tried mixing abomination goo with a construction spell I've been studying with—"

"—and it exploded," another finished, showing soot-stained sleeves.

Eda smirked, cocking a brow. "Well, if you didn't singe off your eyebrows, then you didn't do it right. Keep on trying!"

The students laughed, scampering off, leaving Eda standing still for a moment longer than she meant to. Their energy, their reckless hunger to learn — it reminded her of Luz all over again. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself forward.

The further she walked, the more the courtyard revealed its most radical change: humans among witches.

On one side, a small knot of exchange students from Gravesfield leaned over open grimoires, sketching glyphs into the dirt with clumsy strokes. A red-haired boy frowned as his glyph fizzled into smoke. A witch seated beside him tapped the mark gently with her staff, and suddenly the glyph sputtered to life, forming a tiny glowing lantern.

"Whoa," the boy breathed. "That's way cooler than LED lights."

"What's an L-E-D?" the witch asked, head slightly turned to the side.

"Um... like a glowworm but you can use it for decoration," another human supplied.

The group burst into laughter, their awkward metaphors becoming a language of their own.

Nearby, a human girl unrolled a notepad filled with equations instead of glyphs. She was collaborating with a witch from the construction track, comparing geometry formulas to rune-circle placements. "See? It's like scaffolding math," she explained. "Triangles are strongest for weight distribution." The witch blinked, considered it, and then etched the glyph accordingly. When the rune flared bright and held steady, the two of them high-fived like lifelong friends.

Humans had only been arriving for a few years under the Human–Demon Exchange Program, a risky initiative born of the realm's promise of cooperation. At first, their presence had stirred suspicion — whispers of spies, of another Belos waiting to happen. Although slowly, through shared failures and tiny victories, the humans and witches had begun to learn from one another. Humans introduced pencils, erasers, and strange snacks like peanut butter crackers into the dorms. Witches, in turn, showed them how to animate brooms for sweeping, or how to bind an injury with a healing spell instead of a bandage.

It wasn't seamless, as Eda spotted a witch and a human arguing over whose turn it was to borrow a palisman perch, but it was working. Amidst the grief of a battered world, something new was taking root.

Eda let out a low whistle, scratching at the edge of her jaw. "Phee Well, look at that," she murmured to herself. "I guess our program has really paid off. Nice work Goops."

For the first time that morning, her lips tugged into a real smile.

As she walked more, the university carried an odd kind of hum: part grief, part hope. The university was covered in murals that stretched across outer walls, painted by students in bright, clashing colors. One showed the Titan cradling the Isles in its skeletal hands; another displayed a candlelit vigil for those lost to the invasion. Shrines huddled in corners, their candles still burning despite the morning sun.

Eda walked slower here, tracing a finger along the painted bricks. A mural near the entrance caught her eye — a wild witch surrounded by children with glyphs glowing around them. Someone had painted it hastily, the strokes uneven, but the resemblance to her and Luz was undeniable. Her throat worked silently, but she didn't stop to linger.

By the time she reached the council room, the faculty were already gathered. The long wooden table looked like it had barely survived the morning: cluttered with scrolls, half-empty mugs of tea and apple blood, and at least one rat palisman gnawing contentedly on the corner of a ledger.

"Morning, boss," Edric drawled, slouched low in his chair with his boots shamelessly propped on the table. He twirled a quill between his fingers, smirk sharp as ever. "You're looking... feral chic as always."

"Knock it off," Emira muttered, elbowing him in the ribs. She straightened her own robes and offered Eda a cheeky grin. "We were just taking bets on how long until you fall asleep mid-meeting."

She leaned back, stretching her arms overhead until her joints cracked. "By the way, how's your old man doing these days? Still holed up in that warehouse of his, pretending he doesn't need sunlight to live?"

Edric's smirk softened into something more genuine. "Yeah, he's still at BlightWorks. But he's not exactly alone. Been spending a lot of late nights with Darius."

Emira folded her arms, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Very late nights. We try not to speculate, but... well, you can imagine how much fun it is to tease him."

Eda raised a brow, her grin toothy. "Oh, ho. Alador and Darius, huh? Didn't see that one coming but good for them. Beats working himself into the grave alone."

"It's more than that," Emira added, her voice turning thoughtful. "Whatever they're building together... It matters. Especially to Amity. She doesn't say much, but we can tell. This project, whatever it is, its something she's counting on."

That gave Eda pause. She drummed her nails on the tabletop, as her expression softened just slightly. "Well, if it means that much to Mittens, then I'll trust she's got her reasons. And if your dad's got Darius backing him, that's about as solid a team as you'll get." She shrugged, letting the smile return. "Just make sure none of us have to clean up any Blight-sized explosions afterward."

The twins chuckled at that, and the tension thinned enough for Eda to clear her throat. "Alright, enough family gossip. Let's get down to it, what disasters are waiting for us in the University today?"

Emira smoothed her notes and cleared her throat with exaggerated primness. "The healing track, Headmistress. We need more funding."

"More funding?" Eda echoed, raising a brow. "I thought you had shelves full of herbs and glittery elixirs squirreled away already."

"That was before the invasion," Emira said sharply, then softened. "And before every student and their palisman started needing extra care. Supplies for our courses aren't coming in the way they used to."

Viney chimed in from the far end of the table, her braid swinging as she leaned forward. "She's right. We're running dangerously low on Manticore stingers, and without them, the third-years won't be able to finish their venom-to-antidote cycle. If we don't replenish the stock, they'll fall behind in their practical exams."

"And don't even get me started on the herbs and potions," Emira added with a sigh. "Half of them keep disappearing because of certain students—" she shot a pointed glance toward a group of human exchange students seated near the door, who tried very hard to look innocent— "like to take them home as souvenirs."

The humans flushed but didn't argue. Eda smirked faintly; she could already picture Luz's grin if she'd been one of them.

Viney crossed her arms. "And if we had assistants, even just a couple, we wouldn't have to scramble so much when one of us is unavailable for lectures."

"Assistants, huh? I'll put it on the list." Eda tapped her quill against the ledger. "Alright. What's the next matter that deserves attention?"

Viney opened her mouth, but Edric beat her to it. "The beast stables are falling apart," he declared, smacking his hand on the table for emphasis. "Some students don't bother locking up their palismen or class critters, and they end up running wild across the campus. You wouldn't believe how many times I've had to track down an escaped snorse!"

"They keep wandering into my healing lessons!" Emira snapped. "Do you know how hard it is to keep a class focused while one of your critters is chewing on essentials?! Do you?!"

Edric grinned sheepishly. "Okay, okay, but in my defense, it's not always me! Sometimes the little guys are just... spirited." He scratched his cheek.

"Tell her about the first-years," Viney interrupted, clearly tired of the back-and-forth.

Edric groaned. "Fineee. A group of overexcited students thought they could tame a dreadhound. Spoiler alert—they couldn't. It ended with three concussions, a melted cauldron, and a missing pair of boots. We need clearer safety rules, especially WITH better enforcement. I'll even admit that!"

Before Eda could jump in, another voice rose—dry, precise, and tinged with annoyance.

Professor Callum Bloodbranch, the same man who was once the Keeper of the Looking Glass Graveyard has now become one of the professors teaching the Illusionary Arts Course at the university. He adjusted his spectacles, while his long fingers steepled. "My Illusion students are turning the entire campus into a madhouse! Disguising themselves as other students to dodge exams. One even pretended to be me to get free access to the restricted archives! While I do admire how far they've come through with their learning, they're doing it for all the wrong reasons!"

He sighed heavily. "Illusion is not a toy. It has depth, history, spiritual weight. They're treating it like parlor tricks for their own heinous intentions..."

"Point taken, everyone." Eda said, rubbing her temple. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do. Emira, Viney—you'll get a bigger slice of the budget for supplies, and I'll dig around to hire potential assistants. Edric, I'll draft new safety protocols for beast-keeping—ones that your students can finally understand. And Bloodbranch... I'll put out a rule about illusion misuse. Also for its enforcement, I think you should have the honors of doing so with your expertise in that field. That'll scare the pranksters off."

She finished with a smirk, but her eyes softened as she looked around the table. They were counting on her—students, faculty, all of them. And as much as she tried to bluff her way through, a knot coiled in her chest. She was the Owl Lady, never one for rules or schedules, yet here she was, the Headmistress of a university, trying to hold it all together.

"Don't worry," she said finally, leaning back in her chair with all the casual swagger she could muster. "We'll figure this out. We always do."

The room hummed with murmurs of relief, scribbling notes, and a few skeptical glances. Eda forced herself to smile, but deep down, the question lingered like a pebble in her boot: Am I really cut out for this?

Later after the meeting, Eda was right back on her way to her office, Eda caught the sound of raised voices echoing off the stone halls. She slowed, feathers prickling at the edges of her cloak, and turned the corner to find two students squared off.

"It won't work if you brute-force it with fire!" the taller one barked, his finger tip already conjuring a spell. "You need precision. Layers. It's about shaping the spell's combination so they interlock!"

"That's ridiculous," the shorter student shot back, as they began to conjure several of their own spell combinations in which they've learned. "You need raw spellcasting to power them up!"

The taller one's eyes narrowed, as he tapped a finger toward the classmate. "Oh, like your fireblast wasn't about to singe my eyebrows off?"

The air between them thickened, a current of wild magic that was inches away from being unleashed. They held onto their staffs tightly while preparing for the spells they would use on one another. For a moment it looked like the whole hallway would ignite into a duel between witches alike.

Eda pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, for Titan's sake."

She strode between them and shoved their staffs down with practiced ease. "Unless you're both auditioning for 'Biggest Menace in the Boiling Isles,' knock it off before I turn those sticks into back scratchers."

The students froze, gulps audible. "B-but Headmaster Clawthorne—" the taller one started, his confidence wobbling.

"No buts. I've heard every flavor of this argument since before you two were hatched. Firepower versus finesse. New versus old-school spellcasting. Newsflash—" she jabbed a finger toward them, "—the answer's both. Always has been, always will be."

They exchanged uneasy glances.

Eda softened slightly, her voice dipping into something less sharp, almost tired. "Listen, kids. Magic isn't some contest where you prove who's stronger or fancier. It's universal. It's life. It flows through everyone—wild, structured, or somewhere in between. We've all got our own ways of wrangling it, and that's what makes it beautiful."

The taller student frowned. "But... if there's no right way, then how do we know we're doing it right?"

Eda chuckled, low and rough. "You're asking the wrong witch. I've spent half my life breaking rules and the other half making up my own. And you know what I learned? There isn't just one right way. What matters is whether your magic feels true to you. Whether it helps you build something instead of tearing it down."

The shorter one lowered their staff slightly, curiosity overtaking defiance. "So... we don't have to fight about it?"

"Exactly." Eda tipped her head toward them with a crooked smile. "You can learn from each other instead of trying to blast each other bald. Trust me, I've seen what happens when witches only care about power, or rules, or winning. It never ends well."

Silence hung for a beat. Then she added, voice softer, "The world's messy enough right now. Don't waste your time fighting battles that don't matter. Find the way your magic speaks and let it communicate with others."

The students exchanged uncertain looks, but their grips loosened on their staffs. One mumbled, "...Sorry," while the other gave a reluctant nod. The two students lowered their staffs as their scowls faded into something closer to guilt.

"Good. Now," Eda said, letting her glare settle evenly on both of them, "you're either gonna march down to the practice hall and actually test your little theories like civilized witches, or you're both on toilet duty until your hands reek of bleachroot."

A beat of silence.

"...Practice hall," they mumbled in unison.

"Good choice." Eda stepped aside with a weary sweep of her hand, watching them shuffle away. Left in the empty hall, she muttered under her breath, "Oh, Titan help me. I really have become Bump."

She walked the rest of the way to her office at a slower pace, boots echoing against the wooden floor. The corridors here were quieter than the main halls, it was illuminated by a few enchanted lanterns that hung over on the ceiling, their glow dimmed in the afternoon haze. Her office door stood at the very end of the hallway, its surface scratched with owl marks from years of Hooty scratching around it whenever he dropped by uninvited. The bronze plaque read Headmaster Clawthorne in freshly etched lettering. It was a reminder that no matter how much she still felt like the Owl Lady, the Isles had decided she was something more now. She hesitated at the door, hand brushing the plaque, caught between her pride and weariness.

Before she could sink too far into the thought, a cheerful voice piped up behind her. "Headmaster Clawthorne!"

Eda turned to see Fola, the Basilisk secretary she'd hired for the University, slithering toward her with a precariously tall stack of mail and scrolls wobbling in her arms. The young Basilisk's scales shimmered faintly as she struggled under the weight.

"Delivery for you," Fola said with strained politeness, the bundle teetering dangerously. "I tried sorting them, but, uh... most of them say 'urgent.' So, good luck!"

Eda snorted and relieved her of the pile before it could collapse. "Kid, you've got the worst timing. Just broke up what would've been a hallway duel and now you're trying to bury me alive under paperwork?"

Fola shrugged with a grin. "Hey, you're the headmaster. Comes with the fancy title."

"Fancy, huh? More like fancy for 'professional babysitter.'" Eda rolled her eyes but softened her tone. "Thanks, Fola. You're a lifesaver. Go get yourself a snack before another crisis occurs 'round here."

The Basilisk scampered off with a cheerful wave, leaving Eda alone at her office door once again. She hesitated with the handle for just a second, then pushed inside.

The office smelled faintly of ink and apple blood, the stale kind that clung no matter how many times she cracked a window. The mountain of mail thudded onto her already-cluttered desk, scrolls bouncing off one another like mismatched bricks in a wall. She stood for a moment, hands on her hips, surveying the battlefield: parchment rolls threatening to topple, quills scattered in clumps, half-eaten snacks petrified to plates. The chaos suited her, it held onto a feeling of honesty. Soon her eyes caught on the things that didn't belong to her, especially the subtle reminders tucked between the mess. Luz's doodles, which were artistic and vibrant, pinned to the wall. There were also her Glyph sketches half-formed in pencil. A few of them were smudged as it was where Luz had pressed too hard. Then there was King's hand-painted "King of Demons" banner, which hung proudly above the shelf but still remained crooked from when he insisted on putting it up himself. There was also the photo—just one frame, a little cracked, sitting in the corner of the shelf. Three mismatched smiles the day their makeshift family began.

The ache returned instantly. The office felt smaller, quieter, with those reminders staring back at her.

She dropped into her chair with a long groan, rubbing the stiffness from her neck. The first scroll unfurled under her hand—budget allocations for alchemy classes. She skimmed, signed, tossed it aside, then pulled another. Requests for new supplies. Another, notes on staff disputes. The words blurred after a while, her quill tapping absently against her jaw.

Her mind wandered—back to the duel in the hall, back to the way the students' faces reminded her so much of Luz's determination, and King's stubborn pride. She sighed, catching herself chewing the end of the quill until the taste of ink bled onto her tongue.

"Gross," she muttered, tossing it aside for a fresh one.

Digging for the next scroll, her fingers brushed something odd, it was soft paper that had been folded small. She frowned and tugged it free. It wasn't an official form but it was something meaningful. Her heart clenched when she recognized Luz's handwriting sprawled across the front.

Unfolding it, she read the scribbled words: Don't let them boss you around, Owl Lady! A doodle of a little witch in a pointy hat stood triumphantly at the corner.

Eda chuckled, the sound dry but warm. "Kid, you always knew how to get the last word in." She folded it carefully and set it back in the stack, lingering for just a second longer than she meant to.

When she finally dug deeper, another parchment caught her attention. It was sealed, pristine, and untouched. The stamp across it marked it clearly: Luz's final exam for her first semester. Eda froze as the paper in her hand felt heavier than it should, as if the weight of everything left unfinished pressed against her chest. Her hand hovered, unwilling to open it and to discard it entirely.

She set it aside on the corner of her desk, separate from the chaos of her paperwork. "Whenever you're ready," she whispered, almost too softly to hear. "This'll still be waiting..."

The room answered only with silence, broken by the scratch of her next reluctant signature.

The hours stretched on. The sun dipped lower, and the stained glass in her office shifted from bright jewel tones to dusky shadows. One by one, the enchanted lanterns along the shelves flickered to life, bathing the room in a warm glow that made the piles of parchment seem even taller. Eda worked through them with stubborn resolve, quill scratching across page after page. Budgets, student petitions, curriculum revisions, even the occasional complaint letter from some overzealous parent who thought their kid was destined to be the next Titan-born prodigy.

Every sheet blurred into the next, but Eda refused to leave them unfinished. She'd promised herself. Especially back when she accepted this ridiculous "headmaster" gig. That if she was going to run a school, she'd do it her way: no half measures, no hiding when things got hard. These kids deserved someone who actually showed up for them. Luz would've demanded no less.

Still, the weight pressed heavier with each passing hour. She shifted in her chair, rolling the crick from her shoulders, only to dive back into another stack. Somewhere in the middle of approving a requisition order for new palistrom staves, she caught herself rereading the same sentence three times before signing with a sloppy flourish.

Her eyes burned, while her hand cramped.

At last, the final scroll lay flat before her, ink gleaming faintly under the lanternlight. She scrawled her signature with a triumphant, if weary, "Ha! Take that, bureaucracy!" The parchment joined the others in a neat stack—well, as neat as she could manage on her cluttered desk. For a moment, she just sat there, quill dangling loosely from her fingers. Her gaze drifted again to the little doodles pinned on her wall, to the crooked banner above her shelf, to that cracked photo frame. The office was quiet enough that she could hear her own breathing, slow and steady.

She didn't remember letting her head fall forward, or her arms folding onto the desk, but exhaustion had a way of sneaking up on even the most stubborn witches. The last thing she registered was the faint smell of old ink and apple blood clinging to the wood, and the warmth of the lanternlight against her cheek.

By the time the moonlight slanted through the high window, Eda was already asleep, slumped in her chair with her cloak half-sliding off her shoulders. Papers fanned around her like fallen feathers, signed and stamped, every last one finished. For all her hard work, for all the effort she poured into holding this fragile new era together, she hadn't meant to rest but she did. And for one night at least, the Owl Lady slept at her desk, guarding the future she'd built with the people she loved.

Chapter Text

Cracks in the Nest

Morning arrived with the sound of crows outside the high windows, their calls echoing faintly over the central courtyard of the university. Eda Clawthorne stirred on the battered couch in her office, groaning as sunlight went through the curtains and hit her face at the worst possible angle. She sat up slowly, her back popping in several places, and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. A smear of parchment clung to her cheek, ink-stained and crinkled from where she'd fallen asleep on it.

"Great," she muttered, peeling it off and glaring at the endless stack on her desk. "The first thing I see when I wake up is my own office! Should've known this gig was cursed!"

The mountain of scrolls loomed like an enemy fortress, high enough to cast a shadow across the desk. She stretched until her wings twitched, feathers prickling out before she tucked them back. The harpy form still slipped in when she was tired—another reminder of the curse she'd made peace with long ago. Dragging herself toward the washbasin in the corner, she splashed her face with cold water. The cracked mirror above it reflected a witch who looked like she'd wrestled a troll and lost. Her hair was sticking out in seven directions, feathers knotted into it, and her eyes bore the weight of sleepless nights. Crow's feet carved deeper around the edges, gray streaks threaded boldly through her mane. For a fleeting second, she thought of the wild-eyed outlaw she'd once been—the Owl Lady who mocked emperors, dodged coven scouts, and swindled customers in the marketplace with glee. That witch seemed like someone else entirely now.

She smirked crookedly at the reflection and raked her fingers through her hair until it looked passable. "Headmaster Clawthorne," she told the mirror. "Sounds fancy but lookin' like a disaster! Nice!"

She grabbed her cloak from the hook by the door, shook off the crumbs from last night's snack, and swung it around her shoulders. By the time she stepped into the halls, the University was already stirring.

Students darted past with scrolls and satchels, the air buzzing with chatter and the occasional pop of a spell gone wrong. A pair of first-years chased a cauldron that rolled on its own, sloshing purple goo down the tiles. An older student lounged against the wall, practicing a levitation charm with smug precision. For all the chaos, there was a hum of life to it, a reminder that the Boiling Isles was still standing, even after everything.

She rounded a corner toward the lecture wing and immediately regretted it. Two professors were squared off in the hall, their voices loud enough to rattle the glass. One was the wiry abominations expert with ink smudges permanently stained into his cuffs; the other, a sharp-eyed potions mistress whose gloves still smelled faintly of smoke.

"You cannot keep commandeering my lab for your sloppy experiments!" the potions mistress barked, stabbing her wand through the air.

"And you can't dump cauldrons of spoiled sludge in the abomination pits!" the abominations professor snapped back. "Do you have any idea how unstable your mixtures are?!"

A crowd of students had gathered in a nervous semicircle. Some whispered wagers on who would hex the other first.

Eda pinched the bridge of her nose and shoved her way into the circle. "Alright, enough!" Her voice cracked like a whip, silencing the crowd. "What is this—extra credit for 'Most Dramatic Meltdown'? Because if it is, you both win."

Both professors spun, startled.

"She—"
"He—"

"Save it," Eda cut in, raising one hand. "You're supposed to be professors, not toddlers fighting over a juice box. If you don't figure out how to share space like civilized witches, I'll stick you both in the same broom closet until you hug it out. Besides, we can't be acting like this if we're going to be receiving a grant. Got it?"

The professors exchanged glowers, muttered something under their breaths, and stormed off in opposite directions. The students groaned at the anticlimax, clearly disappointed.

"Show's over, kids," Eda said, waving them off. "And if any of you start a fight about this, I'll make you write an essay titled 'Why My Professors Are Bigger Children Than I Am.' Triple-spaced." That got a few chuckles, and the crowd dispersed. Eda exhaled hard once they were gone.

Her next stop was the hall at the west wing of the university, a place she usually liked. There was a mural that stretched across the wooden wall. It was a long tapestry of glyphs and sigils that were directly carved onto the surface of the foundations of the university itself. The foundation in question was that of a massive palistrom tree. Following the defeat of Belos, the very seed that Eda's father, Dell, had given to her years ago was planted on the very sight of where the former Emperor's castle once stood. Although, there was something unique about it. The further the tree grew, its own bark began to incorporate patterns and details that closely reassembled the glyphs that once belonged to the Titan. When the University first opened, its first students were drawn to the glyphs instinctively. Some swore they could feel a hum when they laid their palms against the bark, a pulse that thrummed faintly beneath the surface like a heartbeat. Others claimed that when they focused, the glyphs seemed to shimmer. As well being seen aligning themselves into constellations of meaning too complex to put into words. A few even said they learned faster when they studied beneath the mural, as if the knowledge soaked into them like sunlight through leaves. Theories sprang up overnight, professors argued about whether the Titan had left behind fragments of itself that had awakened in the tree, or whether wild magic had simply seeped into the roots and carved the symbols on its own. A few whispered it was the work of the Collector, though no one could explain why they would bother. Others chalked it up to coincidence, a trick of nature and imagination. Although, the truth was simpler, and heavier: no one knew and The Titan had been gone. The last of its breath had been given to Luz all those years ago. There was no logical way for these patterns to exist at all.

And yet they did.

Eda found herself smiling faintly whenever she passed the mural. For all the theories and academic bickering, she thought the best explanation was the one no one wanted to put on parchment—that some things didn't need explaining. Some mysteries existed to be wondered at, not dissected. Maybe the Titan's memory had left its mark here, or maybe the Isles themselves wanted to remind everyone that beauty could grow from ruin. Whatever the cause, it was best enjoyed for what it was. Sunlight spilled through the stained glass above, making the glyphs shimmer faintly. There was, however, a consequence to the glyphs' presence. Over time, scholars realized that the tree's markings had woven a kind of boundary around the University grounds—an unseen barrier, subtle but absolute. Within this space, glyph magic functioned as it had during when Luz was able to use them, responsive to paper, ink, and intent. However if anyone steps beyond the boundary, the glyphs would no longer function. No one understood why the barrier existed or what sustained it. Some believed the tree itself was holding the Titan's last fragments close, unwilling to let them scatter into the wider Isles. For students, it meant the University was both a sanctuary and a cage for glyph magic—a rare, living reminder of what once was, and a mystery that could not be carried past its gates.

It was chaotic and beautiful, a perfect symbol of wild magic thriving in the open... but today, something was wrong.

The glyphs shifted as their lines, normally steady and intricate, and warped into jagged marks. They twitched with a sickly green glow that bled outward like rot creeping across wood.

Eda stopped dead in her tracks, "Well, that's new," she muttered.

She stepped closer, while the hall around her suddenly became too quiet. The students who were nearby began sensing that something was off, some of them began to scatter quickly. As they nervously whispered amongst themselves. The feeling of suspicion soon began to tighten around her chest, Eda raised a hand and pressed her palm against the bark. The wood was hot under her touch, like a kettle left too long over flame. At once, the glyphs reacted, flaring violently. Sparks soon burst from the grooves, crackling across the wall like lightning leaping from branch to branch. "Titan's bones—!" Eda jerked her hand back, but the mural seemed to feed off the contact, lashing out with arcs of greenish energy that spat and hissed. For a moment, she thought the entire hall might collapse into chaos.

The sparks snapped louder, light cascading down the hall in erratic waves. For a terrifying moment, she thought the whole tree might split itself apart from within. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the glyphs convulsed all at once—twisting, shuddering, and then falling still. The green glow bled away, leaving only the familiar pale carvings, quiet and inert as though nothing had happened.

Eda lowered her hand slowly. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she realized her breathing had grown shallow. She flexed her fingers, still tingling from the backlash, and took a step back. She'd seen magic twist like that before—when curses unraveled, when wild spells tore themselves apart under too much strain, and when something deeper was broken. The memory churned in her gut, it was sour and felt unwelcoming. For a long moment, she stood there, studying the mural. The glyphs looked normal again, placid even, glowing softly in the afternoon light. To anyone passing by, they'd look the same as they always had. They were symbols of resilience, of mystery, and of beauty.

Eda forced herself to smirk, though the feeling that came usual with her smirks didn't suffice. "There," she said, brushing off her singed sleeve. "Just a little... hiccup. Nothing to worry about. Happens all the time. Totally normal tree business."

The younger witches who remained behind were full of hesitation, then slowly dispersed, whispering nervously to one another as they hurried off to class.

Once the hallway was empty, Eda let the smirk slide from her face. She exhaled, shaking her head. "Don't go borrowing trouble, Clawthorne. You fixed it. End of story."

Although the feeling of unease didn't fade as she turned on her heel and strode toward her office. She kept her shoulders square, her steps brisk, convincing herself that the problem was solved. The glyphs were calm now, the hall was quiet, and life at the University would go on. Yet, somewhere deep in her chest, a whisper told her she hadn't seen the last of it.

By the time she dragged herself back to her office once more, exhaustion pressed down on every inch of her body. She paused at the door, staring at the wood grain as if it might swallow her whole. Although, regardless of how she felt or what she was thinking at that very moment, she pushed the door and entered inside. The office was exactly as she'd left it: cluttered, chaotic, alive in a way that mirrored her own stubbornness. Scrolls teetered in stacks, quills scattered across stained parchment, apple blood rings marked forgotten mugs. However, tucked between the mess were the reminders she never escaped. Luz's doodles pinned to the wall. King's crooked "King of Demons" banner hanging proudly. The photo of the three of them, cracked frame and all, sitting on the shelf.

Her heart ached like it always did...

Fola, her Basilisk secretary, scuttled in behind her, balancing another armload of mail. "Headmaster! Fresh delivery!"

Eda groaned. "Fola, you always seem to bring me fresh deliveries as soon as I enter my office, huh?."

"Of course ma'am! That's my job after all!" Fola said with a grin, dropping the stack on her desk. It wobbled dangerously. "They all say 'urgent.' Good luck!"

"Yeah, thank you!" Eda said as the Basilisk darted away. She slumped into her chair with a groan, rubbing her temples.

The parchment loomed as it contained documents regarding budgets, supply requests, and additional department complaints. She scrawled signatures half-heartedly, her quill pausing more often than not as her mind wandered. Every form felt heavier than the last.

Hours later, Eda finished scratching her signature across the last of the budget forms, the sun had already dipped low enough to cast the office in a rust-colored glow. Her quill slipped from her fingers, clattering against the wood as she slumped back in her chair. The mural incident still nagged at her, a thorn she couldn't quite pull free, but exhaustion dulled the edge of her worry. With a groan, she stood, grabbed her cloak, and muttered to herself, "That's enough headmastering for one day."

With a twist of her shoulders, she leapt from the balcony and harpy wings emerged, they managed to catch the cool night air. Flying always loosened something in her chest, no matter how heavy the day had been. Below, the Boiling Isles spread wide and strange. It's forests sprouting from the Titan's bones, little towns glowing like lantern clusters. While the isles' major cities were still being under construction. Its many buildings were able to prove their resilience as their lights remained on. In a way, it was a bittersweet display of hopefulness during times of uncertainty. She dipped low enough to catch the scent of swamp lilies before angling toward home. The Owl House rose from the clearing like an old friend, crooked tower lit from within, a patchwork beacon.

Eda's talons clicked against the dirt as she touched down in front of the Owl House. Her harpy form melted away in a ripple of feathers and smoke, leaving only her tired frame, cloak hanging loosely from her shoulders. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame the wild tufts, and let her eyes stare further onto the house itself. As she looked ahead, the windows glowed warmly from within, the lights of the house spilling through the crooked glass panes. For all the chaos outside in the world, this was still hers.

Home.

As she turned towards the back entrance to access the house, a familiar voice boomed as the ground in front of the door wriggled open. "Welcome baaaack!" Hooty but this time, not from the door itself anymore, but from a stout wooden compartment marked with goofy stickers of stars, worms, and a faded "HOOTY'S HOUSE RULES" banner taped across it. He twisted his long body into a knot, then sprang forward in his usual overzealous attempt at a hug. It had seemed that he was finished with his shift as the Bonesborough's Museum's curator for the day.

Eda raised a hand just in time. "Whoa, easy there, slug-face. I'm not in the mood to wrestle."

Hooty's eyes blinked wide, his voice rising in mock offense. "What? But it's my welcome home squeeze! You've been gone all day doing boring paperwork things! You need a little Hooty hug to—"

"Not tonight, Hoots," Eda cut in, sharper than she meant. She winced at her own tone, the words slipping out before she could catch them. Her shoulders sagged. "Sorry. Just... long day."

Hooty paused mid-wiggle, his cartoonish expression softening in its own strange way. "Oh... you sound... droopy. And not the good kind of droopy, like a nice juicy worm."

Eda forced a laugh, dragging her feet toward the door. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Headmaster stuff just wears you down, y'know? Endless papers and endless problems. Feels like I traded my freedom for a stack of scrolls."

The words slipped again, as they were unfiltered and heavier than she'd planned. She cursed herself inwardly for letting the mask fall in front of him. Hooty didn't always catch subtleties, but when he did, he held onto them like barnacles.

Still, she pushed the door open and muttered, "Thanks for holding down the fort. You're doing great with your uh... porta-house setup."

Hooty brightened instantly, his voice swelling with pride. "Oh, you noticed! I added decorative sequins today! It's Hoot-iful!" Eda shook her head with a crooked grin, trudging inside.

Inside, warmth greeted her immediately. The air smelled of herbs, roasted root vegetables, and something faintly sweet. Raine stood at the stove, their hair tied back, glasses slipping down their nose as they ladled stew into bowls. They hummed softly, a habit of theirs Eda secretly loved, even if she'd never admit it without a sarcastic jab.

"Look at you, Whispers," Eda said, dropping her cloak over the back of a chair. "Playing house while I'm out fighting paperwork?"

Raine arched an eyebrow. "I'll have you know, this meal required a great deal of heroism. Wrestling the lid off the spice jar nearly did me in!"

Eda snorted, sliding into her chair. "Brave soul. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Raine smirked, not turning around. "How funny of you. Though, I was going to say you're a bit late. Dinner's been ready for half an hour."

"Late?" Eda clutched her chest with mock offense. "Me? Eda The Owl Lady annnd Headmaster of the University of Wild Magic being late? Oh you're pushing it Rainestorm!

Eda leaned over and inhaled. "Smells like Snaggleback Mushrooms. With... is that? Nettlewing Root? Look at you, Whispers, branching out."

"Don't sound so shocked. I've learned a thing or two." Raine retorted. Eda teased. "Like how not to burn water?" Raine rolled their eyes but smiled, and soon began serving the stew they've prepared. The table was already set, simple but inviting: two bowls, a plate of bread, a jug of juice. When Raine ladled the stew into her bowl, steam curled up into Eda's face, and her stomach growled loud enough to make them chuckle.

"Guess I didn't get much time for lunch between saving the world by signing more paperwork and keeping my students from burning the halls down," she admitted, tearing into the bread as soon as it touched her plate.

"I suppose that's a very noble form of heroism on your part," Raine teased. "The kind no bard will ever write a ballad about."

"Good," Eda said around a mouthful. "The last thing I need is a song about budget meetings."

They ate together, falling into the kind of rhythm only years of companionship could build. The food wasn't extravagant, but it was a hearty stew thick with nettlewing root, chopped greens from the market, and a handful of spices that carried a warm kick at the back of the throat. Eda tore chunks of bread and dunked them shamelessly into her bowl, not caring when bits of broth dripped down her sleeve. Raine, ever the more graceful of the two, kept their movements tidy but couldn't hide the little smile tugging at their lips whenever Eda made a satisfied groan after a bite.

"See? I told you this'd beat those mysterious cafeteria meals you've been surviving on," Raine said, leaning their chin on one hand.

Eda smirked, mouth full. "I'll have you know, those mystery stews keep me guessing. Builds character."

"They build stomachaches," Raine shot back, shaking their head.

She swallowed and wagged a finger at them. "Hey, a good stomachache keeps you humble. Besides, nothing clears your schedule faster than scaring your secretary into thinking you've been cursed again."

They both laughed at that, the sound filling the kitchen and softening the edges of a long day.

As the stew disappeared from their bowls, conversation slipped into the comfortable meandering only they could manage. Eda complained about her morning—students who attempted to have a duel with one another in the east hall, faculty meetings dragging on with endless talk of budgets, and, of course, her towering stack of paperwork. Raine countered with lighter stories of how their day at work went. Raine dabbed the corner of their mouth with a napkin and leaned back in their chair, eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll never believe what happened earlier. Let's just say some folks tried to pull a fast one with forged sigils."

Eda raised an eyebrow, tearing another hunk of bread. "Forged sigils? That's a bold move. What'd they do—scribble 'boom' on a napkin and call it a day?"

"Close," Raine said, chuckling. "Except this napkin nearly took out half a market stall when it fizzled. You should've seen the look on their faces when it backfired!"

Eda snorted, nearly spraying crumbs. "Please tell me you laughed in their faces."

"I kept it professional," Raine replied with mock dignity, though their grin betrayed them. "But... maybe I hummed a little tune that made them squirm. Purely accidental, of course."

Eda leaned across the table, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "You're being cagey again. You've got that whole 'mysterious agent' air about you. Next thing I know, you'll be vanishing into the shadows with a dramatic cloak swirl."

"Wouldn't you love that?" Raine teased, sipping their drink.

"Only if you promise to teach me the cloak swirl," Eda shot back.

They both laughed, the heaviness of the day easing as the firelight flickered between them. Later on, they drifted from the kitchen into the living room, their footsteps soft against the well-worn floorboards. The Owl House had been patched and rebuilt countless times since Belos' fall, and yet it still groaned like it carried every memory in its crooked beams. For Eda, that was comforting. She flopped onto the couch with a satisfied grunt, she stretched out as though she owned every inch of it. Which she did, though the house itself might argue otherwise if it could talk. Raine followed at a slower pace, graceful as ever, settling beside her with their staff balanced across their knees.

For a while, neither spoke but the silence between the two wasn't heavy or awkward. Instead it wasn't the loud, raucous quiet of the Owl House of old either. It was a gentler hush, filled only by the faint crackle of the hearth fire and the distant hoot-snores of Hooty's nocturnal dozing.

"You've been wound tight lately," Raine said at last, their voice low and careful. They didn't look at her right away, instead tightening one of the violin's pegs with delicate precision.

Eda cracked an eye open, half amused, half weary. "Define 'lately.'"

"You know what I mean." Raine's gaze flicked over to her, sharp and kind all at once. "Sometimes you come home every night with your feathers appearing every now and then. Your form is more stiff. And you've been... quieter."

"Quieter? Me?" Eda scoffed, tossing a lock of silver hair dramatically over her shoulder. "That's a sign of the apocalypse right there. Better start stockpiling canned griffon meat."

"Edalyn." Raine said her full name with that bard's precision, a soft weight that landed heavier than any lecture.

Eda waved her hand dismissively, trying for casual but not quite sticking the landing. "I'm fine. Stress is just another kind of caffeine for me. Perks me right up."

Instead of pressing, Raine instead said, "Here. Let me." Raine soon lifted out a harp and with a gentle stroke, music filled the air—soft, steady, and unhurried, like a river flowing through a dark forest. It wasn't a performance, not really. More like a lullaby offered to an old friend. Eda shut her eyes, letting the sound seep into her bones, pretending for just a moment that it could sand down the jagged edges inside her.

"You always dodge when I bring this up," Raine murmured between notes, their voice weaving with the melody.

"Because there's nothing to dodge." Eda cracked a grin, but it was thin, brittle, a mask worn too long. "I'm still standing, aren't I? Still cracking jokes? Still the same ol' Owl Lady."

Raine didn't answer right away. The music lingered instead, a wordless reply that said more than speech ever could. And in that silence, Eda felt the weight pressing in.

Her memories slipped through the cracks she tried to patch with humor. Luz's laughter echoing down these halls. King demanding his title be announced every morning at breakfast. The chaos, the noise, the warmth. The house had been full, specifically loudly, wonderfully full. Now, the quiet wasn't peace but rather it was absence.

She shifted uncomfortably and muttered, "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Raine asked gently.

"Like I'm broken." she replied.

The bow stilled against the strings. Raine's hand hovered there for a heartbeat before lowering it. "You're not broken. Just... tired of pretending you're not hurting."

Eda barked out a laugh, sharp and hollow. "Hurt's part of the package deal, Rainestorm. Comes free with every palistrom seed." She tapped her chest, where the curse still pulsed faintly under her skin, less a threat these days and more like a scar that hummed. "You learn to live with it."

The bow stilled against the strings. Raine's hand hovered there for a heartbeat before lowering it. "You're not broken, Eda. Just... tired of pretending you're not hurting."

Eda barked out a laugh, sharp and hollow. "Hurt's part of the package deal, Rainestorm. Comes free with everything." She tapped her chest, where the curse still pulsed faintly under her skin, less a threat these days and more like a scar that hummed. "You learn to live with it."

Raine didn't argue nor didn't press once more. Instead, they set the harp aside and reached across the small gap between them. Their hand found hers, fingers brushing against the calluses and rough edges she never bothered to hide. There were no words that came out of them but instead their presence was only felt on Eda herself. That was worse and better all at once. For a moment, she let herself lean against them. The smell of tea leaves and old wood clung to their clothes, grounding her further. She hadn't realized how much she needed grounding until now.

Eventually, her jaw cracked open with a yawn big enough to pop. She rubbed at her eyes, muttering, "Alright, Bard. Bedtime for me. Big day tomorrow. Gotta smile pretty for a bunch of donors who think 'wild magic' means free wine and fireworks."

Raine smirked faintly, their voice lighter now. "Don't let them rattle you."

"Please." Eda snorted. "I'll rattle them first. Might even knock a few fancy wigs crooked if I'm lucky." She tried to grin, but exhaustion tugged it into something softer, almost vulnerable.

She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to their cheek before pushing herself upright. She stretched her arms upward as she trudged up the stairs, each step slower than she'd like to admit. Her bedroom greeted her with its familiar clutter that made it unique. Piles of treasure she had collected, charms half-carved, and feathers that were scattered like confetti. She flopped onto her nest but she didn't fall asleep right away.

She lay sprawled across the mattress, the ceiling loomed above, dark colored plaster split by faint cracks that spidered outward like old scars. She caught herself tracing the shapes with her eyes, finding constellations in them the way King once insisted he could see hidden maps in the night sky. The memory echoed within the crevices of her own mind.

Her gaze wandered to the nightstand. Resting there was an old trinket, it turned out to be her father's carving knife. It had been worn down from years of shaping palistrom wood. Dell had given it to her once, insisting it was more useful in her hands than gathering dust. She reached for it now, running her thumb along the dulled edge. It was funny: earlier that day she'd been staring at those glyph-like patterns woven into the bark of the new palistrom tree, wondering how in Titan's name they had come to be. And now here she was, holding the tool of the man who'd planted its seed.

She whispered into the dark, "What do you think, Pops? Did the Isles decide to give us a miracle, or am I just seeing ghosts where there aren't any?"

The silence that followed pressed on her like a second blanket, warm but heavy. She exhaled through her nose, trying to push the lump from her throat.

Her thoughts shifted, unbidden, to Luz. That kid had once scribbled glyphs in notebooks late into the night, stubbornly refusing to give up until she cracked the Titan's language. Eda could still see the determined crease in Luz's brow, the smudge of ink on her fingertips, the gleam in her eyes when discovery hit. The resemblance between Luz's glyphs and the ones burned into the tree's bark hadn't escaped her. "You'd be geeking out right now, kiddo," she muttered.

King followed close behind in her mind. His "King of Demons" banner still hung in her office, proud and ridiculous. She could almost hear him demanding she announce his royal titles before bedtime. The quiet in the house was loud without him ironically.

Eda pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes, fighting the sting there. "Pull yourself together, Clawthorne. They're fine. You're fine. Everyone's fine." Yet when she said it, her voice didn't carry conviction.

Rolling onto her side, she let her eyes stare on the empty half of the bed. Raine would come up later, she knew—they always did, quietly enough not to disturb her if she was asleep. That thought steadied her a little bit. Raine had always been her anchor for years, always knowing when to push and when to simply sit in the silence with her. She owed them more honesty than she gave.

Although honesty meant pulling open scars she wasn't ready to show. So instead, she reached for the blanket, dragging it over herself with a grunt. Tomorrow, she had to play headmaster again—keep the donors happy, keep the faculty from panicking, and keep the university running. As she believed deep down, there was no time to crumble and no time to falter. Still, as she stared at the ceiling one last time before her eyelids drooped, she couldn't shake the thought: everything in her life had shifted in just two months. Luz and King gone, the Isles rebuilding, and her managing responsibilities she'd never asked for. The world demanded she be steady, and Eda Clawthorne was many things. Wild, reckless, and stubborn but steady? That had never been her strength.

Sleep came fitfully, broken by dreams she wouldn't remember in the morning.

Chapter Text

Boardroom Storm

The next following day at the University campus always carried a restless buzz, but today it felt different. As Eda strolled across the courtyard, she noticed the way conversations cut short when she passed. Groups of students huddled together near the carved palistrom roots, whispering like fireflies caught in a jar. Their eyes looked around not just with curiosity but with something sharper, worrisome. A few glanced at the east hall, where the mural of glyphs shimmered faintly in the weak sunlight, as if the bark itself remembered what it had done the day before.

Eda kept her pace steady, though her stomach sank. She caught fragments of chatter.

"—I swear, it glowed green, I saw it—"

"—no, you're exaggerating. My cousin's in Viney's class and she said—"

"—what if it happens again? What if the Titan's mad?"

"Impossible! The titan has been dead for years! I'm not—"

The words followed her like gnats. She gritted her teeth and forced herself not to react. The last thing she needed was to fuel the rumor mill. Kids were always going to chatter, it was natural. Although in this case, their words carried weight, like dry tinder waiting for a spark.

By the time she reached the north wing offices, she already felt wrung out and the day had barely begun. Inside, the air was filled with the scratch of quills and the hushed murmur of faculty moving about. Posters for the upcoming semester orientation were plastered across one wall—"WILD MAGIC, WILD FUTURES!"—in bright paint that looked a little too optimistic for Eda's taste. She muttered under her breath, "Could've at least toned down the yellow. Makes it look like we're selling laundry soap."

In the conference room, she found the first wave of faculty already gathered. Viney leaned over a stack of notes, muttering to herself while sketching diagrams of a spell loop. Callum Bloodbranch, pale and gaunt as ever, was straightening his spectacles as though he'd been awake all night. And in the corner, to Eda's surprise, stood the Blight twins—Edric and Emira—arguing over who got to hold the chalk during their joint lecture planning.

"Morning, Headmaster," Viney greeted, without looking up. Her tone was polite, but the weariness behind it was obvious.

"Morning," Eda grumbled, dropping herself into a chair. "I hope one of you brought apple blood, because today already feels like a three-bottle minimum."

Emira smirked. "Sorry, Headmaster, but the budget doesn't cover that kind of expense. Not unless you can sneak it in under 'school spirit supplies.'"

"Now there's an idea," Eda said, managing half a grin. "Might actually get the board off my back if we put it in a commemorative mug."

The joke earned a few chuckles, but the mood in the room remained heavy. Everyone knew what the meeting later that afternoon meant. The donors weren't just tossing pocket change; the grants they controlled could build entire new wings of the University, replace battered equipment, and hire additional staff. Or, if things went poorly, leave the school scrambling just to keep the lights on.

Eda looked around the table. "Alright, team. I don't need to tell you this is gonna be a circus. They've got the gold, and they're gonna want to make sure it's not going to waste. So let's at least pretend we're not the wildest bunch of misfits this side of the Isles."

"Pretend being the key word," Edric muttered. Eda shot him a look, but she didn't disagree.

The morning hours passed in a blur of frantic preparation. Viney rehearsed her pitch about the healing and beast keeping wing. As she planned to emphasize how wild magic had already allowed students to innovate new treatments without relying on outdated coven restrictions. Callum drafted diagrams showing stability rates of hybrid spells, his hand trembling slightly as he wrote. The twins tried, and failed, to choreograph a seamless presentation, dissolving into bickering until Eda thumped her hook on the table. By the time the clock neared the meeting hour, Eda's head was pounding. She'd been through battles, duels, even Collector nonsense. However, there was something uniquely exhausting about dressing up chaos with a neat bow and trying to sell it to people who had never lifted a staff in their lives.

When the donors arrived, it was as though a different world had stepped into the hall. The doors creaked open with a stately slowness, and suddenly the atmosphere shifted. It was best described as being brisk, perfumed, and laced with that brittle formality only old money could carry. They swept in like a parade, their polished boots clicking against the floor, embroidered robes that glowed faintly in the sunlight streaming through the glass stained windows. Even the attendants who trailed after them carried themselves stiffly, as though every movement was being watched and weighed.

Eda straightened her coat and pulled her shoulders back, suppressing the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. She'd seen this type before; witches so steeped in legacy that they couldn't take a step without announcing who their great-great-grandmother had been. Some of them looked at the carved wood and roots of the university with faint curiosity, others with the thin-lipped expression of people walking through mud. In other words... they looked like nepobabies and that's because they were.

Introductions were exchanged, the donors offering polite smiles that never quite reached their eyes. Eda matched them, grin stretched tight, her voice just a little too casual when she said her name. She could feel the muscles in her jaw tightening already.

The first presentations began smoothly enough, or at least as smoothly as these things ever went. Viney spoke with quiet conviction about the new healing wing. Her words carried weight, born from experience, and for a moment Eda thought she saw genuine interest flicker across the donors' faces. A few even nodded as Viney explained how wild magic innovation had already allowed the university to treat ailments that coven-era healers had dismissed as "unmanageable."

Next, Callum Bloodbranch shuffled forward with his diagrams. His pale hands trembled slightly as he unrolled parchment after parchment, displaying neat, painstaking graphs of stability rates in hybrid spells. He explained with measured precision how wild magic could be quantified, monitored, and improved with proper research. His voice faltered only once—when one donor, a stiff-necked man with a voice like oil, raised a brow and asked, "Do your statistics account for uncontrolled variables inherent in wild magic?" The words dripped with skepticism.

Callum hesitated but did his best to remain composed to stand his ground, "Wild magic has always been a gift given to us by the Titan! It is a form of art! Art must be given a chance to be fully fleshed and flourished enough that it can be properly expressed!"

Then, just as the room seemed to settle into a tentative rhythm, a shift came. An elder witch at the center table cleared her throat delicately. She wore rings glittering on every finger, each stone carefully chosen to match the colors of her robe. Her presence demanded attention, and the moment she leaned forward, conversation stilled.

"Headmaster Clawthorne," she said smoothly, her tone the kind that could slice glass. "Before we proceed any further, my colleagues and I feel it necessary to address a... troubling report."

Eda's stomach lurched upon hearing that word. She forced her face into neutrality, tilting her head with feigned curiosity. "Report?"

The woman's smile widened, polite but sharp enough to draw blood. "Yes. It has come to our attention—through an insider, no less—that there have been... concerning instabilities in the very structure of this institution. Specifically, the glyph-carved foundation you rely upon. We are told there have been fluctuations. Unnatural surges. Green ones, I believe the description was?"

Murmurs swept through the donors like a tide. Chairs shifted and the noise of parchment rustled. Eda could feel her faculty stiffen beside her; Viney lowered her gaze, and Emira shot Eda a wide-eyed, almost a panicked glance.

Eda leaned forward slowly, propping her chin on one clawed hand. She let silence drag for a beat too long before answering, her voice deceptively calm. "Rumors are like mold. They tend to show up everywhere if you don't scrub 'em down. We've had some minor hiccups throughout the university's foundation. Although! I can assure you and everyone here that it wasn't something the staff couldn't handle. The tree's stable and our attending students are safe. That's what matters to us and to the university."

Despite her explanation, the donors weren't satisfied. The thin man from before—the one who had grilled Callum—spoke again. His smile was thin, oily, his words dipped in doubt. "But surely you must see how this would appear to us, Headmaster. If the very walls of your institution are prone to magical corruption, what confidence can we possibly have in the safety of its students? In the stability of what you are... experimenting with?" That last word, experimenting, dripped with disdain.

Heat prickled in Eda's chest. She kept her smirk in place, though it felt brittle. "Alright Listen, wild magic has always been about adapting, shaping, and surviving. You think the Titan left us a neat little instruction manual on how to run our lives? Please. We've always learned by doing, by trial and error. That's the beauty of it—it lives, it breathes, and it grows!"

Another donor, a woman with a feathered collar so tall it nearly brushed her ears, sniffed loudly. "Or the danger," she countered, her voice thin and sharp.

Eda's nails on her hand dug deep into the wood of her chair. Her vision flickered with memories: Luz hunched over parchment, scribbling glyph after glyph by candlelight, her determination burning brighter than her mistakes. King's laughter echoing in the halls when they had first explored the old tree, the spark of hope in his little eyes when they dared to dream this place into being. They had built something from nothing. Something fragile, yes, but real. She wasn't about to let a pack of gilded aristocrats tear it down with their suspicions.

"The curriculum stays," she said at last, voice firm and ringing in the silence. "Wild magic isn't the problem. Fear is. And if you'd seen what we had to endure in order to survive—the Day of Unity and the Collector—you'd know they've earned more than some padded cage wrapped in old rules. They deserve freedom to grow. And I'll fight anyone who tries to take it away from them!"

The words cut through the chamber, raw and sharp. For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of the tree's living roots outside, shifting against the walls. Donors glanced at one another, their faces tight with disapproval.

The elder witch with the rings pursed her lips, her gaze unreadable. "I see. Well... Perhaps our visions for this institution differ more than we imagined." Her tone was final. The rest of the meeting limped on, but its spirit was already broken. Questions became perfunctory, answers clipped. By the time the donors swept out again, the faculty was left in stunned silence.

Eda slumped back in her chair, dragging her hand over her face. "So be it." she muttered, voice low and bitter. The weight in the room was too heavy, pressing down on every shoulder. Even the Blight twins were quiet, their usual banter absent. For the first time in years, Eda felt the hollow chill of doubt creeping in.

The doors shut with a dull thud, sealing the donors out and leaving behind an almost unnatural silence. The chamber felt heavier without their presence, as though their disapproval still lingered like smoke in the air.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The faculty simply sat there, their postures slouched, shoulders sagging beneath the invisible weight of failure. Even the glyph mural on the far wall seemed dimmer, its carved light dulled.

It was Viney who broke the silence, her voice soft but edged with frustration. "I told you we should've led with more healing projects. People like them only care about things they can measure in coin or reputation. They never care about the lives behind it."

Across the table, Emira huffed, tapping her nails against the wood. "Oh, come on. Healing wouldn't have saved it. The second someone whispered about those glyphs misbehaving, this whole thing was doomed."

Edric, leaning against the wall with an uncharacteristic lack of his usual smirk, let out a low whistle. "Insider, huh? Anyone else want to bet those rumors didn't just 'slip' their way into donor ears?" He glanced around the room, his voice sharper than usual. "Feels like someone wanted this to fall apart."

The words hung dangerously, suspicion sparking in the air. Callum Bloodbranch cleared his throat nervously, fumbling with his papers. "Let's not... point fingers. Not yet. What matters is that the grant is gone. And without it, we'll have to—" He stopped, as though the weight of what that meant pressed too heavily on his tongue.

Viney sank into her chair, staring at her notes without seeing them. "We'll have to cut back. Again. Fewer supplies. Fewer faculty. The students—" She broke off, shaking her head.

"—the students will manage," Eda cut in, her voice iron. Her nails and hook dug into the wood of the table as she leaned forward, glaring at the room like daring anyone to contradict her. "They've survived and managed through things that were much worse than this. A bunch of rich geezers will not get to decide their future."

Though the words were hollow even as she spoke them. She could feel the fatigue dragging at her bones, the echo of the donors' skepticism still rattling in her ears.

Edric shifted uneasily. "Sure, Headmaster, but... if word spreads about the glyph incident, it's not just donors we'll have to worry about. Our students are beginning to become aware and they're talking about it by now. And if people think the whole school is sitting on a time bomb..."

Eda's smirk flickered, but she forced it back into place, brittle as glass. "Then we show them it's not a bomb but just a tree. A big ol' fancy tree with glyphs on it. And if it starts acting up again, we'll handle it."

Silence followed her words. No one argued, but no one looked reassured either.

Eventually, she waved a hand, her voice gruff. "Anyways, I think that's enough for everyone today. You all did your best today, go on and get out of here!"

The faculty filed out slowly, some exchanging quiet looks, others keeping their eyes fixed on the floor. Viney lingered a moment longer, her healer's intuition clearly tugging at her, but she seemed to think better of it and left without a word. The doors shut behind them, leaving Eda alone in the echoing chamber. She stayed still for a long moment, her claws drumming absently against the table. The silence was deafening. No chatter, no laughter, just silence, and the faint hum of the ambience all around her.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the mural of glyphs shimmered faintly in the fading afternoon light. She thought of the way they had twisted earlier, jagged and green, sparking like a warning she didn't know how to read. A chill traced its way down her spine.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling beams that stretched high overhead. For all the bravado she had shown in front of the donors, unease churned in her gut. She'd seen magic twist like that before—corruption spreading like rot, beautiful things turning brittle and cruel. Belos' face rose unbidden in her mind, pale and hollow-eyed, preaching about "order" while his own body unraveled.

Her claws curled into fists against the armrest. She told herself it was different. That this was just a fluke, just wild magic being wild. But the doubt had already wormed its way in.

"Pull it together, Clawthorne," she muttered to herself, dragging a hand over her tired eyes. "You've been through worse. You figured out most of these things, yet this one is becoming harder and harder!"

However, when she finally pushed herself up from the chair and began gathering her notes, her hands shook more than she wanted to admit. The weight of the meeting lingered like a storm cloud, pressing down even as she locked her office door behind her.

The students would still whisper tomorrow. The glyphs would still glow with their secrets. And she would still have to face it all again, whether she was ready or not.

Chapter Text

Wild Magic, Wild Fears.

The atmosphere carried that quiet yet hollow rhythm of a world just beginning to stir again. However, as usual it remains gentle, slow, but alive all at the same time. The vast and ancient bones of the Titan that made up the mighty yet wide mountains, canyons, and cliffs across the isles creaked faintly under the weight of a new day. The wind that coexisted with these massive formations threaded through them with a low, echoing sigh. A soft noise that could be heard almost all across the isles, giving it a haunting beauty to a world that has changed in the course of two months. A pale light filtered through the cracks of the Owl House's crooked windows, casting thin streaks of gold across the wooden floors. Somewhere along the wall, Hooty murmured in his sleep, his snores rattling like a loose hinge before settling back into silence. From the kitchen, the kettle began to whistle—soft at first, then sharper, more insistent, as though it was impatient for someone to rise and face whatever the day might bring.

Eda stirred beneath the blankets, one golden eye cracking open. She squinted at the slant of sunlight spilling through the curtains. Beside her, Raine was already awake, glasses crooked on their nose as they scribbled something onto a scrap of parchment. Their pen scratched softly, accompanied by a faint humming — a tune half-finished, delicate as glass.

"Ugh," Eda groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. "Morning should be outlawed. Where's a good curse when you need one?"

Raine chuckled, not looking up. "You've said that every morning this week."

"And I'll keep saying it until someone listens," she muttered, peeking out with a sly grin. "Consistency is key, Rainestorm. Role-model behavior."

They set the parchment aside and turned toward her, smiling faintly. "If chaos counts as consistency, then yes. You're a shining example."

"See? You get it." She pushed herself upright with a stretch, joints popping like firecrackers. For an instant, her harpy form flickered: talons gripping the sheet, feathers bristling along her arms before she returned back to normal. The wild magic pulsed like a second heartbeat. She let it fade with a grunt, ruffling her hair. "Ugh. Every morning my back reminds me I'm not twenty anymore."

Raine reached out and brushed a stray curl from her face. "You wear it better than anyone I know."

Eda smirked, though a soft warmth pressed against her ribcage at the words. "Careful, darling. Keep talking like that and I'll start expecting breakfast in bed, too."

Raine tilted their head toward the kitchen. "Already waiting!"

The smell hit her next: fire-salted griffin's eggs and bacon crisping on the pan, and a pot of steaming tea that curled fragrant trails into the air. Eda whistled as she padded into the kitchen. "Well, well. Spoiling me again. You're making it impossible to keep my edge."

"You've never lost your edge," Raine replied, setting two mugs on the table.

She leaned over to kiss them, then plopped into a chair with a grin. "You're lucky I'm too hungry to argue. Besides, you knew what you were signing up for."

They ate in easy rhythm, forks scraping against plates, the house creaking comfortably around them. For a while, conversation stayed light — Eda complaining about paperwork at the university, Raine teasing that she'd probably "misplace" half of it in a drawer.

Then Raine set their mug down and cleared their throat, a glimmer of amusement tugging at their lips. "You'll like this. Yesterday, in Oozeport, I saw something I'm still not sure I believe."

Eda arched her brow. "Does it involve an exploding potion stand again? Because if so, I owe Gus ten snails. Though I can't give him any at the moment because he's with Willow in the Human Realm."

Raine responded with correction, "No. This time it was a cauldron."

"A cauldron?" She leaned forward. "Do go on."

They spread their hands. "I was walking through the market, minding my own business, when I heard shouting. Turns out, someone was trying to sell a cauldron that... wasn't interested in being sold."

Eda snorted into her tea. "Oh please."

"Well this one rolled itself right off the stall, wobbling down the street like it had a better place to be at." Raine responded further.

"You didn't—" Eda grinned wickedly. "You chased it."

"I didn't chase it," Raine said, deadpan. "I encouraged it to stop. Politely. With a spell or two."

"And?" Eda asked.

"And it exploded." Raine sighed dramatically. "Full of three-week-old snail slime. Guess who got a personal slime bath?"

Eda burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "Titan's toenails, I would've paid to see that. Did you smell like a swamp for the rest of the day?"

"Longer," Raine admitted. "Three charm spells and a scrub in hot water. I still think it clung to my shoes."

She leaned back, wheezing with laughter. "And yet here you are, still letting me kiss you this morning. That's true love right there."

They shook their head, though their smile lingered. "More like questionable judgment."

The banter faded into a gentler quiet. Raine's gaze softened, lingering on her across the table. "You came home late last night," they said quietly. "You didn't say much."

Eda's smirk twitched. She toyed with a strip of bacon, eyes avoiding theirs. "Donors and their coin purses. Nothing new. Bunch of puffed-up toplofties with too much time on their hands. We didn't get the donations we needed."

"Eda—" Raine said, though there was a hint of caution with their tone.

She waved a hand, cutting them off, though the gesture was half-hearted. "Don't start worrying, Rainestorm. I've been through worse meetings. The university's spirit didn't collapse overnight just because some rich bone-heads don't like my style."

Raine studied her, patient as always. They didn't push, but their silence spoke louder than words.

Finally, Eda sighed, scrubbing a hand through her hair. "I just... I hate feeling like I've got to prove wild magic isn't some ticking time bomb. My students deserve to learn it freely, like Luz and King did! Not as some—" She broke off, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then she flashed a grin, sharp and quick. "But hey. Who's better at stirring the pot than me?"

"You don't always have to be the one carrying it," Raine said softly.

For a heartbeat, her bravado faltered. She almost let the exhaustion slip through. But the habit was stronger. She grabbed her coat, sweeping it around her shoulders with a dramatic twirl. "Please. Doing it alone is my specialty. You should see me with groceries."

Raine's lips quirked, though their eyes remained concerned. They rose and brushed her arm, voice low but steady. "I'll worry anyway. That's my specialty."

Eda paused in the doorway, her grin softening just a fraction. "You're too good for me, you know that?"

"Someone has to be." Raine replied solemnly.

She barked a laugh, then stepped into the sunlight, shortly transforming into her harpy form and flying towards the sky. The flight to the University always gave Eda time to think, though she usually spent it muttering sarcastic commentary at passing griffins, the various towns and cities she flew over [whether or not they were still being constructed]. Although today her thoughts kept circling back to Raine's worried eyes. She shoved them aside with the same stubbornness she used for bills or old aches. As she knew that dwelling into those feelings wouldn't help anyone. By the time she reached the palistrom-tree campus, the morning was in full swing. Students crisscrossed the courtyard in a blur of robes and chatter, arms full of scrolls and potion kits. A pair of abominations lumbered past carrying crates, while a paper bat fluttered overhead delivering messages. Eda pulled her cloak tighter, smirk tugging at her lips. Chaos and learning, side by side, now that was a university worth running.

The walk toward the auditorium wound her through the heart of the school, and for a moment Eda let herself soak it in. Despite every headache she'd faced, glyphs misbehaving on the walls and donors bailing out before a donation could even be made, life here was stubbornly thriving. Laughter spilled from open doorways, the smell of simmering potions drifted through the air, and even the occasional small explosion had a kind of comforting rhythm. The university was alive in a way she never could've imagined back when the Emperor's Castle loomed over everything. As her boots echoed through the west hall, her gaze fell on the sealed-off section of palistrom bark, where the Titan's glyphs were etched deep and wild. Once, any student could run their hands across the symbols, feel the hum of magic beneath. Now, warning wards shimmered faintly in the air, restricting access to only authorized faculty. She paused, laying her palm gently against the barrier.

"Alright, you stubborn scribbles," she muttered under her breath. "Do me a favor and stay calm today, huh? I've got enough chaos to juggle without you throwing a tantrum."

Her voice carried its usual bite, but the strain in it bled through, softening the edges. Behind the humor sat the weight she refused to show her students. The gnawing frustration, the anger at problems she couldn't fix fast enough, and the dull ache of knowing she was expected to have answers she didn't. For a heartbeat, she stayed there, fingers brushing the faintly glowing wood as if it might listen. Then, with a shake of her hair and a flick of her cloak, she turned away. The lecture hall awaited, and the last thing those kids needed was a headmistress dragging her shadows into the light.

Eventually, she would reach the auditorium and push open its heavy doors. The space was alive with echoes: benches filled with witches of every track, buzzing conversations bouncing off the carved glyph murals along the walls. Some students waved when they saw her; others ducked their heads, and whispering nervously about the rumors that had been crawling through the school since the glyph incident.

Eda clapped her hands together, the sound cracking through the air like a whip. "Alright, alright! Eyes up front! I don't bite—" she paused, smirking as she planted her fist and hook on her hips, "—unless you turn in essays without proper citations! Then you better watch your ankles!"

The laughter that rippled through the room was shaky but real. Even now, Eda had a way of disarming a crowd with humor, reminding them that nothing was too serious when she was in charge. Still, she noticed the way some students' eyes lingered nervously on the glyphs carved above the lecture stage, their faint glow like watchful eyes.

She hopped onto the broad front desk, perching with her boots swinging and her cloak trailing. "So considering what happened a few days ago, I'm hoping that today's lecture will help ease with how you're all feeling today. Today's lesson: glyph theory. And before anyone groans—don't. Glyphs aren't just boring squiggles. They're wild magic's love notes, written straight into the Isles. The Titan left his fingerprints everywhere, and we just happened to be nosy enough to read them."

Dozens of hands shot up at once, questions tumbling over each other. Eda grinned. "Alright, hit me!"

"Headmaster Clawthorne, why do some glyphs burn out faster than others?" She responded, "That's a good question. Think of glyphs like people — some run hot, some burn out quick, some last a lot longer than you'd expect. It's not about forcing them, it's about learning their rhythm. And if you try to rush it? Well, you'll end up with a singed eyebrow or two. Trust me, I've been there."

Another student asked, "What about combining glyphs? Isn't that unstable?". With much enthusiasm, she responded,"Unstable? Nah. Glyph combos aren't unstable — they're just... particular. You rush it, and yeah, things get messy. But if you take the time to learn how they fit together, you'll see they've got their own kind of harmony!" she added, "I'm speaking from experience when I rushed into these things."

When she concluded, she got a bit somber afterwards, reminiscing about what seemed so long ago during the time where she lost her magic and had to be tutored by Luz. She added once more, " Trust me, if I can manage it without blowing myself up, so can you." For a brief moment, Eda almost forgot about the donors, about the rumors, about the weight pressing between her shoulder blades. Teaching gave her rhythm. It gave her something Luz had once handed her freely: purpose.

Eda dragged the chalk slowly across the board, each stroke practiced but deliberate. The line of glyphs unfurled beneath her hand like a story told in symbols, each one balanced just so. She stepped back, dusting her palm against her hip, and spun the chalk between her fingers with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "See, kids? It's all about balance. Magic's like soup—you dump too much salt in, it's ruined. If there's no salt at all, it's bland. The same goes for glyphs. You don't have to force them, you just gotta let them work together." She gave the last symbol a flourish with the chalk, leaning into her familiar swagger. "Trust me, if a half-cursed, sleep-deprived old owl like me can pull this off without singeing my feathers, then you bright-eyed youngsters don't have an excuse."

A few chuckles rippled through the room, loosening some of the tension that always seemed to hang when glyphs were mentioned. Eda felt the relief in that laughter, it wasn't Luz's spark of excitement, not exactly, but it carried an echo of it which she clung to.

She tapped the board with her knuckle, about to toss in one of her snarkier quips, when a sound cut her short. It was a low hum, it was barely audible at first, like air caught in the throat of the building. It wasn't the friendly buzz of magic. This was... off.

Her feathers prickled under her cloak. Slowly, her gaze drifted upward toward the far wall, where the auditorium's carved glyph mural spread like a canopy. One mark—just one—shivered. Its edges rippled unnaturally, bending in ways wood should never bend.

"Headmaster, it's—" a voice cracked from the back. "It's moving!"

Eda's heart lurched, even before she could bark a warning, the glyph snapped with a crack that thundered through the hall. A jagged spark ripped loose, screaming across the room until it slammed into the corner of a desk. The wood splintered in an eruption of shards, scattering parchment and books into the air.

Students screamed, ducking under benches and clutching each other. "Everyone down!" Eda's voice sliced the chaos, sharp and commanding.

Her wings burst free before the thought had fully formed, harpy feathers tearing through her sleeves in a familiar rush. She leapt from the desk in one bound, claws digging into the wood as she landed hard between her students and the writhing glyph above. Magic flooded her veins, wild and roaring, hot enough to sear.

The glyph convulsed, lines splitting into jagged branches that glowed with the same sickly green she'd seen days earlier. The air warped around it, humming louder, like a beast clawing at the walls of its cage.

"Not today, you don't," she growled through clenched teeth.

She thrust her hands up, weaving a containment circle in the air. Her wild magic sizzled as it latched onto the glyph, surrounding it in a shimmering, unstable barrier. The warped energy bucked violently, slamming against her hold hard enough to make her knees quake. Sweat stung her eyes while her arms trembled. She could hear every terrified breath behind her. Students pressed flat against the floor, staring at her as though she were the only thing standing between them and disaster.

"Come on, play nice..." Eda muttered, forcing her circle tighter, layering it with a second, then a third spiral of wild magic. Each layer clawed at her chest, drawing deep into reserves she hadn't realized she still had. Her feathers bristled, straining against the surge.

Chaos erupted behind Eda in her attempts to protect her students. Benches screeched against the floor as they toppled in domino-like crashes, scattering scrolls and potion kits in every direction. Paper bats shredded into frantic spirals, their tiny wings sparking from stray arcs of magic as they collided with walls and rafters.

Students scrambled in a tide of robes and boots, the air thick with overlapping shouts. "Move, move!" a witch cried, dragging their friend toward the aisle.
"The glyphs—!" another yelped, ducking as a stray spark burst overhead, singeing the edge of their hood.

Some bolted for the doors, shoving past overturned benches with desperate strength. Others froze in place, caught like deer in torchlight beneath the booming hum that rattled the auditorium's wooden ribs. The very foundation seemed to quake, as if the palistrom-tree itself was straining against the glyphs' instability.

A thundercrack of light burst from the mural's surface, showering the nearest rows in a rain of hot sparks. One student screamed, clutching at a smoldering sleeve, while another fell backward over a bench in their haste to escape. The noise built—frantic footsteps, panicked breaths, the paper bats' shrill cries until it seemed the whole hall had turned into a storm.

Eda's shield crackled against the surge, wings braced wide. She could feel every pulse of the glyphs hammering against her bones, rattling her teeth. "Stay back!" she barked, voice cutting sharp over the din. "Nobody gets near the mural!"

But her order barely dented the panic. "Headmaster, what's happening?!" a voice cracked from the back. "Are the wards breaking?" another shouted, fear straining every syllable.

The questions tangled with screams as another glyph fizzled violently, spitting shards of blue-white light that scorched a section of the ceiling black. A chunk of palistrom wood groaned, splintering under the strain. Dust rained down, mixing with the acrid bite of burned magic.

Through it all, Eda held fast, talons dug deep into the mural's edge as if she could pin it in place by sheer willpower. Her muscles screamed, her magic burned raw in her veins, but she refused to let go. Not with the students' terrified faces behind her.

The auditorium was no longer a place of learning but it instead had become a battlefield, and she was the only one standing between the glyphs and the kids who had trusted her enough to sit in those rows.

Three more glyphs flickered on the edges of the mural, unstable and twitching. Eda's wings snapped around them like a cage, feathers bristling, smothering each one in turn. The glyph screeched—a soundless cry that rattled the floorboards and then, with a violent convulsion, the glow sputtered. For a heart-stopping second, Eda thought it might explode.

Then it fizzled.

The warped lines curled back into themselves, snapping into their original harmless swirl as though nothing had happened at all. Silence fell afterwards; as a heavy, breathless silence that pressed against the walls.

For half a heartbeat, Eda almost smiled, almost turned with her usual swagger, ready to toss some quip about handling "a little classroom excitement." in an attempt to reassure and calm her students from the experience but the sight waiting for her froze the words in her throat. She saw dozens of wide eyes staring back at her but not of awe but instead of terror.

The silence that hung in the auditorium wasn't the ordinary hush of a classroom settling down, it was trembling and fragile, as if even the walls were holding their breath. The only sound was the faint hiss of smoke from the mural's charred edges and the occasional creak of wood, straining as though the building itself had been shaken awake. The air was sharp with the smell of scorched cloth and burnt hair, sour enough to sting the back of her throat.

Her gaze locked on the front row. Two witches sat stiff as boards, their robes torn into ragged strips at the sleeves. One hissed sharply through their teeth, fighting a sob as the other tried to steady them with shaking hands. Not far away, a human boy slumped against the leg of a bench, his face pale while his chest rose in shallow, frightened breaths. He clutched his arm tightly to his chest, and though he didn't make a sound, smoke still curled from the blistering burn that striped his skin. His lips trembled as though he wanted to ask if it would be alright, but no words came.

The sight cleaved through Eda's bravado like a blade. She felt the swagger drain out of her body in a single, terrible instant, leaving her standing raw and bare before them.

The guilt came fast, hot and unrelenting, curling tight in her chest. She had been so sure she could handle it, so sure that her strength, her curse, her stubborn refusal to bow to fear would be enough to protect them. That belief had carried her through battles, betrayals, and years of clawing survival. But here? With these students—her students—it hadn't been enough. She had sworn to keep them safe, and now three of them were hurt because she hadn't seen the danger soon enough. Although it was because she had trusted herself to be invincible. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, the back of her tongue tasting of smoke. She wanted to snap, to crack a joke about how the auditorium hadn't been this lively since the cafeteria accidentally exploded during finals last semester. Anything to make them laugh, to peel away the terror in their eyes. Yet the words to do so wouldn't come to fruition.

Her hand trembled slightly as she dug into her cloak, pulling free her crow phone. She dialed a specific set of numbers and placed it near her ear, she soon spoke to it with a voice that carried a low tone of urgency yet the slightness of panic and fear. "This is Headmaster Clawthorne. I need senior healing witches down in the auditorium, now. We've got three injured, burns from a glyph surge, and a room full of students scared out of their skins. Send everything you've got."

Eda lowered her hand slowly once the call had been made, her stomach felt like it had been tied into a very tight knot. The feeling itself is a clear reflection of the wide range of emotions she was currently experiencing with what had occurred. She couldn't bring herself to look back at the mural.

The students still stared, and all Eda could see in their eyes was the unspoken question—Can we trust you to keep us safe?

For the first time since taking this job, she wasn't sure of the answer.

Soon the doors banged open not long after her crow phone vanished, and the Senior Healing Witches swept in with practiced precision. Their robes were a deep blue stitched with gold thread, their hands already glowing as they strode toward the injured. A hum of ordered magic filled the room, steady and sure, a far cry from the erratic blasts that had rattled the walls moments earlier. One witch knelt by the human boy, her voice calm and even as she coaxed him to relax his death-grip on his arm. Another drew salves and bandages from her satchel, the glow of her sigils illuminating the ashen faces of the students around her.

Eda stood back while she watched the Healing Witches hard at work. Normally she'd fill the silence, toss a biting remark about the healers looking like they'd stepped straight out of an overpriced catalog, or joke about how she could've handled it with a band-aid and some spit if she'd really needed to. Though, at this very moment, she lacked the very confidence she needed to continue onwards. Her students' eyes weren't on the healers. They were on her and what she saw there wasn't the respect she fought for when she took this job. It was instead the feeling and experience of fear haunting over her very shoulders. Every instinct screamed at her to fix it, to do something.

The healers worked quickly—too quickly. The boy's burns faded beneath their practiced hands, leaving pale skin behind where angry red welts had been. The two witches' injuries were dressed and wrapped, a light salve smeared across their arms. Soon they would be whole again, but the fear in their eyes wouldn't vanish so easily. Eda knew that look all too well; it was the same one she'd carried in the mirror after Luz had first traced a glyph into her palm, after she'd lost her own magic. That bone-deep fear that the world had tilted and you weren't safe anymore.

The auditorium felt wrong now, the glyph mural above them dark and silent but heavy as a stormcloud. Eda shifted, as she began thinking that she didn't belong here, not at this moment. Not with her students staring like she was just another danger waiting to happen.

Eda turned on her heel, her boots echoing against the stone as she strode to the doors. She kept her head high, cloak drawn tight, every line of her body carrying the old swagger she'd perfected years ago. However, her chest felt heavy, as if each step toward the exit dragged another ounce of guilt behind it.

The last thing she heard before the doors shut was the soft murmur of the healers, steady and calm, layered over the hushed conversations of students still too shaken to breathe easy. Eda clenched her jaw and pushed into the hallway, the weight of their fear settling across her shoulders like a chain she couldn't shake.

She didn't head straight for her office, but her feet carried her there anyway. Each corridor blurred past, glyph-lit walls casting shifting shadows that reminded her too much of the mural's ripple. Her students would remember this day and so would she.

The heavy doors to the Headmaster's office groaned faintly as Eda Clawthorne pushed it open, the echo of the earlier chaos in the auditorium still clinging to her like a stubborn shadow. She stepped inside, letting the door shut behind her with a soft thud. The office, though decorated with a few whimsical charms and traces of her eccentric taste, felt colder than usual. She crossed the room slowly, her boots clicking against the polished floor until she reached her desk. With a deep sigh, she sank into the chair, her posture betraying the weight pressing on her shoulders. For a moment, she simply stared at the clutter of papers, quills, and half-finished lesson notes before her, the silence of the room filling her ears. It was the kind of silence that made her feel both in charge and yet terribly alone.

Reaching for the PA system crystal embedded into the desk, Eda pressed her fingers against its glowing surface. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady but carried an undertone of weariness. "Attention, students and staff of the University of Wild Magic," she began, the words resonating across the campus halls and courtyards. "Due to the events that transpired earlier in the auditorium, all classes are canceled for the remainder of the day until further notice. Students, you may choose to leave the university grounds for the day or return to your dorms to rest and regroup. In the meantime, I am asking that all professors currently on campus gather for an urgent meeting. We need to discuss how we're going to address what happened and what comes next. Thank you for your cooperation. That's all for now."

She lifted her hand, ending the transmission. The crystal dimmed, leaving the office in silence once more. Eda leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her temple with the heel of her palm, the confident edge of her announcement giving way to the quiet ache she had been holding at bay. She had kept her tone firm for the sake of the students—of course she had—but now, without an audience, cracks in her composure began to show. Her golden eyes, usually alight with mischief and fire, flickered with a dull heaviness.

The first tendrils of guilt crept in, uninvited but impossible to ignore. She told herself she had done what needed to be done, that this was what being a leader meant: making the tough calls, keeping people safe. But beneath that rational voice, another whispered: If Luz were here, she'd know how to rally everyone without hesitation. If King were here, he'd remind me that I'm not alone in this. The thought of them gnawed at her once more with a sharpness that never truly dulled. Their absences weren't just gaps in her life; they were wounds that hadn't healed, reminders of the constant fear that losing them had planted in her chest.

Her fingers curled against the armrest of her chair as she stared at the floor, her jaw tightening. For all her bravado, for all the years she had spent laughing in the face of danger, the idea of harm coming to her students made her insides twist. She felt the stirrings of something new and heavy inside her—an urge to guard, to control, to never let harm sneak in again. It was subtle now, just the first flicker of an instinct she didn't yet recognize, but it would grow. And though she would not admit it aloud, Eda knew that this protective streak was tangled up with grief, rooted in her desperate need to hold onto the people she loved, no matter the cost.

Eda finally exhaled, long and unsteady, letting her body slump. She reached across her desk and absentmindedly brushed aside a paper charm, revealing an old photograph tucked beneath—one of her, Luz, and King from a brighter time. Her lips trembled into a faint, wistful smile that never reached her eyes. She pressed the photo flat against the desk, as though anchoring herself in the memory. The office was quiet, but in her mind, she could still hear Luz's laughter and King's playful squeaks. For now, that was enough to keep her going, even as the first roots of her future overprotectiveness quietly took hold.

Later on; the council chamber of the University of Wild Magic was deep within the palistrom foundation itself. The room stretched wide and circular, its walls alive with faint glyph-light that pulsed like a heartbeat. A long ring of carved wooden tables formed the center, stacked with papers, scrolls, and steaming mugs of klava tea abandoned in haste. Whispers laced the air as the professors exchanged theories and rumors. The air was heavy, not with dust, but with worry.

The doors creaked, and Eda strode in, her cloak dragging at her heels. Her usual swagger was there, but dulled—it appeared as armor than spirit. She clapped her nail against the nearest chair. "Alright, let's cut the chatter, you all know why we're here." Her voice carried a grit that silenced the room.

She didn't ease into it. "The glyph wall in the auditorium went haywire. Three students were injured and dozens are currently shaken. This isn't just a fluke anymore, it's a problem. And it's my job to make sure this place doesn't collapse around us." She perched at the head of the table, eyes scanning the faces gathered. "So. Ideas. Now."

Professor Liora Ashwing was the first to speak, adjusting her slate-gray robes, her abomination assistant shifting uneasily behind her. "If the glyph walls are destabilizing, we need a buffer. Controlled abominations could be stationed as guardians. They absorb stray magic better than most materials. Students will feel safer if they see tangible protection."

Braska Thornhelm leaned forward, broad shoulders crowding the table, his gravelly voice cutting in. "Containment won't fix the foundation. The tree's shifting, you can even hear the groans at times if you listen closely. We should wall off unstable wings until we're sure the building won't collapse. Construction wards and curse-defense barriers—they're old-fashioned and reliable. They should get the job done!"

Selene Moongale's silver earrings caught the lantern-light as she tapped her quill against a parchment of star maps. "It may not be the structure at all," she murmured. "Perhaps the glyphs are being reactive under certain circumstances that may exceed our own. While the spirit of the Titan has passed and this very tree is the only remaining thing that's channeling Titan and celestial energies simultaneously, that volatility could be astronomical in origin. We should observe patterns before we act rashly."

At this, Thistlewick Grimsbane piped up, his voice scratchy with manic energy. His hair was wild, his satchel clinking with bottles. "Study—bah! What we need is alchemical stabilizers. Mist the corridors, seep the glyphs in vapor wards! My newest concoction keeps chaotic glyphs docile for at least twelve hours! Only a fifty-seven percent chance of... side effects! Hahaha!" He grinned, revealing tea-stained teeth.

Several staff groaned. Viney pinched her nose. "Thistlewick, we're not dosing students with your experiments. We need to prioritize safety. The auditorium should be closed until we know what's happening, no exceptions."

Edric tapped his pen against the table, looking thoughtful. "What if the tree's not just a building? We know that Paliswood's contains magic that gives our Palismen life. What if the tree's trying to talk to us through the glyphs? If that's the case, sealing things off might just make it worse. Maybe we should contact Hunter, he understands palisman and perhaps he might be able to understand what the tree is trying to tell us."

Emira sighed, arms folded. "Maybe. It's worth a shot to bring him in but it doesn't change the fact that our students are terrified. If we don't calm them down, enrollment next semester is going to crash. We can't afford to look like we've lost control."

Callum Bloodbranch adjusted his spectacles, his tone sharper. "I don't think it's the tree alone. We've got humans here now. Human students depend on glyphs to be able to conjure up basic magic. Besides our human students, there are also several witches that use this form of magic conjuring. If the glyphs themselves are destabilizing, then their constant use might be what's feeding the tree's volatility. The more they draw, the more the tree reacts."

The table erupted into cross-talk. Liora dismissed the theory as inconclusive. Braska grumbled that it sounded plausible but still unproven. Selene argued the evidence was astronomical, not behavioral. Thistle waved his potion like a flag of victory.

Eda raised a hand, her claw slamming against the wood with a crack that silenced the room. Her amber eyes swept the circle, fierce but shadowed. "Enough. You've all got good points. But while we're sitting here squabbling about stars and drafts, kids are getting burned."

The silence that followed was heavy. Eda's feathers prickled along her cloak. She thought of the boy clutching his arm, the witches with scorched sleeves, their wide eyes fixed on her. She swallowed hard.

"For now," she said at last, her voice thick but steady, "glyph magic's off the table. Temporarily. No glyphs on campus—human or witch—until we know what's going on."

A murmur rippled through the staff. Selene looked stricken. Braska only nodded. Liora frowned into her folded hands. Edric leaned back, worry flickering across his face.

Eda cut through their unease. "This isn't a punishment but it's for the safety of our students and staff. I won't risk anyone else getting hurt on my watch. Not while I'm running this place." she concluded with, "I will say that our students will resume sticking to their respective tracks. Palismen magic, spell magic, staff magic—I don't care but no glyphs."

Eda sighed before placing both her hand and hook on the table with a soft thud that echoed softly across the chamber. "Meeting adjourned."

Chairs scraped as the staff filed out. At the door, Edric glanced back at his sister and Viney. "She's... changing. Don't like it." Emira squeezed his arm gently but said nothing. Callum muttered, "She's under pressure. Too much pressure." None of them lingered.

When the chamber was empty, Eda remained at the table, staring at the faintly glowing glyphs carved into the walls. For a long moment, she didn't move. Her shoulders sagged, and her hands curled tight against the wood. The silence pressed close, heavy with guilt. She saw not the glowing symbols, but flashes of Luz bent over papers, of King scampering up her arm—her kids, gone, leaving shadows behind. And now students under her care were being burned.

Her claws tapped the table once, then stilled. Alone, she whispered into the empty chamber, "Gotta keep 'em safe. Whatever it takes... whatever it takes."

By the time dusk bled across the sky, the Boiling Isles looked as though someone had spilled molten amber and bruised violet over its jagged horizon. The crooked towers of Bonesborough cast long shadows, and the swamp mist curled upward, catching stray beams of light until it looked like the world itself was exhaling.

Eda felt wrung dry. Every step out of the University halls dragged heavier than the last, her boots scuffing against stone polished smooth by generations of witches before her. Behind her, the building still pulsed faintly—glyph-light spidering across the wood like veins. Whispers floated through the corridors, chasing her down no matter how far she walked. Students' voices, sharp and hushed:

"Did you see the way the glyph twisted? Like it was alive!"
"She lost control. If Headmistress Clawthorne can't handle it, what chance do we have?"
"Maybe we should transfer before someone gets hurt for real!"

Faculty murmured in clusters near doorways, their words slick with caution but edged with doubt. She caught phrases—"instability," "funding risks," "containment measures"—none of which made her chest feel lighter.

By the time she pushed out into the open air, the chill evening breeze hit her like a bucket of cold water, regardless she welcomed it. At least the air outside didn't feel so thick with judgment. She could've flown away as most nights when her shift ended but instead tonight was different. With everything that has happened, every ounce of pressure being placed onto her, it simply crushed the will and strength needed [whether emotional or physically] to fly. Yet, her strength did not diminish completely, as she still had it left in her to simply walk her way home. The streets of Bonesborough were settling for the night: merchants packed up stalls, lanterns flickered alive with sputtering green fire, and the smell of roasted grub-burgers drifted from food carts. Witches shuffled past her in twos and threes, chatting, laughing, and there were even some that side-eyed her as she walked by.

As she wound her way through the forest path toward the Owl House, the atmosphere shifted. Bonesborough's noise faded into the low hum of the evening ambience that was around them. The air smelled damp, tinged with something earthy and familiar. She exhaled, tension bleeding from her shoulders, though her thoughts still roiled like a storm. By the time the Owl House's crooked silhouette loomed ahead, its windows lacked any source of light from within, as they'd been powered off for the evening. Giving the impression that the house itself fell asleep itself, it was a poetic appearance. She reached the door and leaned her forehead against it for a moment, breathing in the scent of old wood and a musty aroma that lingered on it. Soon she opened the door, and once she did, Eda's façade had crumbled.

The door creaked open with a reluctant groan, spilling only a sliver of the cool night air inside. The Owl House was still and dark, its crooked walls settling like an old creature asleep. No candles burned, no glyph-light pulsed. The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint, muffled snore coming from a hollow in the wall. Hooty's cylindrical form was tucked neatly into his portable compartment, his goofy face slack in slumber, the occasional whistle slipping out as though he were dreaming. For once, he wasn't calling out a greeting or demanding attention. The peace of it brought the faintest smile to Eda's lips.

She slipped her boots off by the entryway, careful not to let them thud against the floorboards. The wooden planks carried sound too easily, and tonight she had no desire to disturb anyone. Her steps were slow, deliberate, carrying her through the shadowed living room where familiar shapes; the ragged sofa, the cluttered table, the scattered charms and trinkets, were outlined in pale streaks of moonlight sneaking in through crooked windows. Everything smelled faintly of herbs and smoke, the scent of the house itself, like a second skin she never quite shook off. It felt... steadying.

The staircase groaned softly under her as she ascended. Each creak felt like it might rouse the whole house, yet it didn't. The night seemed to guard her movements, wrapping everything in a hushed stillness. By the time she reached her bedroom door, her breath had softened, her earlier storm of thoughts quieted into a gentle current. She pushed it open with care, the hinges sighing.

Inside, the space was bathed in the silver of moonlight filtering through the small window. Raine lay curled in the nest bed that they both slept together on, their chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. A stray lock of hair had fallen across their brow, softened by the glow. Seeing them like this—unguarded and peaceful—made something tender stir in Eda's chest. Her façade, already fragile and dissolved fully by this point. She crossed the floor on silent feet, lowering herself beside them. One hand reached out, brushing the hair gently back, her thumb grazing across their temple. She bent low, pressing a fleeting kiss to their cheek, letting her lips linger there just long enough to feel the warmth of their skin. Raine stirred faintly, a whisper of movement, but did not wake.

With quiet efficiency, Eda stepped back and slipped into the adjoining washroom. She tugged on her loose pajamas, trading the day's weight for worn comfort. Standing before the cracked mirror, she lifted her arm, attaching the custom toothbrush to the prosthetic socket where her hook normally fit. The enchantment buzzed faintly as the bristles began their steady rhythm. She scrubbed her teeth with practiced motions, the process mechanical yet grounding, watching her reflection as foam collected at the corners of her mouth. For a moment, she met her own eyes in the glass—tired, lined, but still burning with that restless fire—and huffed a half-laugh around the brush. "Still kickin', Clawthorne," she muttered under her breath.

Once finished, she rinsed, detached the brush, and set the socket aside. The prosthetic was placed in its secured drawer, a habit drilled into her bones for years. The absence of its weight was strange, almost vulnerable, but it was also freeing in a way. She flexed her bare arm once before turning away.

Padding back into the bedroom, she eased herself into the nest bed, careful not to jostle Raine too much. The bedding smelled faintly of lavender and smoke, familiar and safe. She curled up beside them, letting her body melt into theirs. Raine shifted instinctively, one arm draping loosely around her middle, pulling her in with a sleepy murmur. Eda let out a slow exhale, nuzzling into their warmth.

The storm in her head finally ebbed. Wrapped in the rhythm of their breathing, the world outside could crumble and she wouldn't care. Here, in the darkened quiet of the Owl House, she was home. While Raine remained asleep, Eda stayed wide awake and because of it, she rolled over and grabbed her scroll that was near a small desk close to her nest bed. Her thumb was hovering before turning it on and accessing the messaging app of it, where she scrolled through her contacts and spotted Lilith's. She clicked on her profile and began to type out a message to Lilith, just a quick one before she fell asleep:

Hey, things are getting weirder and... worse with the glyphs. I could really use your big brain about now, sis. Don't leave me hanging.

She hit send and leaned back, already bracing for silence. That was the new normal—sending words into the void, half hoping and half expecting nothing.

However, this time, her scroll lit up almost immediately.

Lilith's reply blinked into being:
Eda. I've read your messages. Amity and I are making preparations to return home. We'll be back soon. Until then, hold on.

Eda's heart lurched. She sat up, clutching the scroll like it might vanish. Relief tangled with nerves, and for the first time in days, she felt a spark of determination flare in her gut.

"About time," she whispered, a grin tugging at her mouth. She glanced at Raine, still peacefully asleep, and leaned back against the pillows.

If Lilith was coming home, if Amity was returning, if Hooty was in tow—then she wasn't carrying this alone anymore and that the glyphs wouldn't win.

She closed her eyes, mind already racing with plans, the first threads of an investigation weaving together in the quiet dark.

Chapter Text

Where the Wild Glyphs Are

The next following day, a pale light stretched across the corridors of the University of Wild Magic, cutting long shadows through the glass and tracing faint gold across the polished floors. The overall atmosphere carried that faint, cool stillness that came only after a restless night. It was quiet, but heavy, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. The University should have been warm and energizing, yet for Eda, it only sharpened the pressuring weight down onto herself. Her boots clicked against the polished floor as she strode through the hallway, past rows of portraits of historical figures and scholars who pursued for the greater understanding of magic itself. Each one watching her with expressions that felt far too judgmental. She tried to shake it off with her usual grin, but the memory of yesterday's incident in the auditorium clung to her like smoke that wouldn't clear. The air inside the campus was tense, hushed in a way that told her everyone had already heard the news. As rumors moved fast in these halls.

She reached her office, the doors instantly opened as if they understood the urgency in Eda's mission. Inside, scrolls and papers cluttered her desk in precarious piles, half-written notes and unfinished lesson plans strewn across every corner. The scent of ink and wood dust lingered, grounding her in the familiar chaos she normally thrived on. Today, however, the mess didn't feel like her trademark charm. It felt like a reminder of what she had yet to do, and what she didn't want to. She let out a groan and leaned against her desk, arms crossed. "Alright, Owl Lady," she muttered to herself. "Time to be the responsible one... for once."

She lowered herself into her chair, the wood creaking beneath her, and reached for the crystal embedded into her desk. It served as the intercom system that would connect her voice to every hall, classroom, and dormitory on campus. Her hand hovered over it for a long moment, her thumb tracing the rim of the crystal as though delaying would somehow change what needed to be done. Her reflection glimmered faintly in the polished surface of her desk: wild silver hair tamed into a loose braid, tired eyes rimmed with shadows that refused to fade, and a face that carried more responsibility than she had ever wanted. She drew in a breath, steadying herself.

When she finally pressed her palm to the crystal, the soft hum of magic filled the office, and she knew her words were reaching every ear on campus. "Good morning, students and staff," she began, her tone quieter and steadier than usual, stripped of its familiar sass. "This isn't the sort of message I like to give, but it's one I have to. Effective immediately, glyph magic practice on school grounds is suspended. This will remain in place until we understand what caused yesterday's implosion in the auditorium."

The silence that followed on her end felt crushing. She could almost imagine the faces of the students as they listened. Their reactions were varied and diverse, as most felt confused, disappointed, and maybe even betrayed. She forced herself to continue, keeping her voice measured, though the sadness beneath it slipped through despite her efforts. "I know this feels unfair. I know glyph magic has been a source of creativity and discovery for several of you. But after what happened, I can't risk your safety. No lecture, no spell, and no experiment is worth seeing any one of you getting hurt." Her throat tightened at the memory of Luz's boundless excitement when she first discovered glyphs, and of King, always pushing her to care more deeply than she thought she could. Their absence lingered like shadows at her back, making every word ache.

For a moment she nearly faltered, her breath hitching before she pulled herself back together. "As I've said before, this will only be a temporary decision. It's just until we understand what went wrong. In the meantime, your professors and I will be working on solutions. I promise you—we will figure this out." She lifted her hand from the crystal, ending the transmission, and the hum of magic died away, leaving the office in heavy silence.

Eda leaned back in her chair, exhaling shakily, her hands trembling slightly from the effort of holding her voice steady. The grief was there, clawing at her, whispering of the people who should have been here to help guide her through this. Teaching without them was its own kind of wound, but it was also the reason she kept going. If Luz and King had taught her anything, it was that students deserved to be protected, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, then pushed herself upright again as there would be time to grieve later. Right now, the students needed her to be their Headmaster.

Meanwhile elsewhere at the Palistrom forest; Edric's boots crunched over the damp forest floor, each step sinking slightly into moss that glistened with the remnants of the morning rain. Droplets clung stubbornly to the wide leaves overhead, falling now and then with soft plinks that startled the occasional insect from its hiding place. He pushed aside a curtain of low-hanging branches, his brow furrowed in a way that Emira recognized all too well, the look of a theory forming. "I'm telling you, Em—this isn't just some random magical hiccup. The tree's trying to say something. I can feel it in my gut!"

Emira stifled a laugh, trailing behind him with her arms crossed, her cloak snagging briefly on a thorned vine. She tugged it free with an impatient flick of her wrist. "Ed, you're acting like the palistrom tree is some pen-pal that decided to write back. What's next? You going to ask it out on a date?" She raised a brow, clearly enjoying herself. Her smirk widened as her brother's ears flushed pink, but underneath the ribbing, she carried her own unease. The glyph walls hadn't just malfunctioned, they had pulsed and breathed almost, the symbols repeating like a heartbeat. For all her sarcasm, she hadn't been able to dismiss it as a coincidence.

The deeper they wandered, the more the forest seemed alive with quiet intention. The canopy arched high overhead, fracturing the sunlight into shifting mosaics of gold and shadow. The air smelled of resin and earth, sharp and clean, as though the very trees wanted to remind them they were trespassing on sacred ground. Wooden-winged palismen flitted between branches, their glassy eyes glimmering briefly before vanishing into the foliage. Each flutter and rustle seemed to draw the twins further toward the sound of rhythmic carving that echoed faintly through the clearing ahead.

They emerged into Dell Clawthorne's workshop, a snug cabin woven almost seamlessly into the roots of several palistrom. Its walls leaned with the gentle sag of age, but smoke curling from the chimney carried the warmth of life. The scent of sawdust could be smelled all over in the air, mingling with the resinous tang of freshly cut wood. Outside, Dell sat hunched over his carving bench, his knife gliding in slow, practiced strokes along the grain of a palistrom branch. The rasp of steel against wood carried a rhythm, steady as a heartbeat, each curl of shavings falling like pale ribbons onto the ground. Beside him, Hunter mirrored the movement with his own blade, his stare was tense in concentration. Several unfinished forms rested between them; tiny bodies half-shaped, wings folded in rough outline, their details waiting to be coaxed free from the wood.

"Not so much pressure there," Dell murmured, his voice calm but firm. He leaned over, tapping the back of Hunter's hand with the flat of his knife. "Let the blade follow the grain. Force it, and you'll split the wood, ruining the form."

Hunter adjusted his grip, inhaling sharply as he tried again. The shavings curled cleaner this time, revealing the smooth contour of what would eventually be a palisman's head. Waffles chirped approvingly from a nearby stump, tilting his head as though judging Hunter's handiwork.

Dell gave a low hum, more approving than critical. "Better. You've got steadier hands than you think. Just remember, these aren't toys. Someone out there's waiting for a partner. That means every line you carve carries a responsibility." He lifted his own piece, a nearly complete owl with wings tucked close, its eyes already glinting with the suggestion of life. "You're not just shaping wood. You're shaping trust."

Hunter swallowed, his knife pausing mid-stroke. For a fleeting second, he thought of Flapjack. How light he'd felt in his palm and how their interactions had always filled the empty spaces. The weight of Dell's words sank deep, steadying him in a way no lecture could. He nodded, refocusing, and pressed the blade gently along the curve once more.

The sound of footsteps crunching along the gravel path drew Hunter's attention from the bench. A witch in a traveling cloak approached, their satchel bulging with herbs and potion bottles, the faint smell of dried sage trailing behind them. They gave a polite wave as they neared the workshop.

Dell straightened, brushing the wood shavings from his lap. "Afternoon. You're right on time." His voice carried the warmth of someone who'd spent a lifetime in quiet service, even if his back hunched with age.

The customer's eyes flicked toward Hunter, widening slightly at the sight of him with a knife in hand. For a moment, Hunter's shoulders tensed, old nerves threatening to creep back, but Dell's presence anchored him.

"This is my grandson," Dell explained evenly, gesturing toward the bench. "He's the one working your order."

Hunter froze, the title catching him off guard. 'Grandson.' The word hung heavier than the knife in his palm, but when he glanced at Dell, the old carver's eyes betrayed no hesitation.

The customer stepped closer, curiosity softening into something like gratitude. "Truly? Then I'm honored. You've been carving partners for generations. I've been waiting months for this commission."

Dell nodded toward the unfinished forms. "Hunter's been practicing patience and precision. Why don't you show them?"

Hunter hesitated, then lifted one of the carvings: a small koala-shaped palisman, its ears pointed high, its body still rough but with its spirit already hinted at in the curves of its stance. He held it out with both hands, careful not to smudge the surface with stray shavings.

"It's... not done yet," Hunter admitted, his voice quieter than usual. "But I made sure the grain would hold. When it's finished, it'll be ready to bond with someone."

The customer leaned in, tracing their fingers above the carved outline without touching. Their smile was warm, almost reverent. "It already feels alive."

Hunter's chest tightened, though not unpleasantly. He hadn't expected praise, much less from a stranger.

Dell gave a small grunt of approval. "See? That's the difference between cutting wood and listening to it. A palisman isn't just carved, Hunter. It's invited to take shape."

For the first time since picking up the knife, Hunter allowed himself a small smile. Waffles chirped proudly from her perch, wings fluttering as if echoing the moment.

The customer exchanged a few words of thanks, leaving behind a bundle of herbs and a snail before heading off down the path. When they were gone, Dell leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his apron.

"You've got the heart for this, boy," he said, voice rough but kind. "Just remember, every creature you carve has its own story waiting to be told. Don't rush the telling."

Hunter tightened his grip on the knife not with fear, but with a quiet, steady resolve. For the first time in a long while, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter.

"Wow," Edric whispered, slowing his pace as though he had entered a shrine. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose, eyes wide with admiration. "I still can't believe this is what you do now, Hunter! Look at the number of palisman you've carved!."

Hunter glanced up, one brow raised in dry suspicion. "Oh, hey Edric! Emira! Yeah, I gotta say that under Dell's mentorship, I'm enjoying every second of it! Hunter then placed his tools down and turned towards his friends once more, "So, what brings you two here at the workshop?"

Edric shifted his weight, running a hand through his hair in that casual way he always did when he wanted to mask his nerves. "Well... you probably already heard about the, uh, 'incident' at the University. The whole glyphs-going-haywire thing in the auditorium? Yeah, that."

Emira elbowed him lightly before stepping in, her tone smoother, though her brow was knit with concern. "It wasn't just a one-off accident, Hunter. The glyphs on the palistrom tree that makes up the school... they've been getting stranger and unstable. Our students and some of the faculty are worried it might get worse if we don't figure it out soon!"

Hunter's eyes widened upon hearing about what had occurred, in which he soon closed then and returned back to his usual posture and replied, "I already heard about what happened at the university. Word travels fast when it involves anything magic related." His expression grew serious, but not unkind. "So, I assume there's more information I have yet to be told of?"

Edric seized the opening like a lifeline. "Okay, so—hear me out." He gestured wildly, nearly smacking Emira in the face before she swatted his hand down with practiced annoyance. "Since you've got that whole... palisman-connection thing going for you, we thought maybe you could help us figure out what's going on. I mean, palistrom wood is the core of all this, right? It gives palismen life. What if the tree itself is trying to—oh, I don't know—communicate?"

Emira gave him a sidelong look but didn't argue. Instead, she crossed her arms and said more gently, "Look, we know this sounds far-fetched. But the more we think about it, the more it makes sense. If anyone could sense what the tree is trying to say, it'd be you."

There was no joking in her tone now, no teasing edge. Just a quiet trust in Hunter's bond with magic that went deeper than spell circles or glyphs on paper.

Hunter was quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing off any remaining palistrom shavings on the bench. The thought struck something deep in him, a memory of Flapjack and of the bond that had once defined them, and of the magic still flickering in his chest because of it. Now he was able to feel that same bond with not only his new palisman, Waffles, but as well with the other palisman he creates with his own tools and hands. His voice was steady when he finally spoke. "If the tree is reaching out, then ignoring it would be dangerous. I'll help."

Dell looked up from his carving, his expression calm, lined with wisdom earned through decades of listening to the wood. "Palistrom trees are older and wiser than most give them credit for," he said slowly. "But they don't speak the way we do. If you're going to listen, you'll need patience and respect." He soon added, "Hunter, you are free to go to assist with your friends. Before you go, please tell Edalyn... I said hello."

Hunter inclined his head respectfully, taking Dell's words to heart, "Thank you. And I will let her know." Then he glanced back at the twins, determination hardening his features. "Let's find out what it's trying to say."

Meanwhile, back at the university; Eda sat slouched behind her desk, her fingers drumming idly against a stack of half-finished reports. The office was quiet except for the soft scratching of an enchanted quill still working away at her notes in the corner. She stared at the parchment in front of her without really seeing it. Her eyes burned, not from lack of sleep—though that was a problem too—but from the way her thoughts kept circling back to the same hollow place. The thoughts of Luz and King remain being lost, at least for now, and the silence of their absence pressed in on her harder when the school day slowed to a lull.

The sudden flutter of wings startled her. A dark crow swooped down from the open window, landing neatly on the edge of her desk. The little messenger ruffled its feathers and gave a sharp caw. Eda blinked, then let out a dry chuckle. "Well, if it isn't my favorite pocket-sized carrier service," she said, reaching out to activate the crow phone. The orb shimmered, and the blurred outlines of Edric and Emira Blight flickered into view.

"Headmistress Clawthorne!" Edric's cheerful voice rang out first, far too energetic for the heaviness still sitting in her chest. His grin was wide, though his image wobbled slightly in the projection. "Good news! Guess who we found?"

Eda raised a brow, leaning back in her chair. "This better be important Blightling, I'm not in the mood for guessing games."

Emira nudged her brother, rolling her eyes with a small smile before turning her attention toward the projection. "We've been out at the palistrom workshop. Hunter was there working with Dell, and we explained what's been happening with the glyph mural. He agreed to come and take a look. He's heading your way now."

For a moment, Eda didn't answer but she felt her shoulders ease, a tension she hadn't realized she was carrying loosening just slightly. Hunter. The kid wasn't Luz, but he'd grown into someone dependable and steady. If anyone could bridge the gap between wild glyph magic and living palistrom, it was him. She sat up straighter, trying to mask the flicker of relief in her chest. "About time," she said, though her voice came out softer than her usual sass. She cleared her throat and tried again, this time leaning into her familiar sarcasm. "Took you two long enough to drag him here. What'd you do, bribe him with free palistrom polish?"

Edric smirked, unbothered. "We didn't have to bribe him. He wants to help. Plus, you know, he's kind of got that whole 'mysterious palisman whisperer' thing going for him. Thought you could use the backup."

Eda let the corner of her mouth twitch upward. She didn't want to admit it out loud, but she did feel a little lighter. The weight of decisions she'd been carrying all morning, the ban, the disappointment in her students' eyes, and the creeping fear of losing control. Although it wasn't crushing her quite as much during this moment.

"Alright, I'll keep my eyes peeled for him," she said, her tone dipping into something almost maternal before she caught herself. She added. "And you two—try not to stir up more trouble than you solve, got it? This school's already one glyph explosion away from turning into a crater."

Emira gave a sly grin. "No promises."

As the call ended, leaving the office dim and quiet once more. Eda leaned back in her chair, letting out a long sigh as the crow flapped right back to its perch and entered into stasis. For the first time in hours, the pounding in her head dulled a little. Hunter was on his way. That didn't solve everything, not by a long shot, but it meant she wasn't alone in this. And that, at least, was something.

She soon got up from her chair and began making her way towards the doors of her office and shortly exited.

The echo of footsteps and hushed chatter filled the long, winding halls of the University of Wild Magic as Eda Clawthorne made her way down the corridor. The air smelled faintly of palistrom wood shavings from the carpentry wing, mingling with the sharper tang of chalk dust from freshly erased blackboards. It was such a far cry from the uneven, creaking floors of the Owl House that it almost felt sterile, too neat, too orderly. Though the tension that rippled through the hall was anything but calm. Students gathered in clusters near the staircases, alcoves, and even the wide bay windows overlooking the campus grounds, their voices a low but insistent current that followed her no matter how quickly she walked.

"Suspending glyph practice? Seriously? Isn't that, like, the opposite of what this place was supposed to be?" a boy with copper hair muttered as he passed, his arms crossed so tightly against his chest it seemed like he was trying to hold himself together. His voice cracked just slightly with frustration, and Eda could tell from the scuffed boots and ink-stained sleeves that he'd spent hours on glyphwork that morning—hours now rendered useless by his decree.

"Yeah," another student shot back, her fingers twitching as she drew a very small fire glyph on the stone floor with the edge of her boot. Due to its small size, it became a small and weak crackle of ember that fizzled and died instantly, the faint smell of smoke curling upward. "We came here because Eda promised freedom and exploration in magic. No stuffy coven rules. Now it's just... restrictions all over again." The girl's voice trembled between bitterness and hurt, and when her friend placed a hand on her shoulder to quiet her down, she shrugged it off with a glare.

Not every voice was sharp-edged with anger. Some carried the heavy weight of disappointment, which to Eda felt even worse. Near a row of tall windows, two human students slouched against the wall, their textbooks stacked carelessly at their feet. One traced her finger along the glass, absently sketching circles in the condensation as she sighed.

"I just don't get it," she whispered. "If glyphs aren't safe, then what are we even supposed to use? Most of us aren't even able to use magic like witches."

Her companion hugged her knees, her voice soft, almost apologetic. "Maybe it's for the best. Maybe this place isn't what we thought it would be..."

That last part landed heavier than Eda expected, like a stone tossed into her chest. She slowed her stride before catching herself and pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders, as if the fabric could shield her from the guilt prickling at the edges of her heart. She had promised them something better—something wild and free, a place where magic belonged to them and not some coven's decree. Yet now here she was, already taking it away, already setting rules that echoed the very chains she once fought to break.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, forcing her lips into a crooked smirk though her stomach twisted in knots. "I'm the killjoy now. Eda Clawthorne: breaker of covens, smasher of rules... and apparently headmistress of disappointment."

The words didn't land the way her jokes usually did. They sat sour on her tongue, the kind of humor she used as armor but couldn't quite carry with the same weight as before. She passed beneath a row of portraits depicting magic scholars from centuries long gone, their painted eyes staring down with austere judgment. Eda's gaze flicked upward, meeting the solemn face of a witch in archaic robes, and for a fleeting second she swore the tilt of the woman's mouth was disapproving.

"Don't give me that look," Eda muttered at the portrait, brushing a tangled strand of gray hair from her face. "I already know I'm messing this up. No need for the silent lecture."

The words rang hollow in the empty hall. She quickened her pace, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, as if outrunning the portraits and whispers alike. She reminded herself she'd survived worse—curses that stripped her strength, coven heads who hunted her, even the threat of the Owl Beast haunting her within her very soul. A few complaints from students? That was nothing. At least, that's what she told herself.

Eda rounded the corner that led toward the north wing, her boots creaking against the older, less polished floorboards. Here the university felt quieter, though the silence didn't last long. From an open classroom door drifted the murmur of voices. These voices belonged to several students speaking in quiet tones yet they were heavy, like they were afraid to be overheard yet unable to hold their thoughts inside. Eda slowed her steps without meaning to, letting the words reach her as if the building itself wanted her to listen.

"...I stayed up half the night cramming spell sequences, and now it's all for nothing," one student groaned, the exhaustion in his voice more telling than the complaint itself. "What am I supposed to do for midterms? I've got nothing else to fall back on."

Another voice joined, softer but edged with the same fatigue. "You're not the only one. I've been trying to prep construction runes and ugh nothing sticks. Between classes, the constant drills, and... everything going on outside the walls—" She broke off, and Eda could picture her gesturing vaguely to the world beyond, the Boiling Isles still scarred from the invasion. "It's like... how are we even supposed to focus? It's like we're pretending things are normal, but they're not."

There was a beat of silence before a third voice, low and unsteady, filled the gap. "Sometimes I wonder if it even matters. We study, we practice, we try to build a future but what kind of future is left after what happened months ago? Spells- whatever... it all feels pointless if the world can just come crashing down again."

That one hit harder than Eda expected. She leaned against the doorframe for half a breath, unseen by the students inside, her throat tightening. They weren't just upset about her rule. They were tired and worn down. Kids carrying weights far heavier than they should've been asked to bear. She thought of Luz at their age, throwing herself headfirst into danger with the same spark these students once had. As well how even Luz's light had glowed above the shadow of too much responsibility.

The voices carried on, quiet but insistent. "I don't blame Headmistress Clawthorne," the first one said, though his tone made it sound like he did, just a little. "I mean, she's just trying to protect us. But... it feels like we're losing something important. Like if glyphs are gone, we're right back under someone else's thumb. And isn't this school supposed to be different?"

Eda pressed her lips together, her jaw tight, as their comments were the ones that hit her deep. That had been the promise and it was a promise from her. A place free from the shackles of the Emperor, where magic could be wild, alive, and theirs. Yet standing here, listening to their voices sag with defeat, she couldn't shake the gnawing worry that maybe she wasn't enough to make that dream real.

Her hand drifted toward the side of her coat, fingertips brushing against the worn fabric as though it could anchor her. She forced herself to breathe, to shove down the doubt that clawed at her chest. "Get it together, Clawthorne," she whispered under her breath, voice just loud enough for herself. "They need a headmaster, not a mess. You can't crumble now."

Straightening her shoulders, she pushed herself away from the door and continued down the hall. The voices faded behind her, though the weight of them lingered. With every step, the corridor grew quieter until the chatter of students dissolved entirely, replaced by the faint echo of her own footsteps.

Soon Eda arrived back at the auditorium. The glyphs were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that pressed into the ears and made every footstep echo twice as loud. The large room felt more like a cathedral than a school classroom, the palistrom walls breathing with a faint, amber glow. The glyph mural ahead of her, an unbroken lattice of carved symbols spanning the length of the wood, glimmered softly as though lit by starlight bleeding through hidden cracks. On most days, the glow was subtle, ambient but today it seemed restless. They pulsed in irregular rhythms that gave the uneasy impression of a heartbeat. Eda stood at the center of the collection of glyphs, with her arms folded across her chest, her sharp gaze fixed on the shifting light. She had walked this hall dozens of times since becoming headmistress, but never had the tree's presence felt so palpable, so watchful. The air smelled faintly of sap, resinous and sweet, and she swore she could feel a vibration in the floorboards beneath her boots, like the tree was humming just below the threshold of hearing.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence, their echo bouncing off the wood-paneled corridor. Eda lifted her head as Edric and Emira rounded the far corner, and Hunter following close behind. The twins carried their usual twin spark of curiosity, though it was tempered by a hint of nerves that made them stand a little closer to one another than usual. Hunter's expression, on the other hand, was harder to read. His face carried the calm focus of someone with a task ahead of him, yet there was a flicker of unease in the way his eyes lingered on the mural.

"Headmistress," Hunter said, his tone formal at first, though a softer warmth edged into the word as his eyes stared briefly at hers. He adjusted his gloves, almost unconsciously, and nodded toward the glyph mural. "So... this is where it happened?"

"Yep." Eda's voice was low, steady, though beneath the grit there was a tiredness that she didn't bother to hide. "One big implosion of wild glyph magic right in front of half the student body. Nearly blew out the auditorium's rafters. If the tree is trying to say something, it's got a pretty lousy way of doing it." She tilted her head at the glowing carvings, her wild hair shifting slightly with the motion. "You're up, kid."

Hunter stepped forward, the soft creak of his boots marking each step against the living wood. He stopped just shy of the mural and let out a slow, deliberate breath, the way Dell had taught him whenever he needed to focus. His gloved hand lifted, then hesitated for the briefest moment before brushing along the etched lines. The palistrom's surface radiated warmth—unnatural warmth for wood that had stood for generations. Waffles, perched on his shoulder, chirping softly, her little body tensing as though she too could sense the tension woven into the air.

Edric and Emira shifted uncomfortably behind him, exchanging a glance. Normally they would have had a quip ready, something light to cut through the unease, but not today. They knew this wasn't the time. For once, their silence said more than their words could.

"I'll... do my best. I'm still trying to understand my powers." Hunter murmured, half to Eda, half to himself. He closed his eyes, grounding himself. Stillness first, then intention—that's what Dell always reminded him. His breathing slowed, shoulders settling as he pressed deeper into that practiced calm. In the hallway, the silence thickened until it was almost a living thing.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the glyphs began to glow brighter, a slow swell of light that filled the corridor with a faint golden hue. The air itself seemed to vibrate with it, thrumming with a quiet energy that raised the hair along Eda's arms. Hunter stiffened, but he didn't pull away. He leaned into the sensation, letting it draw him deeper.

The world dissolved around him. The mural vanished, replaced by a subspace vision that pulled him out of the corridor and into something vast, infinite. Glyphs spun freely in the darkness, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, shimmering like constellations suspended in a starless night. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with something not his own—a heartbeat, slow and impossibly ancient, reverberating through the void. It grounded him and threatened to overwhelm him in the same instant.

Whispers filled the air, soft at first, like leaves rustling against one another, then louder, layered, insistent. They weren't words, not in any language Hunter knew, but the rhythm of them carried meaning or tried to. A chorus of voices overlapping, straining to be understood.

Then came the symbols.

They surged across his vision in dizzying flashes, they were alien and complex, and most were forming and unforming faster than he could follow. Some looked like warped versions of glyphs he already recognized; others were jagged and unfamiliar, like script carved by a hand that existed long before the Isles. They blazed brighter, faster, pressing against his mind, demanding comprehension he couldn't give.

Hunter staggered back in the real world, one hand still braced against the warm wood. His breathing hitched, his body trembling from the strain of holding the connection. However he held on for another moment longer, determined to hold onto the vision. The heartbeat thundered once, louder than before, and then everything shattered into black.

He tore himself back, stumbling away from the mural. Waffles fluttered nervously into the air before landing back on his shoulder with a worried chirp. Hunter's chest heaved as he braced against the wall, sweat dripping along his temple.

"Hunter?" Edric blurted, his usual grin gone, replaced by wide-eyed worry. He stepped forward but stopped short, uncertain whether to reach out. "You good, man?"

Hunter took a ragged breath before answering, his voice steadier than he felt. "The tree... it's alive. Edric was right. Just like our palisman—this tree is breathing, thinking, and... trying to communicate with us."

Eda's eyes narrowed, though the hard look couldn't hide the flicker of unease that crossed her face. "Communicate how, exactly?"

Hunter shook his head, frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw. "I couldn't understand the voices. And the symbols... it showed me dozens, maybe hundreds, but none of them made sense. It was like... like the tree was trying to explain something I don't have the words for yet." He clenched his hand into a fist, grounding himself. "But I do remember what they look like so I'll try to draw them. Maybe someone else will recognize them."

Edric let out a slow exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. "So my theory wasn't completely nuts!"

Emira crossed her arms, though her usual composure was undercut by the tightness in her voice. "Not nuts. Just... terrifying... If the school is built inside a living, thinking tree, then we have no idea what it's capable of."

Hunter finally looked back to Eda, his eyes carrying a quiet conviction. "It's alive, and it wants to be heard. I can't interpret it alone but I'll try. I am still new to all of this afterall."

For the first time since the implosion, Eda felt the weight in her chest shift. It wasn't relief, not exactly—more like the anticipation of knowing an answer had been found, only to open up more questions. The tree wasn't just solely a foundation, obviously. It was something alive, something ancient, breathing beneath their feet. If Hunter's vision was true, it wasn't done speaking. The echo of Hunter's words still resonated in the hallway, it was heavy and unsettling. The twins exchanged one last uneasy glance before excusing themselves, their footsteps fading as they slipped out, leaving the room quieter than before. Hunter remained by the mural, his hand resting against the wood as though reluctant to break contact. He could still feel it—the faint pulse beneath his fingertips, the subtle hum of something alive moving within the palistrom's grain. It wasn't just imagination, it was all too real.

Slowly, he pulled his hand away and turned back toward Eda. His chest rose with a measured breath, and though his body still trembled faintly, there was a steadiness in his eyes. "I will admit that there's something else," he said, his voice lower now, almost hesitant. "When I touched it... it wasn't just the tree I felt. I could sense the magical force flowing through it. Not just as wood, but as... life. The same force Dell told me to listen for when carving. I don't know how, but I can feel it now." He paused, trying to put the sensation into words. "It's like... hearing the heartbeat of magic itself."

Eda tilted her head, studying him in silence. Her sharp eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in her face eased. A small, proud smile tugged at her lips, weary but genuine. "Huh. Guess all that carving with Dad finally paid off." She stepped closer and clapped a hand onto his shoulder, firm but not heavy. "That's big, kid. Not everyone gets that far. Being able to feel a palistrom tree's essence? That means it trusts you."

Hunter glanced down, hiding the flicker of pride that sparked across his face. Compliments from Eda were rare, and they carried more weight than she probably realized. He gave a small nod. "I'll use it to help however I can." he added, "Also, speaking of your father, he wanted to tell you he says hello".

Eda smiled over the statement, which made her hand linger a moment longer before she pulled it back, stuffing both hands into her coat pockets. She gave the mural one last wary look, the glow still pulsing faintly along its surface, then turned to leave. "Thanks for coming, Hunter. I mean it.." There was an edge to her voice, not sharp, but worn down, like someone carrying more than they were willing to show. With a rustle of the fabric of her uniform, she started ahead from the vast room.

Hunter stood there for a moment, watching her retreating figure. Normally, Eda's stride carried its usual swagger but now, there was a weight to her steps, her body slouched ever so slightly as though something invisible pressed down on them. It wasn't the Eda he knew, not completely.

Waffles fluttered from his shoulder to perch on his wrist, tilting her head as if to study Hunter's expression. Hunter exhaled slowly, his words quiet, meant only for the bird. "She's not herself, Waffles. I can tell that ever since Luz and King left, she's been carrying all of this alone, even when she doesn't want us to see it." He ran a finger gently along Waffles' feathers, grounding himself in the familiar comfort. "She's the headmistress now... but I don't think she believes she can live up to it."

Waffles gave a soft chirp, pressing his head into Hunter's hand. Hunter's lips tugged into the faintest, almost reluctant smile, but his eyes stayed on the empty stretch of hallway where Eda had disappeared. "We'll keep an eye on her, okay? She's always looking out for us. Somebody has to do the same for her."

The glyph mural glowed faintly behind him, steady now, its pulse softened into silence. Yet the questions it had stirred, and the unease it left in its wake, clung to both of them as they turned and followed the path back toward the heart of the school.

Later that evening, the Owl House was quiet in a way that felt almost unnatural. Its walls usually creaked with some mischievous shift of magic, or Hooty's muffled chatter even when he was half-asleep in his porta-compartment. But now, only the faint crackle of the fireplace in the living room filled the space, casting long, swaying shadows across the crooked furniture. Eda sat at the dining table, her posture hunched forward, papers scattered in a wide circle around her.

Hunter's sketches lay in the center of the mess, the lines sharp and deliberate, each symbol etched with an almost uncomfortable precision. They weren't simple glyphs like the ones Luz once doodled with her wild enthusiasm. No, these were... different. The shapes twisted in on themselves, arcs and spirals breaking into jagged edges, some resembling runic sigils while others looked more like living things; like spines, veins, or even eyes. The more Eda studied them, the less they looked like something a hand should have drawn and more like something pulled straight out of the bones of the earth.

She flipped through one of her old reference books, a battered tome on ancient Titan script, her fingers moving quickly despite the occasional tremor in her prosthetic hand. "C'mon... there's gotta be somethin' in here," she muttered under her breath, thumbing to another page. She glanced between the faded ink of the book and Hunter's sketches, then back again, her brow furrowing deeper. "Closest match is Titan glyphwork, but even that doesn't fit. Ugh, damnit!"

Her voice trailed off as her eyes caught on one particular symbol: a spiral broken into segments, like a serpent biting its tail but fractured down the middle. It made her stomach twist. She rubbed her temple, pushing the paper away as though physical distance might help untangle it. Yet no matter how she looked at them, the drawings demanded attention, as if the symbols themselves refused to be ignored.

From the stairwell, the faint sound of steps creaked against the wood. Raine appeared at the edge of the light, dressed in loose sleepwear, their hair slightly mussed from bed. They rubbed the back of their neck and squinted toward the table. "Eda?" Their voice was soft, carrying both warmth and caution. "It's late. What are you doing still up?"

Eda didn't look up right away. Her hand hovered over one of the sketches, her thumb tracing a curve in the air as though she could unlock its meaning with just enough focus. "Trying to make sense of this mess," she replied, her tone caught somewhere between determination and fatigue. "Hunter dropped these off. They're what he saw in that mural back at the university. And lemme tell ya, Rainestorm, they're not the kind of doodles you stick on the fridge."

Raine walked closer, the floorboards groaning softly under their steps. They leaned over her shoulder, eyes scanning the sketches. Their expression tightened almost immediately, the corner of their mouth twitching as they took in the unsettling imagery. "They look... wrong. Not like anything I've seen before."

"Tell me about it." Eda pushed a few more papers aside, revealing where she'd scribbled cross-references and notes in her usual scrawling handwriting. "I've dug through Titan script, wild witch glyph theory, even some old spell circles I swiped from the Emperor's archives years back. Nothing matches. It's like these things don't wanna be understood." She sighed, slumping back into her chair, one clawed hand dragging down her face. "And the more I stare at 'em, the more they start lookin' at me instead."

Raine reached out, gently laying a hand over hers, grounding her. Their touch was steady, reassuring in its simplicity. "Eda... you're working yourself too hard."

Eda let out a quiet chuckle at Raine's words, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She gave their hand a soft squeeze before pulling it away to shuffle the papers again, her claws clicking against the parchment. "I appreciate it, Rainestorm. Really, I do. But I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all. You don't need to worry so much." Her voice carried a lightness she didn't truly feel, the same kind of bravado she had used her whole life whenever she wanted to hide the cracks beneath.

Raine didn't budge. They crossed their arms, their gaze firm even as it remained gentle. "That's not true, and you know it. You've been brushing me off like this for days now. Every time I ask how you're doing, you put up that wall onto yourself. That wall where you're joking, changing the subject, and pretending you're tougher than the weight you're carrying." Their tone softened, but there was steel threaded through it. "Eda, it isn't fair because you're keeping all of this locked inside, and it's tearing you apart while you won't let anyone help."

The words hit her harder than she expected. Eda stiffened, her shoulders rising defensively as she turned back to the sketches. Her claws dragged down one page a little too harshly, smudging the charcoal lines Hunter had pressed into it. "And what do you want me to say, Raine?" Her voice was sharper now, like a claw drawn across glass. "That I'm drowning? That I can't keep up with everything? Maybe I don't want help right now! Maybe I just want to focus on keeping things from falling apart, because that's more important than sittin' around crying about it."

Raine flinched but didn't look away. "You don't have to cry if you don't want to. But you can't keep pretending that all this pressure isn't crushing you." Their voice wavered, an undercurrent of pain creeping in. "I see it, Eda. Every time you look at those symbols, or talk about your students, or sit awake half the night staring at the ceiling. You're running yourself ragged. And you think if you act tough enough, nobody will notice."

Eda barked a bitter laugh, though it cracked halfway through. "I've been acting tough since I was a kid, Raine. It's the only thing that's ever kept me standing. So don't tell me now that suddenly it's not good enough." Her hand clenched around the sketch until the paper crumpled, her throat tight. "If I fall apart, who's gonna hold everything together? You? The kids? They've already lost too much. I can't risk adding myself to the pile."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the fire popping in the hearth. Raine's eyes straightened not in anger, but in deep hurt. Their words came out softly as they asked. "More important than... us? Than this?" They gestured between the two of them, the meaning painfully clear.

The question landed like a punch to Eda's gut. She turned to protest, but the words caught in her throat. Her mouth opened, then closed again, her bravado faltering for the first time. She looked at Raine; at the sadness pulling at their features, at the disappointment in their furrowed brow, and felt the sting of guilt bite deep into her chest.

"Raine, I didn't mean—" Her voice cracked, and she quickly looked away, blinking hard. "That came out wrong. Titan, I'm making a mess of this..."

Raine shook their head slowly, but their arms dropped to their sides. "You're not making a mess, Eda. You're hurting. And instead of letting me in, you're pushing me away. Do you have any idea how much that feels like you don't trust me with the truth?"

Eda's chest began to constrict while her heart ached, her defenses crumbling piece by piece. Her claws scraped anxiously against the desk's surface, leaving tiny grooves in the wood. For a long moment she said nothing, while her breathing was uneven. Finally, in a rush that sounded almost unintentional, she blurted out:

"I just want to protect everyone, Raine!" Her voice trembled, raw and unguarded. "Every time I look at those kids, I see Luz and King. And it feels like I'm right back there—losing them, losing everything I couldn't stop. If I let myself slow down, if I let myself feel it, I'm terrified it'll break me all over again. And I can't—" She pressed a hand to her chest, as though trying to hold herself together. "I can't afford to break into pieces right now."

The words hung between them like smoke, fragile and heavy at once. Raine's expression softened instantly, the disappointment giving way to aching compassion. They stepped forward slowly, as though afraid she might push them away again, and then when she didn't, they wrapped their arms around her. Eda resisted for half a second, her body stiff, but then her composure collapsed under the weight of her own exhaustion. She buried her face into Raine's shoulder, her claws curling into the fabric of their cloak. A muffled sob slipped out despite her best efforts to swallow it down.

Raine held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head. Their voice was quiet, steady, carrying none of the earlier sharpness. "You don't have to do this alone, Edalyn. Not anymore. Not with me here."

Eda squeezed her eyes shut, letting the warmth of their embrace soften the icy knot in her chest. The pain didn't vanish but it still lingered, as raw and jagged as ever. Although for the first time in weeks, she let someone else carry a little of its weight.

For a long time, neither of them moved. The only sounds were the creak of the old wooden floor under their feet and the faint mumble of the Owl House as it shifted in its sleep. Eda's breathing slowly steadied, though her grip on Raine's cloak remained firm, as if she feared that letting go would undo everything that had just cracked open inside her.

Eventually, she pulled back, just enough to look at them. Her eyes were rimmed red, her hair slightly mussed from pressing against their shoulder. She gave a half-hearted chuckle and wiped her face with the heel of her palm. "Well... guess I just ruined my reputation as the 'unflappable Owl Lady,' huh?"

Raine tilted their head, brushing a strand of silver hair from their forehead. "Oh, please. You're still terrifying enough. Crying doesn't make you any less strong, Eda, it just makes you a little more honest." They reached out to gently smooth one of the crumpled sketches on the desk, their fingers brushing against hers. "And honestly, I'll take honesty over bravado any day."

Eda groaned, leaning back in her chair with exaggerated flair, though her eyes softened as they lingered on Raine. "Titan, you're too good at this, y'know that? It's unfair. You swoop in with your calm voice and your earnest eyes, and suddenly I'm barin' my soul like a diary." She smirked faintly, though her voice still carried a fragile undertone. "Next thing you'll tell me is I should start carrying tissues."

Raine laughed softly, the sound warm and grounding. "Not a bad idea. You could hide them in your hair. No one would notice."

That earned them a real laugh from Eda—rough, but genuine. She shook her head and reached across the desk, capturing their hand in hers. "Thanks, Rainestorm. For not lettin' me wiggle out of this one. I don't say it enough, but... you're kind of my anchor in all this mess."

Raine's fingers squeezed hers, their eyes shining with quiet affection. "And you're mine. That's how this works, remember? We hold each other steady."

For the first time in weeks, Eda felt some of the tension in her chest ease, yet the weight hadn't lifted up completely. She knew it wouldn't, not anytime soon but with Raine's hand in hers, the burden didn't feel quite as impossible to carry. She exhaled slowly, and when she looked at them again, there was a flicker of her old spark in her grin.

"Alright, fine. Maybe I'll let you help me... just a little. But if you start hoverin' over me like a mother hen, I'll sic Hooty on you."

Raine arched an eyebrow, their lips quirking. "You wouldn't dare."

Eda smirked, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Try me."

They both laughed then, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fire. It wasn't a perfect fix, and it didn't erase the grief, but it was something far more valuable. Proof that even in the midst of loss, they still had each other. Though it wasn't resolution, it was something. A first crack in the walls she had built and a small step toward healing.

The warmth of the Owl House faded into memory as the scene shifted back to the University of Wild Magic. Night had draped its quiet veil across the sprawling campus, the stars overhead shimmering faintly against the darkened sky. The great towers of the university stood solemn, their windows glowing dimly with candlelight where students burned the midnight oil for their studies. Most of the halls were silent now, but the stillness carried a subtle tension. As though the very stones of the castle-like academy were holding their breath. In the mural chamber, the glyph wall loomed in the half-light. Torches along the walls flickered low, their shadows dancing across the carvings like restless specters. The air here carried a strange chill, one that did not belong to the usual draftiness of old stone corridors. It was as though the glyphs themselves exhaled, a faint hum threading through the silence.

Then it began again.

The intricate lines of the mural, once etched in steady clarity, started to shiver at their edges, flickering in and out as if the world couldn't decide whether they belonged. The symbols pulsed faintly, their colors distorted by flashes of deep violet and sickly green. For a moment they vanished altogether, leaving the stone bare, only to ripple back into existence with a sharp crackle of magical static. The sound was faint, yet piercing, like glass under strain.

The chamber seemed to groan with the effort of containing it. A faint vibration ran along the floor, rattling a loose inkpot that had been left behind by a professor earlier in the day. It rolled slowly across the stone, the scrape echoing unnaturally loud in the otherwise hushed room. The glyphs flared once more, brighter now, and the light they emitted briefly painted the chamber in jagged shadows.

Outside, two students passing by slowed at the sound. They exchanged uneasy glances, their hushed voices carrying through the cracked door.

"Did you hear that?" one whispered, clutching their satchel a little tighter.

"It's probably nothing," the other murmured, though their tone lacked conviction. "Just... glyph weirdness again. Headmaster will deal with it."

They quickened their pace down the hall, their footsteps echoing away, leaving the chamber to its unsettling rhythm.

Inside, the glyphs glitched again—fading in and out with an almost deliberate cadence, like a heartbeat gone wrong. The symbols twisted, their shapes momentarily warping into patterns unrecorded in any text or scroll. For an instant, the mural seemed to shudder, as though something unseen pressed against it from the other side. The surrounding atmosphere grew heavier, and with it, a sense of foreboding settled like a weight upon the room.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the flickering stilled. The glyphs returned to their familiar forms, their glow fading back into the quiet stone. The chamber fell silent once more, save for the soft, distant drip of water in the halls. Yet the unease lingered, hanging in the air like the last echo of a warning.

The university slept on, unaware that the wild glyphs had stirred again, and that their erratic pulse was a sign of something larger, something waiting to be understood.

And in the quiet shadow of the mural, the chapter closed.

Chapter Text

Lessons In Leadership

The late morning sun filtered weakly through the crooked shutters of Eda's office, casting slanted beams of light across the chaotic sprawl of parchment, scrolls, and half-drained mugs cluttering her desk. The air smelled of stale ink and bitter apple blood that had long gone cold, and a faint draft rattled the stacks of papers she had been shuffling through for hours. Eda sat hunched forward, her eyes were rimmed with shadows that spoke of too many nights without proper rest. Ever since the glyph suspension was announced, the university had been in an uproar. Professors clamored for answers, parents wrote letters whose words reflected their deep worry, and the students that attended still whispered nervously in the halls. And somehow, all of it landed squarely on Eda Clawthorne herself.

She let out a sigh that came out more like a growl, rubbing her temples as another form slipped out of her grasp and fluttered to the floor. "Great," she muttered, "first the glyphs break, now gravity's against me. What's next, the ceiling caves in?" She leaned back in her chair, staring up at the cracked plaster overhead, and for a fleeting moment considered simply napping right there. But the thought of unanswered questions and mounting responsibility tugged her back down, and she shoved her quill into yet another parchment.

The door creaked softly, followed by a gentle knock. "Headmistress Clawthorne?" came a careful voice. Fola, her basilisk assistant, poked her head in, her expression was bright as usual, but today, it was also tinged with hesitancy.

Eda groaned. "If this is another councilmember, tell them I'm already drowning in paperwork. Unless they've brought apples blood, I'm not interested."

Fola shook her head quickly, the corners of her mouth curving into a restrained smile. "Not this time. There are... people here who would like to see you."

Eda arched a brow, feathers twitching. "People, huh? That's vague. Students? Parents? A demon here to repossess my office furniture?"

Before Fola could answer, the door swung wider, and a familiar figure stepped inside. Raine Whispers entered first, their presence as steady and calming as a melody, offering a small smile as their eyes found hers. Although behind them came the real surprise. Lilith Clawthorne strode in, her travel-worn cloak still dusted from the road, posture straight and dignified despite her obvious fatigue. As well strapped to her back, wriggling with impossible energy, was none other than Hooty in his porta-house form.

"EDAAAA!" Hooty's booming voice rattled every shelf on the walls in her office, his eyes spiraling in excited circles. "Guess who's back?! My best friend Lulu! We're now reunited and it feels so Hoot!" He wriggled so hard the straps squealed, nearly toppling Lilith forward.

"HOOTISFER! Easy now," Lilith said, her voice gentle despite the strain of his wriggling. She reached back to steady the straps, her lips curving into a fond smile. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, truly. But perhaps you could keep it just a little more contained? We wouldn't want me toppling over before I've had the chance to properly greet my sister."

Hooty responded, "Okay! Hoot! Hoot!"

Eda was already on her feet, a grin breaking across her tired face, the edges frayed but genuine enough to cut through her weariness. "Well, look who finally decided to come crawling back from her fancy voyage. Lulu!" She crossed the room in a few strides, pulling her sister into a firm, slightly bone-crushing hug. "About time. Do you know how many texts I sent you? I thought you'd fallen into a sea monster's stomach or something."

Lilith let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding her face as she wrapped her arms around Eda in return. "Trust me, I read every single one. The signal was dreadful, but... I'm here now!" Her voice softened on the last words that came out of her, revealing just how much she had missed her.

Raine stepped aside with a gentle smile, watching the sisters with a warmth that filled the room. Hooty, of course, couldn't resist inserting himself into the moment, wriggling down as far as the harness allowed. "Aw, look at you two! Sisters reunited! Hug tighter! Tighter! Let the love SQUEEZE OUT!"

Both sisters snapped in unison: "HOOTY!"

The outburst was followed by laughter ; Eda's loud and raspy, Lilith's more reserved but no less heartfelt. For a moment, the office felt brighter, lighter, as though the clutter and the stress had been pushed to the edges by the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Although as the laughter settled, Lilith drew back slightly, studying her sister's face. She caught the way Eda's smile lingered just a moment too long, stretched wide but not reaching her tired eyes. Lilith's relief deepened into concern. Years of history told her that her sister was putting on a mask again, hiding something behind bravado and humor. She didn't press it — not yet — but the thought lodged firmly in her chest.

Eda, sensing the weight of her sister's gaze, gave her a playful nudge on the shoulder. "Hm? Something up sis?" She leaned back against her desk, folding her arms with mock nonchalance.

Lilith smiled faintly, but it didn't erase the feeling she was experiencing. She knew her sister well enough to see the truth. She simply responded, "Oh, nothing in particular. Come let's sit down and have ourselves some tea and apples blood, I have a lot to tell you about regarding my voyages with Amity"

Eda smirked at the idea, "Now you're speaking my language!"

A little while later, they gathered around a small circular table near the window. Raine sat with calm composure, hands folded lightly around their cup of tea, while Lilith settled with more formality, her posture upright but not rigid. Hooty, strapped snugly to her back, hummed softly in his portable house, as if even he was trying to respect the calmer atmosphere. Eda dropped into her chair with less grace, leaning an elbow onto the table and lifting her cup of apple blood like it was an anchor holding her steady.

"So," Eda began, cocking an eyebrow at her sister, "you didn't haul yourself all the way back from Titan-knows-where just to listen to me shuffle papers. What happened out there? Any breakthroughs?"

Lilith inhaled slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup as though steadying herself. "Amity and I traveled far beyond the western isles, further than I had anticipated. We combed through ruins, translated fragments of Star People records, even questioned a few of the oldest covenless witches in the villages we passed. For a while, it felt like we were on the verge of uncovering something significant. But—" She paused, her voice dipping with restrained disappointment. "Every lead eventually faded into nothing. Pieces of symbols without context. Structures that had been weathered down to rubble. It was as though their history is deliberately shrouded and scattered, just beyond our grasp."

Her eyes softened, though, when she looked back at Eda. "Still, I remain hopeful. Even if our search ended in a dead end this time, there's more to find. There always is."

Eda leaned back, scratching her temple as her gaze flicked across her sister's face. "Guess the universe isn't exactly handing out answers, huh? Typical." She hesitated before her eyes looked on with faint curiosity. "But if you're back here, then... where's Amity? Figured she'd be right beside you, nose-deep in whatever dusty tome you dragged home."

Lilith's expression warmed before answering, "She wanted to be, truly. But Alador needed her help back at BlightWorks. He's managing a new project, an ambitious one, from the sound of it. She felt it was her responsibility to assist him with both the planning and the upkeep of the workshop." She allowed herself a small, knowing smile. "She's growing into her own determined and practical person. You'd be proud."

"Ah yes, I remember the Blight twins told me about it." Eda nodded faintly, though her smirk lacked its usual bite. She lifted her cup and took a long swallow, avoiding her sister's eyes until Lilith's next question cut through the quiet.

"And you?" Lilith asked gently. "How have you been managing the university? How have you been holding up since... the last time we saw each other?"

The question landed like a stone in Eda's chest. For several seconds she said nothing, staring into the depths of her apple blood as though the swirling liquid might offer her an escape. Her jaw worked silently, and the corners of her mouth pulled tight in a way that betrayed more than words could.

Lilith immediately noticed. Her posture shifted, voice laced with regret. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have—"

"No," Eda interrupted, her voice rougher than she intended. She set her cup down with a soft clink, dragging in a breath before forcing the words out. "Don't apologize. You asked because you care. And maybe... maybe I need to stop pretending everything's fine."

Her hand brushed through her tangled hair, claws snagging on strands. "Truth is, Lilith... I feel like I'm failing. Every time I walk those halls, I see Luz in their determination, King in their stubbornness. It should inspire me, right? But instead it just—it just tears me apart inside. And now, with these glyphs acting up, I keep asking myself if I'm doing enough. If I'm protecting them the way I should. And the answer I keep hearing in my head is no."

Silence hung in the air. Raine reached across the table, not speaking, just resting their hand near hers in quiet support.

"You've already told me pieces of this," Raine said softly, their eyes never leaving hers. "And every time, I've wanted to remind you of the same thing. You're not failing, Eda. You're grieving. There's a difference. Grief doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't erase the good you've done for those students. They see you fighting for them, even when you feel like you're falling apart."

Eda's throat tightened. She wanted to scoff, crack a joke, anything to deflect, but the quiet conviction in Raine's tone pinned her in place.

Lilith exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging. Her voice, when it came, was softer but laced with her own weight of grief. "I miss them too, Eda. Every day since what happened, I do. You know... I've been trying to keep myself busy. Research, teaching, reorganizing the archives , anything to fill the hours of each day. But no matter how many books I sort or how many papers I write, there's always this... silence when I come home. It's the kind that settles in your chest and won't leave." She faltered, while her eyes began to further reflect the pain she felt. "None of it fills the emptiness of their absence, does it?"

Eda swallowed hard. "No. It doesn't."

Lilith's gaze drifted toward the window, her voice softened before continuing, "I know it's been hard on you too, Edalyn. Harder than you let on. You've always been the strong one, you keep everyone else together when they start to fall apart. But... it's alright to miss them and feel the hole they left behind."

Lilith looked at her sister then, her expression tender, while she placed a hand onto hers, "I try to imagine what they're doing out there. Luz, probably still finding trouble to fix with that stubborn optimism of hers yet using it to inspire others, and King... well, raising chaos wherever he goes." Her voice broke slightly as she smiled. "They're out there somewhere, Eda. And if I've learned anything from Luz, it's that distance doesn't dull love, it just... makes it grow quieter. Yet it's still there."

Raine's voice cut through the stillness, careful and deliberate. "Loss doesn't get patched over like a broken window. But you don't have to carry it by yourself. You have us. Me and Lilith. Even those kids who look up to you more than you realize. Let us share the weight, Eda. That's what family and leadership really mean."

Soon Hooty sprang up, "AaaAaand MeeEeeEEee Too!!!" which earned a chuckle from Lilith, "Ah, of course Hootsifer! We can't forget about you my avian friend!"

Lilith recomposed herself and nodded firmly, shortly returning her gaze back and steady on her sister. "You're allowed to stumble. You're allowed to feel the loss. What matters is how you rise from it, and who you let help you stand."

Eda finally let her shoulders drop, the tension easing as though some invisible thread had been loosened. For the first time in days, she didn't try to force a grin. She just let herself sit there, quiet, listening to the two people who knew her best remind her that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone in this as she feared.

The stillness lingered between the three of them, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle flames and the muffled sounds of students somewhere out in the courtyard. Eda kept her eyes down, her fingers wrapped tightly around her cup, as if afraid that loosening her grip might cause everything to slip away. Raine's hand remained nearby and steadied themselves to provide the sympathy and support Eda needed. While Lilith sat across from her with an expression caught between sympathy and determination. It was then that Hooty, who had been suspiciously quiet in his portable form, let out a low, squeaky hum. His beady eyes blinked from the circular door of the contraption, watching Eda's hunched shoulders, the lines etched into her face, the weariness that even her sharp tongue couldn't mask anymore. For once, the usually oblivious demon was perceptive and aware of what was going on. He saw his friend hurting, her usual confident composure drooping in a way that was more telling than any words.

Without warning, Hooty wriggled furiously against the straps that secured his house-shell to Lilith's back. "HOOT!" he chirped, the sound somewhere between a squeak and a trumpet blast. Before Lilith could even react, the straps popped open with a snap, and the owl demon flopped dramatically onto the floor with a thud.

"HOOTY?!" Lilith squawked, twisting in alarm.

"Wait, what are you—" Eda began, but it was too late.

Hooty shot forward like a worm cannon, his long, tubular body propelling him through the office door. Papers flew everywhere in his wake.

"OH NO, I'M LOOSE! FREEEEEEEDOM!" Hooty howled as he vanished into the hallway.

For a heartbeat, all three sat frozen in disbelief. Then, almost in unison, they scrambled to their feet.

"Not again—" Eda muttered, bolting after him.

"Hooty, stop this nonsense!" Lilith cried, lifting her skirts to run faster.

Raine sighed, though there was a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of their lips as they hurried alongside Eda. "Here we go..."

The halls of the university quickly erupted into chaos. Scrolls stacked on lecterns were devoured like noodles as Hooty barreled through the library wing, his long, feathered body slurping them up with gleeful abandon. Students yelped as the bizarre tube demon wriggled under their desks, lifting them up like they were riding waves in the middle of class. Faculty members jumped back in horror as Hooty burst through doorways with an ear-splitting, "HOOT HOOT! BELIEVE IN YOURSELVES, YOU LITTLE WIZARD BEANS!"

One student shrieked as their potion flask was swallowed whole, the fizzing concoction gurgling inside Hooty's body as he wiggled proudly. "IT TASTES LIKE AMBITION!" he declared.

Another laughed nervously as Hooty popped his head out of a trash bin, his beady eyes blinking at the startled onlookers. "DON'T GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS, EVEN IF THEY'RE WEIRD AND SLIMY, JUST LIKE ME!"

He launched himself upward, curling around a chandelier in the main hall. The fragile fixture groaned under his weight as students below scattered. "ATTENTION CLASS! TODAY'S LESSON IS... SPIN UNTIL YOU'RE HAPPY!" he bellowed, twirling the chandelier until both he and the crystals rattled in dizzying circles.

"Someone stop that thing!" a nervous professor shouted, clutching their stack of graded parchments.

But Hooty was already gone, shooting down the hall like a feathered cannonball. He crashed into the dueling chamber, where two nervous students were practicing spells. Before they could react, Hooty wrapped himself around both of them like a referee's sash. "REMEMBER, KIDS, THE REAL MAGIC WAS THE FRIENDS YOU MADE ALONG THE WAY!" The students stumbled, wide-eyed... then burst into helpless laughter as Hooty collapsed into a dramatic bow.

From there, he wriggled his way into the cafeteria. Plates clattered as he slurped up a loaf of bread and juggled it inside his body like a snake with too many snacks. "CARBS ARE COURAGE!" he hooted proudly. A group of younger witches, who had been sitting tensely over their textbooks, broke into laughter so loud it drowned out the clatter of the dishes.

By the time Eda, Raine, and Lilith caught up, the corridors were a storm of feathers, noise, and laughter. Hooty had managed to wedge himself halfway through a window, his head poking out into the courtyard while his body remained stretched across the hallway like a living rope. Students carefully climbed over him, giggling as he offered "PEP TALKS OF DESTINY!" to each one.

"You there—yes, with the nervous smile! YOUR FATE IS GLORIOUS!" he shouted at a bewildered second-year, who immediately flushed red and tried not to grin.

Lilith covered her face with her hand, muttering, "He's going to dismantle the entire school before we catch him..."

Eda raised her claws, ready to drag him back to his porta-house form, but Raine caught her wrist. "Wait," they murmured, tilting their head.

Eda frowned, about to argue until her gaze looked onwards across the hall.

At first, she expected to see fear, panic, and to a degree of annoyance. However instead, she saw her students doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from their eyes as Hooty blurted another absurd line. Older witches, who had been slumped under the weight of study and stress, were clapping and cheering for his antics. Even the professors, though exasperated, hid faint smiles behind their scowls.

One student waved their glyph-notebook in the air, shouting between giggles, "Do it again, Hooty!"

Another called out, "You're the weirdest motivational speaker I've ever met!"

Yet amid it all, Hooty puffed up proudly, basking in the ridiculous chaos he had created.

Eda's chest loosened, her sharp retort fading on her tongue. For the first time in weeks, the university wasn't weighed down by silence and worry. The air was full of life—messy, silly, joyful life.

Lilith caught up beside her, panting, but her sharp eyes were alight with realization. "Eda... look at them. They needed this. Joy, silliness, release in the middle of all their hardship." She adjusted her glasses, her voice softening. "It's what Luz and King carried with them everywhere they went. And it's something you can carry forward, too."

Eda stood frozen for a moment, her mouth half open as though to argue. But when she turned her gaze back to the students, she saw the way they embraced Hooty's antics with laughter instead of worry. The way their eyes sparkled with something she hadn't seen in a long time, she felt the words die on her tongue.

She let out a slow breath, lowering her clawed hand. "Hooty," she muttered, almost to herself, "you ridiculous, overgrown straw."

Raine's lips curved into a small smile. "Maybe ridiculous is exactly what they need."

For the first time in weeks, Eda didn't try to push back against it. She allowed the sound of laughter to wash over her, it was warm yet strange. It was like sunlight being able to pierce through clouds she'd thought would never part.

Later that evening, the university's bustling halls had grown quiet, the day's chaos ebbing into calm. The moonlight beamed softly through the tall windows of Eda's office, painting silver lines across the scattered papers and half-drunk mugs of apple blood. For once, the space was still. Eda leaned back in her chair, her boots tapping idly against the wood, while Lilith sat across from her, her posture straight but it was her expression that was unusually relaxed. Between them sat a plate of crumbs, evidence of the late-night snack Hooty had insisted on providing before he was finally coaxed back into his porta-house compartment.

"Feels strange, doesn't it?" Lilith said after a moment, her voice gentle, almost hesitant. "Sitting like this. After everything we've been through, this silence almost feels... foreign."

Eda smirked faintly, swirling the dregs of her drink. "Yeah, well, silence usually means Hooty's up to something. It's dangerous to trust it."

That earned a soft chuckle from Lilith, but her eyes lingered on her sister in a way that made Eda shift uncomfortably in her seat. For a while, they let the stillness settle between them, the crackle of a small enchanted lantern the only sound in the room. Then Lilith leaned forward, clasping her hands in her lap, her expression sobering.

"Edalyn," she began carefully, "I've been thinking a lot on the voyage. About... us. About the choices we've made."

Eda raised a brow. "That's a long list to unpack."

"It is," Lilith admitted. She took a deep breath. "I made mistakes, Edalyn. More than I care to count. Joining the Emperor's Coven, believing I was serving something greater when all I was doing was tightening chains. I thought discipline and rules could make me strong, but I was only hiding my fear of failure. And when I left to chase knowledge of the Star People, I thought maybe answers out there would undo the damage. But even in those expeditions... there were choices I regret."

Her voice caught slightly, and she paused, looking down at her clasped hands. "There's always weight to what we do. Some of it never leaves you. I know that better than anyone."

Eda listened, her usual sharp retorts absent. The honesty in Lilith's words, so carefully unwrapped, pressed against something in her chest.

"No leader ever has all the answers," Lilith continued softly. "What matters isn't perfection, or some impossible standard. What matters is leading in your own way. Yours has always been messy, unpredictable, but also brave. You've always fought with your heart first, and that's what made people follow you, even when you didn't see it yourself."

Eda huffed, though her grin wavered. "Heart first, huh? You mean recklessness."

Lilith's lips quirked. "Reckless, yes. But inspired. People need that. Your students need that."

The words sat heavy in the air, and for once Eda didn't have a quip ready. She soon redirected her gaze to the papers on her desk—attendance sheets, spellwork reports, and stacks of registration forms all waiting for her mark of approval. All of them represented the faces of students who looked to her now, who reminded her of Luz and King in ways that ached deeper than she ever admitted.

Lilith watched her carefully, then reached out, placing her hand over Eda's once more. "I don't want you to carry all of this weight alone, Edalyn anymore. I can't erase your doubts, but I can promise you this, you don't have to endure through them by yourself. And if you'll let me, I want to help you face them."

Eda's throat tightened, but she managed a small, wry smile. "You really picked up the whole 'wise sister' thing while you were gone, huh?"

"Not wise," Lilith corrected softly. "Just... a little more honest with myself than I used to be."

The lantern light flickered, and for a brief moment the years between them seemed to fade away. They were no longer the older sister chasing coven prestige and the younger one running from responsibility. They were just Lilith and Eda, two sisters who had hurt, healed, and found their way back to each other again.

As the night stretched on, their conversation grew lighter—childhood stories of stolen pies, botched spells, and the chaos they used to wreak together. They laughed at memories of squabbles over broom rides and whispered late-night schemes, though the laughter always circled back to something quieter, something heavier that lingered beneath the joy. The ache of absence was never far, and both of them knew it.

When the laughter softened to silence again, Lilith's tone shifted. She looked at Eda with a steadiness that spoke of something deliberate. "Edalyn... I think you're ready to face your doubts. But you don't have to do it alone. There are people who knew us before all of this, before covens and wars and... everything. Figures from our past who carry the kind of wisdom you might need now. At least two of them, I believe, can help you see what leadership really means."

Eda tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. "And who exactly are we talking about?"

Lilith only smiled faintly, her eyes glinting in the lantern light. "You'll see soon enough."

Eda leaned back in her chair, staring at her sister with suspicion and curiosity mingling in her gaze. But beneath it, a strange comfort bloomed. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was carrying the weight of the university, and the absence of Luz and King, entirely on her own.

Chapter Text

The Passing of a Torch

As the next day had arrived, the sun's light poured lazily through the mismatched windows of the Owl House, slanting in at odd angles as if the house itself couldn't quite decide how to greet the day. Dust motes swirled like tiny constellations in the beams, and the smell of toasted bread, sizzling eggs, and sharp herbal tea drifted through the kitchen. The kettle gave an occasional huff of steam, temperamental as always, but Raine had mastered its quirks after weeks of gentle coaxing. They hummed quietly to themself as they slid food onto two chipped plates, their movements precise, calm, and so practiced that the chaos of the Owl House seemed to bend a little around their presence.

Eda shuffled in a beat later, her mane of silver hair sticking out at every angle like a stormcloud that hadn't yet settled. She was already dressed, though her cloak hung lopsided and her eyes carried the heavy shadows of a sleepless night. She muttered something about "too early for civilization" as she plunked into a chair, immediately reaching for the nearest piece of toast.

"Look who finally decided to join the land of the living," Raine teased as they set down the plates, raising an eyebrow in quiet amusement. "For a second I thought you'd overslept on purpose... classic Clawthorne move."

Eda gave a dramatic sigh, crunching into her toast before it even touched her plate. "Puh-lease~ If I wanted to skip out, I'd do it with style. Fake an injury, maybe tell Lilith the Collector whisked me away for secret Titan business." She leaned back with a smirk, golden eyes glinting. "You know. Something with pizazz." She stopped for a brief moment before realizing, "Wait scratch that. The Collector is in space."

Raine chuckled, sliding into the chair across from her. "Mm. 'Pizazz.' Because nothing says reliable leadership like 'ditching' your responsibilities with a dramatic exit." They stole the corner of her toast in retaliation, popping it into their mouth with a satisfied grin.

"Hey!" Eda swatted at their hand but didn't really try to stop them. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "You're lucky you're cute. And for the record, you're the responsible one here. Somebody's gotta keep things interesting."

Raine tilted their head, playing along. "So I'm the boring one?"

"Not boring." Eda's voice softened as she reached across the table and tapped their hand. "Just... the one who reminds me to pay bills, eat something green once in a while, and not throw myself into twenty different disasters at once." She grinned, crooked but sincere. "Which is both annoying and—" she hesitated, eyes flickering briefly down—"weirdly comforting."

That broke through Raine's teasing façade. Their fingers laced through hers naturally, as though their hands belonged together. The quiet stretched between them, not empty, but filled with a warmth that hummed louder than words. Eda leaned across the rickety table, brushing her lips against theirs in a kiss that was gentle, tentative, but heavy with gratitude.

When they pulled back, Raine's voice was hushed. "You're nervous."

"Yeah." Eda twirled her fork through the eggs she had no appetite for, shoulders lifting in a half-shrug. "Today's a big deal. First Dad, then whoever else Lilith's got lined up. It's one thing to wrangle students and pretend I've got all the answers, but..." She trailed off, her bravado slipping like paint washed thin.

Raine's thumb brushed across her knuckles. "Eda. You don't have to have all the answers. You just have to be you. That's more than enough."

For a moment, Eda only looked at them, her usual quick-fire grin fighting against the tension in her chest. Finally, she smirked, crooked and self-deprecating. "Careful, Whispers. Keep being this supportive and I might start getting used to it."

"Perish the thought," Raine deadpanned, though their eyes were softened with affection. After a beat, their lips quirked into a smile. "So tell me—who's running the university while you're taking the day off? Don't tell me you just left it to chance."

Eda barked a laugh. "What do you take me for? I left Fola in charge, my secretary, remember? She's a paperwork wizard. And I told the professors to keep their students busy with exams and field lessons. The place won't burn down... probably." She leaned back in her chair, looking far too proud. "Trust me, the school's in good hands!"

Before Raine could retort, the sound of the back door creaking open carried through the crooked beams of the Owl House, followed by the steady clack of boots on the warped floorboards. Lilith's voice carried in, calm but touched with a quiet fondness that hadn't always been there. "I see the morning is already well underway. I hope I'm not interrupting."

Eda leaned back in her chair with a grin, lifting her mug of apple blood in greeting. "Interrupting? Nah. You're right on time, Lulu. Perfect entrance as always."

Lilith stepped inside, her posture still straight but her expression softer than it used to be. She adjusted the strap of her satchel before letting her eyes fall on Eda's plate and then to Raine tidying the table. "I should have known Raine would make sure you started the day with something more than apple blood."

"Hey, I can be responsible," Eda shot back, wagging her fork for emphasis before pointing it toward Raine. "But I'll admit, they do spoil me a little."

Raine chuckled as they folded the dish towel, glancing between the sisters. "A little? Don't sell yourself short, Eda. You're plenty spoiled."

Lilith's lips curved into a rare, genuine smile as she set her satchel on a chair. "Well, I'm glad. You deserve it." She gave Eda a meaningful look, the kind that carried years of unspoken apologies and reconciliations. "Both of you do."

Eda blinked, caught for a moment by the warmth in her sister's words. Then she smirked, trying to lighten the weight of it. "Careful, Lulu. Keep talking like that and I'll start thinking you've gone soft."

"Soft?" Lilith lifted her chin, but the gleam in her eyes betrayed her amusement. "No. I'd say... wise. Just like what you told me yesterday, remember?"

That earned a laugh from Eda, who clapped her hand against the table. "Wise and smug. Classic Lilith."

The three of them shared a quiet laugh together, the kind that flowed naturally after years of rough roads and mended bridges. It wrapped around the Owl House's crooked beams and cluttered corners like sunlight breaking into an old room, a reminder of just how far the sisters had come from the bitterness of the past. Even the house itself seemed to respond, the rafters creaking as though in approval.

Lilith drew closer to the table, trailing her hand along the worn wood as if grounding herself in the home she had once kept her distance from. "It's strange," she said softly. "How many mornings I missed here. For so long, I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away." Her eyes flicked toward Eda, and for a brief heartbeat, the weight of that regret pressed between them. Then she added, lighter this time, "But I can see now I was the one missing out."

Eda softened, quirking a smile but not brushing it off. "Better late than never, huh? Besides, it just means you get to appreciate my charm that much more now."

Raine chuckled, shaking their head as they set the last dish aside. "Charm? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Hey!" Eda pretended to scowl, but her grin betrayed her. "Careful, songbird, or I'll start thinking you're teaming up with Lulu against me."

Lilith raised an eyebrow in mock seriousness. "What a terrifying prospect—me and Raine working together. You'd never stand a chance, Edalyn."

The room filled with laughter again, but this time it wasn't just relief. It was also of genuine ease, the kind born from shared healing and a love that no longer needed to hide behind sharp words.

Draining the last of her apple blood, Eda rose with a stretch and a loud scrape of her chair against the floor. She leaned down to brush one last kiss against Raine's lips, slow and lingering, before pulling back with her familiar smirk. "Alright, Lulu. Ready when you are."

Lilith gave a small nod, shouldering her satchel again. "Always."

Raine stood watching them by the table, arms crossed loosely, a fond smile tugging at their lips. "Be safe, you two. And Eda... don't forget to come back. You've got people here who count on you."

The words carried more weight than just casual worry, and Eda felt it. She stayed just a bit longer on the doorway, with her one hand braced against the frame, long enough to toss a wink over her back. "Relax, songbird. I'll be back before you know it. Can't have you getting too lonely without me."

Raine laughed softly, shaking their head as the sisters stepped out together. As the door shut behind them, the Owl House seemed to sigh in the quiet, the warmth of the morning lingering like a promise.

A while later; the two sisters would arrive at the palistrom forest after landing shortly. The forest greeted them with the gentle rustle of its branches, sunlight filtering through the canopy in beams that painted shifting patterns across the forest floor. Eda and Lilith walked side by side, the earthy scent of resin and fresh woodchips growing stronger as they neared Dell's workshop. The little structure, nestled between the trees as if it had grown there naturally, glowed with warm light from its wide windows. The soft, rhythmic sound of carving carried on the wind, with each tap and scrape as steady as the beat of drums.

Inside, Dell sat at his workbench, his posture hunched yet steady, his hands moving with practiced grace. A block of palistrom wood rested in front of him, glowing faintly under his touch. Beside him, a young witch sat nervously with their own block, biting their lip as they tried to mimic his motions.

"Easy now," Dell said, his voice low and calm, like leaves rustling in the breeze. "You don't force a palisman into the world. You listen to it and guide it. It already knows what it wants to be, you just have to let it speak so it can show you."

The wood in the child's hand pulsed faintly with magic, as if affirming his words. The child's shoulders relaxed, their movements gentling, and slowly the block of wood began to take on hints of shape.

"Looks like he hasn't aged a day," Eda muttered, though her voice carried a mixture of fondness and guilt.

Lilith's expression softened as well. "No... he hasn't. He's still the same, even if we've both gone wandering in different directions."

Dell finally glanced up, as if sensing their presence, and his eyes lit with warmth. "Well I'll be, if it isn't my two runaway apprentices." He said, setting the block of wood down carefully on the bench. His smile deepened the creases around his eyes.

Lilith stepped forward first, smoothing down her robes in a way that betrayed both her nerves and her need to make a good impression. "Father. It's... good to see you."

Eda followed, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, her grin not nearly enough to mask the flicker of guilt beneath it. "Hey, old man. Hope we're not interrupting."

Dell waved the concern away with a chuckle, setting down his knife. "Nonsense. You've never been an interruption. Come here, both of you."

The young witch glanced between them in wide-eyed awe before Dell gently dismissed her with a kind word of encouragement to keep practicing outside. When the girl scurried out, Dell rose slowly to his feet. Eda and Lilith stepped forward, and for a heartbeat the years of distance seemed to collapse into nothing as he drew them both into a rough, sawdust-scented hug.

Eda leaned into it more than she expected, muttering, "Sorry it's been so long, Pops. Running a whole university doesn't leave a lot of time for family visits."

"And I've been halfway beyond the Isles on one expedition after another," Lilith added, her voice touched with regret. "I should have made time sooner."

Dell shook his head, pulling back just enough to look at them. "Bah. Time's a slippery thing. What matters is you're here now. And from the looks of it, you've both been carrying heavier burdens than the palistrom logs I used to carry." His gaze lingered on Eda knowingly, though his tone remained kind.

The weight in Eda's chest eased just a little at that. Still, her brow straightened as she glanced toward his workbench. "So... How do you do it? Stay so steady? These kids look at me like I've got all the answers, but most of the time I'm... winging it."

Dell picked up the block of wood again, turning it over in his hands. "Winging it isn't such a bad thing, Eda. You always had your own rhythm, your own way of finding the truth in chaos. Maybe that's what your students need... not someone trying to fit a mold, but someone who'll let them grow into their own shapes." He added, "Although, you can think of it like this... It's like carving a palisman. You can't force the wood into something it doesn't want to be. If you push too hard, it breaks. But if you listen to it and you give it room to show you what it wants, you'll find the shape that was meant to be there all along." He looked up at her then, his gaze steady. "Leadership isn't also about control. It's about listening, guiding, and trusting the grain of those you lead."

Lilith nodded, her voice quiet but supportive. "He's right, Eda. You don't have to be the perfect image of what you think a headmaster should be. You just need to be you. That's what's always made you... well, you."

For once, Eda didn't deflect with a quip. She sat with the words, the weight of them settling deep. A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips, soft and almost shy. "Guess I've got a lot to learn about listening."

Dell's hand rested gently on her shoulder. "We all do. Although I do believe that you'll figure it out. I know you will because you've always had a way to figure out things."

The silence between them that followed wasn't awkward but it instead was warm. It was filled with the smell of wood shavings and the sound of the forest outside. For a moment, it was just family, together in a place that had once felt so fractured.

When the time came to leave, Dell walked them to the edge of the workshop clearing. Eda and Lilith unfurled their harpy wings, feathers glinting as the last of the morning light caught them. Eda glanced back, her grin a little wobbly. "Thanks, Pops. For the lesson. For... everything."

Dell only nodded, his eyes shining with pride as he stepped back. "Go on, then. The world won't wait for you, and neither will your students. But remember, whatever shape you take, it's yours. I'm proud of you both."

Eda and Lilith stood, reluctant but knowing they had to go. They hugged their father once more, lingering a little longer this time.

"Don't wait so long next time," Dell murmured, his voice thick.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Eda replied, her grin back in place but her eyes suspiciously bright.

Together, the sisters stepped outside, shifting into their harpy forms with a rush of wings. As they lifted into the air, Dell stood in the doorway, shading his eyes to watch them go. His daughters cut sharp, graceful silhouettes against the fading sky, their wings catching the last of the sunlight.

Dell smiled, pride swelling in his chest. "That's my girls," he whispered to himself, before turning back to his workshop, the rhythm of his carving resuming like the steady heartbeat of the forest.

Far and elsewhere; The University of Wild Magic was quieter than usual with Eda gone for the day, but the silence in the Headmaster's office was broken only by the soft scrape of quills and the rustle of parchment. Fola the Basilisk sat at Eda's desk, her long tail curled neatly around the chair's legs as she carefully worked through the piles of paperwork stacked high before her. A faint furrow wrinkled her brow as she sorted one set of documents from another, murmuring under her breath as though organizing her own thoughts. One folder contained applications for assistants to support the professors, another detailed the new semester's budget allocations, while a third outlined the latest supply order; herbs, potions, and, much to her faint exasperation, another full crate of manticore stingers.

"Honestly," Fola muttered, pausing to adjust her glasses. "Who in their right mind needs this many manticore stingers in one semester?" She shook her head, but despite her complaint, she signed off the requisition with neat, precise strokes of the quill. Her work was steady, methodical, and above all responsible—yet with every page she processed, she gained a sharper appreciation for the sheer volume of responsibilities Eda carried on her shoulders daily. For all the Wild Witch's laid-back attitude and colorful eccentricities, this was no small task.

Fola leaned back slightly, her forked tongue flicking thoughtfully. "So this is what she deals with. No wonder she gets that faraway look sometimes. The paperwork alone could turn anyone's hair grey!" Despite her words, there was no malice but only respect, and an emerging empathy. She wasn't Eda Clawthorne, but she could at least keep the gears turning while her headmaster took the time she needed.

Her quill scratched another approving note across an applicant form when the door to the office suddenly creaked open. Two staff members stepped in—Professor Selene Moongale, her robes fluttering as though she had run across the campus, and Professor Braska Thornhelm, his towering frame filling much of the doorway. Both carried anxious looks that immediately caught Fola's attention.

"Where's Eda?" Selene asked, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "We need her—there's something happening in the west wing."

Fola set her quill down carefully and folded her hands over the desk, projecting calm despite the rising concern in the room. "Headmaster Clawthorne is away for the day. I've been asked to step in and keep things in order while she's gone. What's the situation?"

Braska stepped forward, his gravelly voice low but urgent. "It's the mural. The glyphs acting up again, more violently than before. Several staff are already there, trying to contain it, but it's not holding."

Fola's eyes narrowed slightly, her tail twitching behind her. "Show me."

Moments later, Fola strode through the corridors of the university with Selene and Braska at her side. The usual warmth of the campus, student chatter, drifting magical sparks, and the faint scent of herbs from the alchemy labs, had been replaced by a heavy tension. As they neared the west wing, the air grew hotter, and a low hum reverberated through the stone walls like a living heartbeat.

When they reached the hall, the sight stopped even Fola in her tracks. The sprawling mural etched into the wall, lines of glyphs carefully preserved for years, was alive with violent motion. The symbols flared and twisted, arcs of light sparking as if the magic itself was rebelling against its confinement. A glowing barrier shimmered across the hall, erected by faculty members in a desperate attempt to contain the surge.

On the other side, Viney stood at the forefront, her staff braced as green healing runes spilled across the floor in an effort to dampen the magical shockwaves. Emira and Edric flanked her, casting synchronized abomination shields that flickered with strain. Students huddled behind professors, their eyes wide with fear, the usual light of curiosity and excitement replaced with dread.

"Hold steady!" Viney shouted, sweat beading at her brow. "Don't let the barrier slip!"

The glyphs pulsed once, twice—and then erupted outward with a violent blast of heat. The barrier shattered like glass, shards of energy scattering into the air as flames erupted from the mural, crawling hungrily across the floor and licking up the walls. Screams rang through the hall, and the students scrambled back instantly.

Fola's instincts snapped to attention. She darted forward, her voice sharp but controlled. "Everyone, listen! Faculty, begin evacuation protocols immediately. Get the students out—now!"

Selene and Braska both gave curt nods before turning to rally the panicked crowd, guiding them toward the exits with firm but steady voices. Emira and Edric conjured abomination hands to sweep debris aside, clearing the path as students began to pour out of the hall.

Meanwhile, Fola planted herself at the front, her sharp eyes fixed on the blazing glyphs. For all her composure, she felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her. The fire, the chaos, and the fear of it all but she refused to let it break her. She tapped her claw against a communicator crystal at her belt, activating the spell-link to Eda.

"Headmaster," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the roaring flames behind her. "It's Fola. We have a situation. The glyph mural in the west wing has destabilized, and containment has failed. Evacuations are underway, but we need you here." The crystal flickered with static as the magical connection wavered against the chaotic energy around her. Fola clenched her jaw, as she could only hope the message got through.

Even as uncertainty lingered, Fola stood her ground at the front of the storm. She was no longer just a caretaker of papers and schedules, but a protector of the university itself.

Meanwhile; the journey to the rural outskirts of the Boiling Isles took Eda and Lilith through winding trails of mossy rock and tangled roots. Nestled at its heart stood a humble cottage, its stone walls partially covered in ivy and its roof crowned with moss and creeping vines. Gardens of vibrant flora stretched in every direction; rows of snapping snapdragons, clusters of glowing night-bloom lilies, and hedges trimmed into peculiar, lopsided shapes that could only have been the handiwork of someone who loved gardening more than symmetry. Birds flitted between branches overhead, their calls mingling with the occasional chirp of magical creatures darting between stalks and leaves. A winding path of uneven cobblestones led up to the cottage's door, nearly hidden beneath low-hanging branches and creeping tendrils of vine. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and pollen, touched with the sweetness of honeyed nectar from blossoms opening wide to the late morning sun. A pair of pumpkin-sized glowbugs hovered lazily above the garden, their bodies casting soft golden light on the patches of shaded soil where sprouts pushed stubbornly through. Near the fence line, a family of puffball creatures tumbled between stalks of herbs, squeaking with delight as though they had made the garden their personal playground. The flowers themselves seemed to intertwine with the magic around them; Pale stalks of whisper-reeds swayed without any breeze, carrying faint echoes of past voices, while a cluster of thorn-roses bloomed and retracted in rhythm like lungs drawing breath. Strange fruit dangled from twisting branches: some pulsed faintly with bioluminescence, others gave off sparks when brushed by a wing or paw. It was an unruly abundance, a wild little paradise that bore none of the rigid orderliness of a scholar's greenhouse. Instead, every patch and planter spoke of someone who planted not with a blueprint, but with affection, patience, and curiosity.

Lilith let out a soft hum of admiration as she adjusted her cloak. "Well, I must say... Principal Bump certainly found himself quite the peaceful retirement."

Eda smirked, folding her arms as she eyed a gnome wobbling across the path with a watering can. "Figures. After decades of wrangling Hexside kids, I'd want to spend the rest of my life talking to plants, too."

Before she could say more, the front door creaked open, and a familiar figure emerged. Principal Hieronymus Bump—though now simply "Bump"—looked older, his once perfectly groomed hair is now flecked with gray streaks and his posture is now slightly stooped from years of bending over scrolls and spellwork. Yet his good eye still sparkled with the same sharp intelligence and kind patience that had guided countless students under his tenure. He leaned on a wooden staff that held his palisman Frewin, smiling broadly as he spotted the sisters.

"Well, if it isn't my two most unpredictable alumni," Bump said warmly, spreading his arms. "Eda and Lilith Clawthorne. To what do I owe this honor?"

Eda chuckled, scratching the back of her head. "Thought we'd drop in on an old teacher. Heard you've been trading detention slips for daffodils."

Lilith stepped forward, her voice polite but full of genuine affection. "It's good to see you again, Principal Bump."

Bump waved a hand dismissively. "Please, Lilith—just 'Bump' will do. Retirement strips you of many things, titles included!" He chuckled, motioning them inside. "Come, come. My home is always open to former students... especially ones I suspected would never darken my doorstep again!"

Inside, the cottage was as cluttered as the garden outside; books stacked precariously high on sagging shelves, some volumes so worn their spines had long since given way, leaving loose pages poking out at odd angles. Several tomes hovered gently in midair, as though enchanted to never quite find their place, bumping softly into rafters before floating back down to the nearest stack. Potions of every hue lined the walls on crooked shelves, some bubbling faintly, others glowing with the soft bioluminescence of reagents left to steep. The aromas mingled in the air; herbal sharpness from dried bundles of basilisk weed hanging over the window, the sharp tang of sulfur from a flask on the counter, and the comforting warmth of cinnamon tea simmering in a kettle above the hearth.

The floor was equally chaotic. Gardening tools; rusty trowels, pruning shears, and coils of vine rope. They were scattered across mismatched rugs that looked as though they had once belonged in Hexside's classrooms, now faded and threadbare. A half-finished birdhouse sat on one stool, its roof lopsided but painted with surprising care. A nearby table was covered with parchment sheets filled with scribbled notes, diagrams of magical flora, and pressed flowers preserved between panes of glass. The entire room hummed with quiet activity, as though the walls themselves were alive with the remnants of spells once practiced here.

Lilith paused at the threshold, her eyes darting across the mess with a mixture of wonder and apprehension. "It seems Principal—ah, Bump—hasn't lost his tendency for... overextension," she murmured, delicately stepping around a cluster of enchanted pots that shuffled themselves toward the sunlight streaming through the window.

Eda let out a bark of laughter, throwing herself into a chair that gave a loud creak of protest. "Looks like his brain exploded all over the place and decided to settle down. Kind of cozy, though, in a weird, clutter-goblin kind of way."

Bump, seemingly unfazed by the state of his cottage, moved with practiced ease through the chaos, plucking three mismatched mugs from a shelf without so much as glancing at the stack threatening to topple beside it. He poured the steaming tea, the scent of cinnamon and roasted chicory filling the air as he handed one mug to each of his guests. "You'll have to forgive the state of things," he said warmly. "The trouble with retiring is that one suddenly has the time to indulge every curiosity that was put aside during one's career. I may have... overindulged."

Lilith accepted her cup with both hands, smiling politely as she peered at the floating tomes. "I rather think it suits you," she admitted. "There's a kind of... organic order in the chaos. A reflection of all the lives you've touched, perhaps."

Eda smirked over the rim of her mug. "Spoken like someone who used to alphabetize her scrolls by category, subcategory, and ink color."

Lilith rolled her eyes but did not rise to the bait, her attention caught instead by a small collection of palisman carvings arranged neatly on a shelf by the window. Though clearly not alive, they were shaped into delicate figures; an owl mid-flight, a fox crouched in motion, and a tiny bat curled into itself like a leaf. She reached out and traced the edge of one with her finger, her expression softening.

Meanwhile, Eda leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs toward the hearth. The firelight painted her hair with a faint glow, and for the first time in days, her shoulders seemed to ease. The clutter, the warmth, the way the cottage smelled of both dust and life—it all felt strangely grounding. Like stepping back into the past, where the only problems she had were detention slips and half-finished pranks.

Bump settled into a chair opposite them, his staff resting across his knees. He took a slow sip of his tea, eyes twinkling as he watched the sisters take in his space. "Strange, isn't it? How places change with time. This little cottage once held nothing but empty shelves. Now it holds pieces of my entire life. I suppose that's what happens when you've been given the gift of time."

Eda glanced around, her crooked smile returning. "Yeah, well, I think 'gift of time' just means you've had enough years to make a colossal mess. Not that I'm complaining, it feels... homey."

Lilith nodded softly, and for once there was no edge to her tone. "Yes. Homey." She hesitated, then added with a glance toward her sister, "And perhaps just what we both needed to step into, today."

They settled around a modest wooden table, mugs of steaming tea in hand, when Bump leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Now then. I've heard the news, Eda. Headmaster of the University of Wild Magic! I could hardly believe it when the letters came through. To think... My most rebellious student is now shaping the minds of the next generation." His eyes gleamed with pride. "Truly, nothing could please me more. How's everything going out for you?"

Eda managed a crooked grin, though she swirled the tea in her mug without meeting his eyes. "Appreciate the vote of confidence, Bump. But it's not all sunshine and pixie dust. There's more paperwork than wild magic. And half the time I feel like I'm just keeping the walls from falling down around everyone's ears."

Lilith gave her a sidelong glance but stayed quiet, sipping her tea. Bump's smile softened, his voice gentling. "I understand that struggle more than most. Running Hexside was no small task either. There were days I thought I had failed every student under my care. Days when the weight of responsibility threatened to bury me alive!"

Eda finally looked up, and Bump held her gaze. "But what truly burdened you, Eda, isn't just the role. It's the absence you carry with you." His words were gentle, not accusatory, but they pierced straight through her defenses. "I can see it in the way you sit, the way you talk about your work. You are trying to fill the empty spaces Luz and King left behind. Treating every student as though they are a stand-in for them."

Eda flinched, her shoulders tightening. "I... I just don't want to let them down," she admitted quietly. "They're out there somewhere, and if I'm not doing right by the kids here, then what was the point of everything Luz fought for? Everything King dreamed of?"

Bump leaned forward, resting his staff across his knees. "You cannot replace Luz and King, Eda. And your students don't need you to. What they need is what Luz and King themselves wanted most: freedom, trust, and care. Not overprotection. Not the weight of grief pressing down on their shoulders."

The words hung heavy in the air. Lilith placed her hand gently on Eda's arm, silent support in her touch. Eda exhaled slowly, her eyes distant. The truth was difficult to swallow, but the realization began to settle in her chest like a spark catching flame.

Bump smiled, small and fatherly. "Leadership isn't about forcing others into the mold of what you've lost. It's about guiding them to grow into who they're meant to be. Sometimes that means stepping back, listening, and letting them surprise you. Much like gardening, in fact." He gestured toward the window where vines swayed in the wind. "You can't make a flower bloom by pulling on it. You can only nurture it, give it the space and care it needs, and trust it to blossom in its own time."

For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the hearth. Then Eda let out a low laugh, shaking her head. "You always did have a way of sneaking in the cheesy metaphors, Bump. But... you're right. Maybe I've been trying too hard to control things that were never mine to control."

They eventually rose, and Bump guided them back outside into the garden. The late afternoon sun bathed the clearing in a golden light, the plants shimmering faintly with lingering magic. "Thank you for visiting an old man in his solitude," Bump said sincerely, clasping his hands. "You've both grown so much. My door—and my garden—are always open to you."

Eda smiled faintly, scratching her head. "And thanks for knocking some sense into me. Guess I needed the reminder."

Before Bump could reply, Lilith suddenly pointed toward the horizon. "Eda... look."

The sisters followed her gaze. Far in the distance, towering above the landscape, the massive palistrom tree of the University of Wild Magic loomed like a sentinel. But something was wrong. A sickly green flame crawled along one side of the trunk, flickering and spreading like rot. Even from so far away, the unnatural glow was unmistakable.

At that exact moment, a sharp caw rang from Eda's satchel. She pulled out her Raven phone, Fola's voice crackled through, urgent and taut with strain.

"Headmaster! The glyph mural's broken containment! the west wing's on fire, and the flames are spreading through the University! Evacuations are underway, but we need you. Now!"

Eda's eyes widened. She snapped the phone shut, wings already itching to sprout. "Lilith, we've gotta move!"

She turned to Bump, opening her mouth to say more, but he raised a hand, smiling softly. "Go, Eda. Your University needs you. I may be too old to fight at your side, but I will root for you from afar. Remember what we spoke of today; lead with trust, not fear."

Something in Eda's chest lightened. For the first time in weeks, she felt a genuine smile stretch across her face. "Thanks, Bump. Really."

With that, feathers sprouted as both sisters transformed into their harpy forms, wings spreading wide. With one last nod to their former principal, they took to the skies, the wind carrying them swiftly toward the University as Bump watched from his garden below, pride warming his features.

Chapter Text

Breaking Point

The wind howled around them as Eda and Lilith, both in their harpy forms, descended through the smoke-filled skies above the University of Wild Magic. From a distance, the campus no longer looked like the shining beacon of unorthodox education it once was but now it looked like a battlefield. Billowing columns of dark smoke spiraled upward from the west wing, blotting out the pale glow of the Isles' sky. The air shimmered with unstable magic, thick with the acrid scent of burning glyphs and singed parchment. Alarm spells echoed through the air like warped, overlapping chimes which were too loud, too panicked, and too alive.

Eda's wings beat hard as she angled downward, her eyes narrowing. "Titan's bones," she muttered under her breath. "What in the Isles happened here?"

Lilith flew beside her, wings slicing through the haze. "It's worse than I imagined," she replied, her tone grim but controlled. "The entire west wing is being consumed!"

Eda landed hard in the courtyard, her taloned feet cracking the stone beneath her, wings folding back as her eyes darted toward the source of the green glow bleeding out from the west hall. Lilith touched down beside her, feathers singed by drifting sparks, scanning the horizon with practiced precision. The smell of burning parchment, potion ingredients, and charred wood filled the air—a stinging mix that burned the back of their throats. The flames themselves were unnatural, swirling in eerie hues of emerald and turquoise, twisting up the walls like serpents made of living ink. They consumed the murals that once celebrated the founding of the University, glyphs peeling off the surfaces and scattering into the air as erratic bursts of light. Magical constructs such as animated brooms and cleaning sprites ran amok, glitching under the unstable glyph surge. As they collided into each other or collapsed in heaps of magical residue.

They moved quickly toward the western courtyard where the main effort was concentrated. There, a makeshift coordination zone had been established, run by professors and staff who worked together to control the disaster. Edric Blight darted across the field, barking orders to a pack of summoned beasts—a pair of griffons and a horned hare—who carried injured students to safety. Nearby, Emira Blight and Viney worked tirelessly, healing students and staff scorched by the green fire. Their magic glowed warm and pink, weaving through the air like ribbons of hope amidst the chaos.

"Careful with those burns!" Emira shouted to Viney, as the latter knelt beside a trembling witch whose cloak was half-burned. "This isn't normal fire!"

"I know!" Viney hissed through gritted teeth, pouring more energy into her salve spell. "It's fighting back!" She yelled.

A few yards away, Professor Liora Ashwing worked in perfect synchronization, her abomination magic coalescing into towering golems of gleaming purple ooze. The golems carried injured students with gentle precision, their amorphous forms shielding groups from falling debris. Professor Braska Thornhelm, sweat streaking his brow, reinforced the collapsing archways with conjured stone supports, every gesture measured yet forceful.

"Hold the west column!" Braska bellowed, his voice echoing above the din. "If that hallway goes, so does the entire wing!"

Professor Thistlewick Grimsbane, muttering to himself, hurled potion after potion into the fire. Each one burst into clouds of blue vapor, momentarily suppressing the flames before they flared up again, more furious than before. "Confounded things have minds of their own!" he croaked, shaking another vial. "I brewed these to control growth, not invite it!"

In the courtyard's far corner, Selene Moongale stood amidst the chaos, silver light radiating from her palms as she cast containment wards. They were circles of moonlight that flitted and pulsed, holding back small pockets of the spreading blaze. Her hair whipped in the wind, face set in stoic concentration. Nearby, Callum Bloodbranch pointed his finger high which caused illusion magic to swirl around him like liquid glass. He conjured mirror-shields to reflect the bursts of glyph energy that periodically erupted from the walls, redirecting the surges into the air where they burst harmlessly into spark showers.

Among the chaos, Hunter dashed between groups with focused determination, using his palisman magic to open small, temporary portals that transported students to the outer courtyards. His uniform was torn, while ash streaked across his face, but his movements remained swift and deliberate. "Move! Keep the path clear!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but steady.

In the thick of it all stood Fola, anxiously directed the flow of people escaping from the flames at the university. She carried a clipboard charred at the edges, barking orders to staff through the chaos with remarkable authority. Beside her, Raine stood with their staff in hand, channeling soothing soundwaves into the air. They were gentle, harmonic tones that cut through and quelled the panic and the terrified murmurs of the crowd.

Eda's heart pounded in her chest. The university, the culmination of all her efforts to build a place where wild magic could thrive, was unraveling before her eyes.

Before she could even say a word, a thunderous boom shook the ground. The west hall erupted in a blast of emerald light, sending shockwaves across the courtyard. A cluster of students screamed as a flare of glyph energy spiraled toward them. Without thinking, Eda threw herself forward, her wings outstretched, and her talons dug into the ground as she summoned a wild wave of magic. A burst of crackling orange light erupted from her staff, forming a protective barrier just in time to shield the students from the explosion. The impact rattled her bones, heat searing her feathers, but the shield held firm.

As the light dimmed, Eda lowered her wings and turned to the students, who looked at her with trembling gratitude. "Go!" she shouted, voice commanding yet reassuring. "Find Fola and follow her to the outer grounds! Don't stop for anything!"

The students nodded and hurried away. Lilith stepped up beside her, eyes narrowed. "The west hall's destabilizing. We don't have much time before it spreads all over the school."

Eda's jaw tightened as she looked toward the flames clawing higher into the sky. The green inferno reflected in her eyes like living venom. For a heartbeat, the chaos around her blurred—the shouting, the heat, the fear—and all she could see was her university, her home, being devoured by something unnatural. She clenched her fist tighter, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Not today," she muttered, feathers bristling as she took a determined step forward. "Nobody burns down my school."

"Headmaster!" Fola began quickly, her voice trembling slightly beneath the strain, "the situation's getting worse by the minute."

Eda's eyes narrowed. "How bad are we talking?"

"The glyph mural in the west wing—" Fola gestured toward the still-glowing corridor behind her, "—it exploded after a surge in magical energy readings. It's like something inside it woke up. The glyphs aren't behaving like inert symbols anymore, they're reacting, almost adapting."

Lilith stepped closer, feathers bristling. "Adapting? What do you mean by that?"

"I'm not too sure exactly but I might have a theory," Fola said quickly, shaking her head. "Something might be controlling or channeling through them. Every spell we've used to contain the fire—it just... feeds off it. It's absorbing the energy, converting containment magic into more fuel. The fire's growing faster the more we fight it."

Eda's eyes flicked toward the collapsing west hall. "So the harder you try to control it, the stronger it gets."

"Exactly," Fola said, her voice heavy with guilt. "We're running out of viable options."

The sound of the flames were hauntingly rhythmic, though the most terrifying part about it was how their noise almost sounded like hissful breath. Eda's mind spun as she turned toward the others, just as a burst of commotion broke through the haze.

"Headmaster Clawthorne!" Braska called out first, his voice booming above the noise. "The western barrier's giving out! The structural wards can't hold much longer!"

Emira cut in sharply, "We've been healing burns and smoke injuries non-stop. If the fire reaches the alchemy lab, the potions could go volatile!"

Callum's illusory magic flickered as he approached. "We've tried mirror shields, reflection wards, even temporal loops—but the glyphs adapt! It's like fighting fog!"

Selene's tone was calm but laced with urgency. "Containment circles are failing one by one. If the corruption spreads to the lunar atrium, we'll lose more than just walls—we'll lose the ley lines feeding the university."

"Headmaster," Thistlewick interjected, adjusting his cracked goggles, "I've used every potion I can concoct in ten minutes and they're barely holding! We need direction before this entire place becomes one big potion kettle!"

The professors surrounded Eda and Lilith, their voices rising and overlapping, as they were each with a problem, each demanding an answer. Selene Moongale spoke next, her tone calm but urgent: "If we can't contain the flames magically, we might have to draw it away. Perhaps through a transference spell?"

"That's risky," countered Thistlewick Grimsbane, clutching his potion satchel. "We'd need a stable conduit or we'll just spread the fire further!"

Their words blended into one another; It soon became a storm of questions, warnings, and conflicting strategies.

"Should we reroute the containment wards?"
"Do we have enough magical dampeners?"
"What if the glyphs spread to the library's archives?"
"We need a decision, Headmaster!"

Each question struck Eda like a blow. She tried to listen, tried to think, but the roar of the flames and the press of urgency blurred everything into noise. Her claws flexed against her staff, and knuckles whitening. Her heart pounded faster, while her breath quickened as she turned from one frantic face to another.

"I—uh—okay, everyone, just—hold on—" Eda tried to speak, but her voice cracked. The questions didn't stop.

"What about the potion stores?"
"Can we reinforce the containment barrier?"
"Should we initiate a campus-wide lockdown?"

"Eda," Raine said softly, stepping closer. Their voice was gentle but firm, a lifeline through the chaos.

Lilith placed a steadying hand on her sister's shoulder. "They're looking to you, Edalyn," she murmured. "You don't have to have every answer right now."

Eda's breath was soon caught instantly. Around her, flames rippled along the walls like living veins of green fire, writhing and coiling toward the upper canopy of the mighty tree. Every burst of magic only made them pulse brighter. The professors kept talking, their words blending together. It all soon appeared as too many, too loud, and too fast for her to keep up. For a moment, the Owl Lady, the chaos witch who had faced down emperors and collectors, just... froze.

Lilith squeezed her shoulder again. "Eda, hey, look at me." But her voice sounded far away, drowned beneath the thunder in Eda's mind.

And then, like a whisper breaking through a storm, she heard her father's voice.

"It's like carving a palisman," Dell murmured in her memory, his tone soft and patient, the way he'd sounded when she was young. She could almost see his hands—steady, calloused, guiding hers along the grain of wood. "You can't force the wood into something it doesn't want to be. If you push too hard, it breaks. But if you listen, if you give it room to show you what it wants, you'll find the shape that was meant to be there all along. Leadership isn't also about control. It's about listening, guiding, and trusting the grain of those you lead."

The words wrapped around her like a balm. The flames seemed to dim for just a second, the noise fading into a low hum. She took a trembling breath.

Then came another voice, this voice was more gentle and aged with wisdom. It was Bump's voice that began to close in her mind.

"Leadership isn't about forcing others into the mold of what you've lost," he had told her not long ago, standing by his garden as the wind played through the leaves. "It's about guiding them to grow into who they're meant to be. Sometimes that means stepping back, listening, and letting them surprise you."

In her mind, she saw Bump's garden again. His garden being lush and chaotic, yet thriving. Not because it was ordered, but because it was alive. As it showed that Bump trusted it to find its own rhythm.

Eda blinked while the panic in her chest began to ease. Her claws slowly retracted, feathers smoothing. She took in the scene anew—the professors weren't helpless, they were trying. Hunter was teleporting students two at a time through flickering sigils. Raine's soothing music spells rippled through the chaos, calming terrified crowds. Viney and Emira were already coordinating triage while Braska reinforced collapsing supports.

They were listening to her, even when she hadn't spoken yet. They were acting because she'd inspired them to act.

Eda straightened, breathing deep through the smoke, the faintest smirk curling on her lips. "Alright," she said, voice low but steady. "No more running in circles."

Lilith stepped beside her, eyes steady. "You've got that look again," she said softly, the corners of her mouth twitching. "The one that usually precedes either brilliance or utter chaos."

Eda cracked her neck, her wild grin returning, tempered by something steadier and full of resolve. "Let's hope it's the first one this time."

For the first time since arriving, Eda looked at the disaster not with fear but with clarity. The chaos wasn't something to control. It was something to guide.

She spread her wings slightly, the glow of green fire reflecting in her golden eyes. "Alright everyone, listen up! We're gonna turn this wildfire into a plan!"

Soon in that moment, even amidst the ruin, the Owl Lady once again became a leader.

The professors and staff stilled, eyes turning toward her. Even through the firelight and haze, they listened. The shift was palpable, a spark of faith rippling through the exhausted crowd. Eda stepped forward, her wings flexed, and her tone became sharp yet grounded.

"Liora, I want your abominations reinforcing the western supports," Eda ordered, pointing toward the billowing wing. "Make 'em big, make 'em sturdy, and make sure they don't melt under pressure. Braska, raise your barriers along the west hall. Cut off the flames before they spread toward the dorms or the archives. Those are our top priorities right now!"

Braska, soot-streaked but resolute, slammed his gauntleted hands together and grinned. "On it, Headmistress!" he boomed, stone plates forming around his arms as he sprinted toward the burning corridors.

Eda turned to Lilith next. "Lilith, you take a team to the archives. Make sure the scrolls and research notes are safe. The flames haven't hit there yet, and I don't intend to lose centuries of knowledge because some overactive glyph decided to have a tantrum."

Lilith nodded firmly, her feathers bristling with purpose. "Understood," she said, voice calm but commanding. "Selene, Bloodbranch, Thistlewick—you're with me. Let's protect what history we can." She glanced back at Eda, eyes glinting with pride. "You've got this, sister."

Eda smiled faintly. "Wouldn't be the first time I've juggled a few disasters."

Her gaze shifted toward Raine, who stood amid a frightened crowd of students and younger staff. The tension in their shoulders softened as Eda called out to them. "Raine—use your tunes to keep everyone calm. We don't need panic spells mixing into the air. Soothing beats, gentle notes—whatever it takes to keep the crowd steady."

Raine adjusted their glasses, giving Eda a small nod. "You got it, Owl Lady," they said, tapping their staff. A low, melodic hum began to ripple through the air. Music magic began pulsing softly, forming waves of tranquility that rolled over the campus. Students began to breathe again, their movements less erratic.

Eda's voice rose once more, her tone sharpened with renewed purpose. "Edric, Emira, Viney—get the rest of the staff together. I need every kind of magic we've got; beasts, abominations, plants, illusions, you name it. Channel your energy into a stabilizing spell around the central tree. If this glyph fire is alive, then we're not fighting it, we're calming it."

Viney saluted with her usual laid-back grin. "You got it, Headmistress! Come on, Emira, Edric—time to show these glyphs how the University of Wild Magic handles weirdness!"

Eda felt a flicker of warmth seeing the siblings and their team dash off, already weaving a tapestry of multicolored light across the smoke-filled courtyard.

But there was one more thing; a dangerous and uncertain thing. Eda turned toward Hunter. The young man stood still among the chaos, his palisman Waffle's feathers dimly glowing from his staff. His eyes, though brave, flickered with doubt.

"Kid," Eda began, approaching him, her voice gentler now, the sharpness giving way to something almost maternal. "You and me—we're going to stop this thing for good."

Hunter stood amid the smoke, his hand trembling around his staff. "Wait, what?! Eda, I know I've done this before... once," he said, his voice low, edged with uncertainty. "Back when the palistrom tree first awakened, I felt its pulse. I could hear it, like a heartbeat. But this—" he glanced toward the roaring green flames devouring part of the trunk— "this isn't the same. What if I can't reach it again? What if it doesn't listen this time?"

Eda stepped closer, her feathers catching the glow of the firelight. "Kid, listen to me," she said, her tone firm but kind. "That tree knows you. You're part of its story now. You think it forgot the witch who heard it the first time? Palistrom magic doesn't just fade when things get tough—it calls to the ones who understand it." She placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. "You did it once because you listened, Hunter. You didn't force it—you let it speak. That's what this tree needs right now. Not control, not power—just someone willing to hear it out."

Hunter's eyes flicked between her and the flames. "But this is so much bigger than before," he said. "What if my magic isn't enough to reach the whole tree? What if I make things worse?"

Eda shook her head, her expression softening. "You're not alone in this, kid. You've got me, Raine, Lilith, everyone out there fighting to give you that chance. The rest, you already have it in you. Palistrom magic isn't about how much power you've got, it's about connection. You're meant for this."

Hunter hesitated, then exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "So... I just need to listen again? To feel what the tree's trying to say?"

Eda smiled a real, proud smile that seemed to cut through the smoke. "Exactly. You listen, you guide, and you trust the magic to show you the way. Like carving a palisman, you don't shape it; you discover it." She gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "This is your chance, Hunter. To understand your palisman magic on a whole new level. To remind that tree and yourself what kind of witch you've become."

Hunter straightened, the fear in his eyes tempered by quiet resolve. "Alright," he said, gripping his staff tighter. "Let's do this... together."

Eda grinned, wings flaring as embers spiraled around them. "That's the spirit, Goldenboy. Now let's go have a chat with a very cranky tree."

As the others fanned out to their assignments, Eda spread her wings wide. The smoke parted slightly, shimmering under her magic. She extended her staff, channeling the dark, ancient magic of the Owl Beast through her veins. A protective sphere of golden and violet light enveloped her and Hunter, pulsing with steady energy.

"Alright, everyone, get to your stations!" she called out over the roar of the wind and fire. "We're not just stopping a fire today, we're teaching this tree how to listen!"

The campus erupted into coordinated motion. Magic wove through the smoke—barriers rising, abominations solidifying, potions bursting into cooling mist. Above it all, Eda stood like the storm's eye, guiding her people not with control, but with trust.

And for the first time since the glyphs had erupted, the University of Wild Magic began to fight back as one.

Chapter Text

Wings Earned

The air around the University of Wild Magic shimmered with tension and heat. The once vibrant courtyards, where young witches practiced under the shade of palistrom branches, were now choked with smoke and scattered embers. Cracks of unstable magic flickered across the western sky, where glyphs burned wildly along the walls, their symbols glowing with an almost sentient rage. The smell of charred wood and ozone filled the air, thick and sharp enough to sting the lungs. Every breath carried the taste of both fear and determination.

Amidst the chaos, a group of witches stood together in the heart of the quad—Edric and Emira Blight at the front, their twin staffs gleaming with coordinated light. To their right, Viney knelt beside a wounded beast made of shimmering glyph-light, whispering a quiet incantation to steady its energy. Around them, professors and staff of every discipline took position: abomination specialists molding thick, purple constructs from the smoke-filled air; plant witches summoning tangles of living vines to wrap around burning walls; construction mages weaving barriers of stone and glass to contain the heat. The air itself vibrated with overlapping incantations.

"Alright, everyone!" Emira's voice rang clear through the chaos, her usual teasing tone replaced by a calm confidence. "Let's make this spell shine brighter than our hair on prom night!"

Edric cracked a grin, though sweat streaked his brow. "No promises if we all end up with burnt ends, Em. But hey, go big or go boom, right?"

Despite the tension, a few strained laughs echoed among the staff. It was enough to lift the fear, even for a moment. Eda's earlier orders had set them in motion, as now, it was up to them to act.

Viney pressed her hand to the ground, channeling her magic deep into the soil. From beneath the cracked courtyard, glowing roots erupted, intertwining with abomination mass and illusion light. "Hold steady," she called. "The beasts are responding, they're anchoring the spell!"

"On my mark!" Emira raised her finger, her illusion magic began spiraling upward in graceful arcs of light blue. Edric mirrored her, his magic twisting in reverse, merging their twin spells into a mirrored helix that pulsed like a unified symphony of magic. All around them, the other witches followed suit, adding their own magic to the growing storm, which truly had become a symphony of power, rhythm, and purpose.

As the final threads connected, the air around them ignited. Not with fire, but with light, it was a dazzling burst of color erupted above the university, forming a dome of pure, shifting brilliance that rippled like a living aurora. The spell's magic refracted through every hue imaginable: emerald green from the plant mages, amethyst from the abomination casters, sapphire from the elementalists, and silver from the illusionists. Together, the hues merged into a radiant prism that shimmered against the thick smoke.

The result was immediate. The flames recoiled, hissing as the light swept through the air like a cleansing wind. The inferno's roar dimmed to a low growl, then to a flicker, as if the fire itself were bowing before the harmony of magic. The anti-conflagration sigil—a fusion of every branch of Wild Magic—expanded across the courtyard, its runic edges humming softly with contained power.

A hush fell over the scene, broken only by the crackle of dissipating flames. The witches stood, panting and drenched in sweat, their bodies trembling from magical strain. Edric looked at his sister with a shaky grin. "Did we... did we just pull that off?"

Emira exhaled, lowering her finger, "Looks like it." Her illusion magic flickered briefly, dimmed by exhaustion. "Though I'd rate that difficulty about twelve out of ten. Maybe thirteen."

Viney wiped soot from her cheek, her beast—Her loyal griffin, Puddles—bowing low beside her. "Don't get too comfortable," she warned, her voice tight. "The glyphs are still unstable. The fire's not gone just yet. We've got maybe fifteen minutes before it comes back!"

Around her, the staff exchanged worried looks. The dome above them pulsed faintly, as if echoing her words, a reminder that what they had achieved was not victory, but a fragile reprieve.

Emira nodded, tightening her grip on her staff. "Then we make those fifteen minutes count." She turned her gaze toward the western wing, where smoke still coiled from the cracks in the palistrom structure. "Eda's counting on us to hold the line. We can't let her down."

As the witches prepared for the next phase, the light of the dome shimmered faintly against their tired faces. For a brief, fleeting moment, the colors reflected in their eyes seemed to mirror something far greater than magic. It became a unity of spirit, defiance, and hope. Though exhausted and frightened, each witch stood tall, their hearts burning brighter than the flames they fought.

And somewhere within that light, the University of Wild Magic, the heart of everything they'd built. It still stood, battered but unbroken. The first step toward salvation had been taken, and now, the true test awaited.

Soon Liora Ashwing stepped forward, her sleeves rolled up and her hands coated in thick, glimmering abomination matter that shimmered between violet and black. Her expression was sharp and focused, her usual sly grin replaced with grim determination.

"All right, my beauties," she muttered, thrusting her palms forward. "You've held up our classrooms before, now you're holding up the whole wing."

At her command, enormous abomination golems rose from the ground. They were ten feet tall and they were glowing from within with molten seams of runic magic. Their heavy footsteps echoed like thunder as they marched in synchronized precision through the ruined halls of the university. The courtyard shook slightly with each impact of their massive limbs. Inside, the fires hissed and crackled as the golems forced their way into the structure, their forms hardening as they molded themselves to the damaged walls and pillars. One by one, they began to lift sections of fallen stone and timber, their arms reshaping into broad braces that pressed against the collapsing supports.

"Reinforce the load-bearing columns!" Liora shouted over the roar of flames and crumbling architecture. Her voice was commanding but edged with worry. "Focus your cores—don't burn out! You can do this!"

A burst of violet light flickered through the west wing as one of her abominations cracked under pressure. Liora winced, clenching her fists to channel more energy through her staff, stabilizing its form. The air shimmered around her with the weight of effort; abomination magic was powerful, but volatile when stretched to its limits. Her body trembled as she poured more of her magic into the constructs.

Then, from the haze of smoke and debris, a booming voice rang out.

"Liora! Back away from the west side—now!" Braska Thornhelm stomped through the chaos, his broad frame half-covered in ash, his stone hammer slung over one shoulder. His beard was dusted white from soot, and his eyes glowed faintly with the orange light of construction glyphs he placed onto his arms. His voice carried the weight of command, the tone of a veteran builder who had faced collapse and ruin before. As this very situation made him refuse to bow down to it in submission.

"About time you showed up, Thornhelm!" Liora yelled back, gritting her teeth as another tremor shook the structure. "Think you can raise a wall before this whole place caves in?"

Braska gave a short, rumbling laugh. "You hold the roof—I'll hold the fire!"

He slammed the head of his hammer into the ground. Instantly, glowing glyphs flared outward in a web of geometric precision, spreading across the scorched courtyard and into the foundation of the west wing. Stone surged upward in response, growing like living architecture—pillars of amber light hardened into glittery barriers that caught the edge of the inferno before it could reach the archives.

Eda, watching from a higher vantage near the main archway, cupped her hand and her hook to her mouth and shouted, "Beautiful work, you two! That's how you hold a school together—literally! Now fall back before the next surge hits!"

Liora glanced over her shoulder, her expression torn between duty and exhaustion. The abomination golems still strained against the weight of the west wing, while the heat blistered their surfaces. "Just a second longer—" she called back.

Braska stepped beside her, placing a massive hand on her shoulder. "You've done enough, professor. Let the stone take it from here."

For a brief moment, the two exchanged a wordless look—an understanding forged in chaos and shared courage. Then Braska raised his hammer high, as it too had construction glyphs placed along its handle, they glowed so vibrantly. He bellowed a word of power—"Holdfast!"—and drove the hammer into the ground with a final, earth-shaking strike. The ground split open, releasing a wave of orange light that raced through the structure. The walls of the west wing solidified, sealing with stone-like veins of crystal. The barriers Braska conjured grew taller and thicker, forming an unbroken fortress wall between the fire and the rest of the university. Sparks hissed and scattered harmlessly against the glowing barrier before fading to embers.

Liora shielded her face from the light as the last of her abominations stepped back, their cores dimming as their task completed. The sound of cracking firewood faded, replaced by the heavy stillness of a battle briefly won.

Eda exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "That's it! Everyone, get to safety!"

Liora and Braska began their retreat, stumbling over debris and glowing ash. Braska cast one last glance at the wall of his creation: a towering monument of raw, unyielding will. In the aftermath, he finally felt allowed to give himself a small, tired smile for his work.

"Sturdy enough to make any construction enthusiast like me proud!" he muttered under his breath. Then, with one final look at the sealed west wing, he turned and followed Liora out into the courtyard.

Behind them, the barrier hummed like a heartbeat against the dying flames, a testament to the strength of those who refused to let their home burn. The University of Wild Magic still stood—not untouched and unbroken—and in that fragile moment, Eda knew the tide was beginning to turn.

Elsewhere, the University's courtyard was a sea of chaos. Smoke billowed from cracked spires, the once-vibrant banners of the University of Wild Magic were now tattered and singed by falling embers. Students darted in every direction, some clutching books or half-finished projects, others frozen in paralyzing fear. Their voices overlapped in cries and confusion, echoing through the open square beneath the reddish-orange haze of a burning sky. The sound was dissonant—a chorus of panic that only grew louder as another tremor rippled through the ground, shaking loose debris from the towers above.

Raine Whispers stood at the center of the courtyard, their cloak fluttering in the acrid breeze. The tension in the air was tangible—fear, confusion, and the rising hum of panic that threatened to spiral out of control. They could see it in the students' eyes: first-years crying out for their mentors, older witches trying and failing to restore containment wards, palismen squawking in distress as the air rippled with volatile energy. Every sound layered into a cacophony of fear that clawed at the edges of Raine's calm.

"Everyone—please, listen!" Raine called, their voice barely rising above the storm of chaos. A few students turned, but most were too panicked to hear. The ambience of unstable magic roared around them, and Raine felt their pulse quicken. For a moment, even they weren't sure how to pierce through it all. Then, their fingers wrapped around their staff.

Raine took a slow, centering breath, the kind they'd learned back in their Bard Coven days. They lifted their staff, its carved wood cool beneath their grip, and struck the ground once. A resonant hum thrummed through the courtyard, low and melodic, like the first note of a lullaby whispered by the earth itself. The sound vibrated through the stones, through the air, through every frantic heartbeat within earshot.

"Come on, old friend," Raine murmured softly to their fox palisman. "Let's bring them back to calm."

They began to play.

The melody that flowed from Raine's staff wasn't loud or forceful—it was gentle, weaving through the chaos like silk thread through torn fabric. The first few notes glowed faintly as waves of sound magic rippled outward. The frantic light of the glyph surges seemed to dim, responding to the harmony. The wild energy in the air slowed its erratic pulse, swaying in rhythm with the tune.

Students nearest to Raine felt the change first. Their trembling hands steadied as the music touched them, each note carrying with it a quiet assurance; 'you are safe, you are not alone'. The waves of sound moved outward, curling gently around the clusters of frightened witches like invisible arms, wrapping them in comfort.

Raine's eyes softened as they continued to play, their movements fluid and precise. They let their magic blend with their emotion: It was a tapestry of emotions of compassion, resolve, and the love for their students and their home. The melody deepened, shifting into a tranquil minor key that resonated like a heartbeat. Even the air itself seemed to listen.

The sounds of panic faded to whispers, while students that were caught under the sound waves, stopped running instantly. Some fell to their knees, clutching their palismen as if remembering they weren't just spellcasters but instead they were a family. A young witch near the fountain wiped her tears, watching the rippling waves of Raine's sound magic dance across the water's surface. The once-violent ripples smoothed into calm rings, mirroring the steady rhythm of the song. Raine smiled faintly but didn't break their concentration. They closed their eyes, letting instinct guide them. Their magic intertwined with the ambient energy of the university, finding the unstable frequencies in the glyph surges and harmonizing them. Each note aligned the chaos, each measure drew panic closer to peace. Slowly, the oppressive energy that hung over the courtyard began to lift.

Raine struck one final, resonant chord. The sound lingered in the air, echoing softly against the stone walls before fading into silence. For a long moment, the courtyard was still—bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun and the faint aurora of leftover magic.

"Alright," they said, voice low but warm. "Now that everyone's breathing again, we're going to move to the east courtyard. Stay in your groups, keep your palismen close, and follow the light markers. We'll regroup there until Eda and Lilith give the all-clear."

The students nodded, their movements now calm and orderly. Raine watched them go with quiet pride. Despite the lingering chaos beyond them, this moment—this fragile calm—was a victory.

As the last group departed, Raine let their staff rest against their shoulder, gazing up at the sky where the smoke had begun to thin. "Hang in there, Eda," they murmured under their breath, the faintest melody still humming in their throat. "We're keeping things steady out here." The faint sound of magic floated across in the air like a promise—a melody that held onto the heart of the university together, note by note, until the storm would finally pass.

Soon, within the deep halls of the University; Eda and Hunter pressed forward through the haze, their footsteps were deliberate, while the scent of scorched wood and palistrom sap was thick in the air. The deeper they ventured, the more the flickering lights revealed scorch marks that twisted along the walls. The glyphs went wild, glowing and dimming erratically as if breathing in pain, it truly was a chaotic sight to behold. They passed collapsed beams and shattered murals, the sigils etched into the walls pulsating faintly in a sickly lime green. Eda's heart thudded in her chest, the weight of leadership still remained heavy on her but she kept her stride firm. Hunter followed closely behind, his expression taut with determination but tinged with unease. He carried himself like a soldier returning to a battlefield that once wounded him, every sense alert.

"There," Eda said, pointing ahead.

Through the smoke, they could see it; the Glyph Mural. The sprawling wall of the glyphs pulsed violently, the intricate carvings that once represented harmony now a storm of uncontrolled energy. Flames licked across its surface, they sparked in chaotic bursts. The heart of the university's magic was crying out, unstable, alive, yet hurting all at once.

Hunter's breath hitched, as he could feel the palistrom energy tugging at him already. It was a deep, resonant feeling that echoed through his chest like the call of something both familiar and distant. "It's worse than before," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

Eda gave a grim nod, stepping closer but stopping short of the first ring of glowing glyphs. "Yeah. Whatever balance the last spell bought us—it's running out fast." She glanced at him, her eyes softening beneath the soot and sweat. "You ready for this, kid?"

He swallowed, staring at the shifting symbols ahead. "I... I think so. But if the glyphs are reacting like this, the energy might be unstable enough to backfire. If I can't get through to the tree—"

"Then we'll make sure you can," Eda interrupted firmly, her tone carrying no doubt, no hesitation, only the feeling of faith. She stood firmly on the ground, closing her eyes for a moment. "But we'll need some protection first. These glyphs are gonna lash out the second you make contact."

Eda inhaled deeply, summoning that familiar, primal presence inside her; the Owl Beast. She could feel it stirring, its energy coiling like dark wings around her mind, it was ancient and wild. "Hey, Owl Beast," she whispered softly to the spirit within, voice reverent but steady. "I could use your help again buddy. I need something that can help protect me and Hunter. Please..."

A low, echoing growl hummed in the back of her consciousness, it was neither threatening nor hostile. The Owl Beast understood, while it didn't speak to her, she could feel its communication. It was more of a sensation than words, which brushed against her thoughts like wind through feathers: Protection. Together. Limited strength.

"I know," Eda murmured under her breath. "We'll make it quick."

Her eyes snapped open, glowing faintly gold as the transformation flickered through her—feathers rippling at her temples, talons curling at her fingertips, the air around her stirring with unseen wings. She raised her hands and slammed them together, channeling her power outward. "Hang tight, Hunter!" She exclaimed.

From her palms, a dome of pale, gold light expanded outward, rippling through the air like liquid glass. It shimmered with faint patterns of feathers and glyphs, an unsteady but resilient barrier that enveloped them both. The heat of the burning sigils pressed against it, sparks sizzling as they hit its surface but the barrier held firm.

Eda winced slightly as the energy thrummed through her. "Alright, the good news is, this'll keep us from being fried. The bad news, it's gonna eat at my strength fast. So, you've got maybe a few minutes before this thing collapses."

Hunter turned to her, worry flickering across his face. "Eda, are you sure you can hold it?"

She gave him a quick grin, even as sweat trickled down her temple. "Kid, I've faced anything magic related. I can handle a few angry glyphs. Now, go make that connection!"

Hunter hesitated for only a second before nodding. He stepped toward the mural, the barrier humming faintly around him. The closer he got, the louder the hum inside his chest became—a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to sync with the flickering glyphs. He reached out, hand trembling, and pressed his palm against the scorched bark.

At once, the glyphs flared brighter, symbols cascading across the wall like shooting stars. The palistrom energy surged, flowing up his arm in golden threads that intertwined with the greenish glow of his palisman magic. The force nearly threw him back, but he held firm, focusing on his breathing. As he remembered Eda's words and his connection to the living magic that flowed through all palistrom wood.

Eda's barrier flickered as the energy in the room spiked. The flames along the mural flared, then dimmed, responding to the shift. Eda dug her boots into the floor, gritting her teeth. "You got this, Hunter!" she shouted over the roar of magic. "Don't fight it—listen! Let the tree show you what it needs!"

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut and the world around him fell away. The sounds of fire and chaos dimmed, replaced by silence. The golden glow spread from his hand across his body, and then everything dissolved.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in a boundless subspace of light and color, it appeared as an ethereal forest made of shifting sigils and pulsing branches. Which were all connected through a vast, living network. The air shimmered like starlight caught in amber. He was inside the Palistrom Tree's consciousness once more. It felt alive yet ancient altogether. It was a presence older than anything he had ever known. The same voice that had once whispered to him now surrounded him completely, they were soft, resonant, and patient.

Then Hunter found himself surrounded by a vast, living expanse of luminous wood and swirling glyphlight. The atmosphere around him pulsed softly with gold and deep green currents weaving like veins through a boundless forest of light. The deeper he walked, the more the energy seemed to respond to him, as if recognizing the echo of palistrom magic within his soul. The ground beneath his feet glowed and shifted with each step. Ahead of him, he could feel the faint rhythm of something vast and alive began to call—a steady, resonant thrum that guided him toward the heart of the Tree.

The journey felt timeless, as each step drew him closer to the living core, where all glyphs intertwined in a magnificent pattern that functioned as a machine yet within a biological core. It was beautiful, but unstable. The glyphs blazed and flickered violently, their forms fracturing under strain. The core's light pulsed in distress, like a spirit writhing in pain. Hunter could feel its suffering in his chest, his own heartbeat syncing with its uneven rhythm.

"Easy..." he whispered, stepping forward, his voice trembling with empathy more than fear. "I know you're hurting. I can feel it too."

Meanwhile, in the physical world, the Glyph Mural began to react in kind. The once-stable glow flared violently, and flames erupted anew, licking up the walls in twisting arcs of light and smoke. The air within the chamber crackled as the glyphs seared bright yellow, sending sparks scattering like embers from a forge.

Eda's eyes widened, her protective barrier flaring in response to the surge. The dome of violet energy shuddered as waves of heat slammed against it. "Aw, crud," she hissed, gritting her teeth as she pressed both palms to the barrier's edge, reinforcing the magic. Her talons dug into the stone floor beneath her as she channeled everything she could muster from the Owl Beast's power.

The flames clawed at the shield, roaring in defiance, their color deepening to molten orange. Eda's expression hardened but not of fear, but fierce determination. "C'mon, Hunter," she murmured through the sweat beading on her brow. "Whatever you're doing in there, make it count, kid."

Outside the building, the renewed flare of fire was visible from the courtyards below. Students and staff gasped as the upper halls of the university ignited again, smoke curling skyward. The anti-conflagration dome from before still lingered faintly, but its power was fading fast.

"Em, Eddie—again!" A staff member shouted over the rising wind, her staff glowing with magic that displayed a palette of emerald and gold. "We need to reinforce the sigil before it collapses!"

"I'm trying!" Edric grunted, his normally smooth voice cracking under strain. His hands trembled as he traced a fresh illusion glyph into the air, layering it atop Emira's shimmering duplicates. "This is a lot harder without Bump here yelling at us!"

Emira's brow furrowed, her focus unshakable despite the exhaustion weighing on her. "Then pretend I'm him," she said through gritted teeth, her palms glowing with soft lavender light as she poured her energy into the illusion shield. "Eyes forward, Ed, no slacking off!"

Their combined spellwork rippled through the air—glimmers of illusion, tendrils of plant magic, abomination sludge, and elemental threads weaving together once more. The air shimmered with the kaleidoscopic hues of a united effort. The makeshift dome of multicolored magic flickered back to life, stabilizing just long enough to repel the spreading flames that threatened to break free from the university's heart.

Viney knelt beside her chimera, Rollo, pressing her forehead against the beast's snout. "C'mon, buddy, we've still got work to do. Just one more push." The creature roared in response, a pulse of beast magic erupting outward as roots and vines unfurled across the courtyard, smothering falling embers before they could ignite the ground. However, it was clear they were all tired. Sweat poured down their faces; their breathing came in sharp, shallow bursts. Still, they refused to stop, not while Eda and Hunter were still inside.

Lilith stood a few paces away, the scrolls she'd saved earlier still tucked securely at her side. Her gaze was locked on the area where the fires began, her posture taut with worry. "They're in there," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "They're facing the glyphs directly."

Raine stood beside her, their eyes glowing faintly upon witnessing Eda's barrier from a distance. They could feel the vibrations through the air, they were the chaotic fluctuations of power within the Glyph Mural. "If anyone can reach the heart of that tree, it's Hunter," they said softly, though the tremor in their voice betrayed their fear. "But it's eating at Eda. That barrier won't hold forever."

Lilith's fingers tightened around the edge of her staff, her academic composure cracking just slightly. "Then we make sure it does," she said, voice trembling with conviction. "They need time. We'll buy it."

Beyond them, the building shuddered violently. Inside, Eda pressed harder against the barrier, the light around her flickering as if alive with her heartbeat. Her arms trembled from strain, but her eyes—wild and bright—never faltered. "You're not taking them," she growled to the encroaching flames, her voice deepening with the Owl Beast's echo. "Not my students, not my school."

The barrier pulsed outward like a heartbeat of defiance, repelling another surge of fire.

Back within the subspace, Hunter felt the shockwave reverberate through the living forest of light. The glyphs around him flared briefly, then dimmed again like a pained gasp. He reached the heart of the tree, where an immense core of pulsating glyphlight stood before him, beating in sync with the rhythm of the school above. The light wavered, unstable, its symbols flickering between creation and destruction.

Hunter stepped forward, eyes full of resolve. "You're scared," he whispered, voice carrying both wonder and sorrow. "You don't know what's happening to you. But you're not alone."

He raised his hand, the glow of palistrom magic coalescing in his palm. "I'll listen." As his fingers touched the surface of the living core, the subspace exploded with light. The glyphs screamed but then began to sing.

Meanwhile, the protective barrier shimmered and pulsed around Eda and Hunter, the translucent veil of Owl Beast magic straining under the rising heat. The glyph mural blazed in wild, radiant hues, its intricate symbols sparking like molten stars ready to burst. Eda gritted her teeth, her arms trembling as she fed more of her energy into the barrier. Her wild hair crackled with static, feathers momentarily flickering across her arms as the Owl Beast's presence coursed through her veins. "Come on, kid," she muttered through heavy breaths, "whatever you're doing in there, make it quick." The flames around them howled like living creatures, licking at the edges of her barrier. Every wave of heat felt like a test of endurance, one that Eda refused to fail, not while one of her kids was still inside the storm.

Inside the subspace, Hunter found himself drifting in a vast, radiant void that shimmered like liquid glass. The air—or what passed for it—was thick with pulsating light, each wave carrying whispers in the tone of something luminous yet attaining a mysterious beauty. The core of the palistrom tree stood before him, a towering fusion of roots and luminous veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. Each rhythm was both a sigh and a cry, a wordless expression of pain. Hunter stepped closer, his boots sinking into the luminescent ground as if the world itself was breathing beneath him. He could feel the fear radiating through the glyphs—chaos, confusion, grief. The magic that sustained the university was in distress, reacting violently to the fractured balance between natural and artificial forces.

Hunter closed his eyes and steadied his breath. "I get it now," he whispered. "You're scared. Everything's changing too fast, and it hurts." His voice carried softly through the space, blending with the hum of the tree. He extended his hand, not to control, but to listen. His palisman magic flowed from his chest—warm, golden, and alive—and intertwined with the blue-green light of the glyphs' energy. The subspace rippled in response, as if startled by his empathy. The glyphs' patterns began to slow, their chaotic pulses evening into gentle, rhythmic waves. Hunter could feel the connection taking hold—magic responding to understanding rather than dominance. "You're not alone anymore," he said softly. "We'll find balance together."

Outside, Eda's barrier began to flicker under the strain. The flames pressed closer, roaring with renewed intensity as if in protest. Eda dug her claws into the earth, her eyes glowing with primal determination. "Not today," she hissed. Her magic surged outward, the barrier solidifying in a final burst of power. The Owl Beast within her growled in unison, a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the chamber. "Hold on, kid..." she murmured again, sweat beading along her brow. Just as the fire seemed ready to swallow them whole, a shift occurred—the mural's blaze faltered, dimming as if soothed by an unseen hand.

In the subspace, the glyphs' radiance melted into a symphony of calm. The wild energy settled into a slow, pulsing rhythm that resonated with Hunter's own heartbeat. The patterns rearranged themselves, forming elegant, spiraling designs that reflected the unity of tree and witch alike. The surrounding atmosphere around them was peaceful now. It was best described as being warm, alive, and harmonious. Hunter's chest rose and fell with quiet relief. He felt the connection deepen one last time before the light began to fade. "Thank you," he whispered, his words echoing through the living void before he was pulled back into the waking world.

Eda blinked as the barrier around them began to dissolve, the golden shimmer fading into soft motes of light. The once-violent flames had vanished completely, leaving behind only faint scorch marks and the lingering scent of charred magic. The mural stood still and silent, its glyphs now devoid of their usual glow. Hunter staggered back, catching his breath as the last remnants of the connection ebbed from his fingertips. "It worked," he said softly, his voice equal parts wonder and disbelief. Eda's eyes flicked from him to the mural, her expression shifting from relief to concern.

"The glyphs..." she murmured, stepping closer. Their light, so often a symbol of the university's magic, was gone. The only thing that had been left behind was the surface cold and still. Hunter followed her gaze, a quiet sadness forming in his chest. He could still feel the faint echo of the tree's presence, calm but weakened. "They're resting," he said, almost to himself. "They've been through too much." Eda nodded slowly, her wild hair falling into her face as she gave him a tired smile. "Guess even magic needs a nap sometimes." The humor was weary, but sincere, a small spark of Eda's unbreakable spirit amidst the aftermath of chaos.

Outside, through the ruined hallways, the staff and students began to lower their spells as the fires went out. The tension in the air loosened; whispers of disbelief and relief spread among the gathered witches. Raine, Lilith, and the Blight twins rushed to the doorway, their eyes widening at the sight of Eda and Hunter standing before the mural. For a moment, no one spoke—as their silence was sacred, heavy with awe and exhaustion. Then, Raine finally breathed out, voice trembling with relief. "They did it." Lilith pressed a hand to her heart, eyes glistening with pride and gratitude.

Hunter looked back toward the mural one last time. Though its light was gone, there was peace in the silence. He could feel it, the quiet heartbeat of the university, no longer in pain. As Eda rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, he allowed himself a small, tired smile. "It's over," he said. "For now." And in that shared stillness, surrounded by the remnants of flame and ash, both witch and apprentice understood that balance had been restored. Having no choice, the two soon began making their way out of the hallway itself.

Later on, the heavy wooden doors of the university creaked open as Eda and Hunter stepped out into the open courtyard, the cool air washing over them like a balm after the suffocating heat of the flames. The courtyard was filled with onlookers—students, professors, and staff—faces still marked with ash and worry. For a moment, silence lingered, as if everyone collectively held their breath. Then a wave of cheers erupted, breaking through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. The voices of dozens of witches rose in relief and gratitude, echoing off the scorched walls. A few students even ran forward, their eyes bright with admiration. Hunter, still catching his breath, looked almost embarrassed by the sudden attention, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if unsure what to do with the praise. Eda, meanwhile, offered a tired grin, her wild hair slightly singed but her spirit unbroken.

Lilith was the first to reach them, her robes fluttering as she crossed the courtyard, followed closely by Raine and a few of the professors. Without hesitation, she pulled Eda into a tight embrace. "You absolute wild witch," she said, voice trembling with both exasperation and relief. "You did it." Eda chuckled weakly, returning the embrace with one arm. "We did it," she corrected, glancing toward Hunter, who gave a small nod, his golden eyes reflecting the dying glow of the evening. Raine stepped forward next, placing a gentle hand on Eda's shoulder. "You both saved more than just the university," they said softly. "You saved hope." Eda's usual smirk faltered into something gentler and ironically, deeply human. "Hope's a funny thing," she murmured. "It's always what's left standing when the fire's done burning."

Their moment of celebration, however, was short-lived. As the cheers died down, Eda turned her gaze toward the charred remains of the courtyard and the half-collapsed roof of the university's west wing. The scent of smoke still hung in the air, a grim reminder of what had been lost. The once-proud spires of the university were cracked and blackened, their edges glowing faintly with embers. Piles of burnt scrolls and fallen timbers lay scattered across the stone, and though the fires had died, the damage was undeniable. Eda's expression softened, her eyes glimmering with both grief and exhaustion. "All what we had..." she whispered, her voice quiet enough that only Lilith and Raine could hear. "Gone, just like that."

Lilith followed her sister's gaze, her expression pained but steady. "I wouldn't say gone," she said firmly. "Instead, it's all preserved—thanks to you, thanks to all of us." She gestured toward the surviving members of her volunteer team; Professor Selene, Thistlewick, and Bloodbranch, each of whom stood clutching salvaged scrolls and documents, soot-smudged but safe. "We saved the knowledge. The rest..." she paused, glancing toward the broken roof, "...the rest can be rebuilt." Raine nodded in agreement, stepping closer to Eda with quiet reassurance. "Buildings can burn," they said gently, "but the spirit that built them can't. You showed them that today."

Eda took a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing as she let their words sink in. The grief didn't vanish—it never did—but it reshaped itself into something stronger, something more resolute. She looked around at the gathered crowd: at the tired but hopeful faces of the students, at the professors wiping ash from their robes, at Hunter, who stood quietly by her side, a spark of newfound confidence in his eyes. "You're right," she said finally, straightening her posture. "We'll rebuild it. Stronger, wilder, and better than before." Her voice carried across the courtyard, low but powerful. "The Owl House isn't the only thing that can rise from a pile of rubble."

The crowd responded with a renewed cheer, it was softer this time, but filled with conviction. Hunter smiled faintly, watching Eda take command of the moment with the same fierce determination that had once defied emperors. Lilith's lips curved into a proud smile, while Raine gave a small, approving nod. The fires might have taken the walls, but they hadn't touched the heart of the university. And as dusk settled over the Isles, the first stars began to appear above the smoke-filled sky—a quiet promise that light, no matter how faint, always finds its way back.

Eda tilted her head up toward those stars, the faint glow reflecting in her eyes. "Looks like the universe is still rooting for us," she said with a smirk. Lilith chuckled softly. "Then we'd better not disappoint it." Hunter, standing between them, allowed himself a tired but genuine laugh. "Guess we've got work to do." Eda ruffled his hair affectionately. "You bet we do, Goldie." And with that, surrounded by the lingering warmth of community and the quiet hum of surviving magic, they turned their eyes not toward what had been lost—but toward what would rise next.

Chapter Text

The Wandering Nest

It had been several weeks since the night the glyphs burned bright and wild, setting the very heart of the University of Wild Magic ablaze. In that time, the world had not stopped turning but for those who called the University home. The once-majestic palistrom tree that served as the university's living foundation still stood, its colossal trunk reaching skyward like a testament to endurance itself. Yet scars ran deep along its bark—blackened streaks of soot and char tracing where the flames had clawed and consumed. The west wing, once brimming with laughter, lectures, and the rhythmic scratching of quills, now stood as a half-healed wound upon the campus. Its walls were patched with new timber, pale and fresh against the old wood, and scaffolding clung to its sides like skeletal vines. From afar, the building still looked whole, but up close, the damage told its story in splintered edges and the lingering smoke scent that refused to fade. The weeks that followed were slow and heavy with both grief and determination. News of the fire and the glyph outburst spread across the Boiling Isles with the speed of gossip, yet it came with the weight of tragedy. Newspapers ran front-page illustrations of the burning west wing and headlines asked what had gone wrong. Yet, for every whisper of blame, there were ten voices of compassion. Letters flooded the University's mailroom—some from families who had dreamed of sending their children there someday. Many of these letters spoke of heartbreak, memories lost in the fire, and how deeply the University had come to symbolize the Isles' progress since the end of the coven system. There were other letters that had been written that spoke of fierce defense of wild magic, calling it the lifeblood of their new age. Of course, a few letters, tinged with cynicism and fear. These letters argued that wild magic had no place in institutions meant to uphold order and safety. Yet those words were drowned out by the swell of empathy that followed.

Almost immediately, the reconstruction efforts began. The campus transformed into a symphony of movement; hammer strikes echoing through the courtyards, sawdust floating through shafts of light, and the rhythmic chants of restoration spells being cast by teams of witches and human volunteers alike. Matt Tholomule, now more mature but still unshakably ambitious, coordinated much of the logistical work. Under his sharp direction and occasional bouts of dramatic stress, entire sections of the west wing were rebuilt faster than anyone anticipated. Professor Braska oversaw the safety protocols, his deep voice booming over the courtyard as he reminded everyone to "respect the tree's living magic." Even Kikimora, surprising many, had taken on the role of assistant administrator, balancing scrolls and reports as she worked tirelessly to ensure every laborer was paid fairly and on time. Though she never failed to remind others that she could have been promoted by now if things were "properly organized."

Donations began to flow in from every corner of the Isles. The most generous came from BlightWorks, who not only supplied materials but also offered enchanted tools that accelerated the reconstruction designed by both Alador and Amity Blight. Even Alador Blight was seen on-site more than once, testing his own inventions alongside the repair teams. And then there was the grant from the Republic of the Boiling Isles' Reconstruction Fund. A symbol of how far their society had come since the days of Emperor Belos. It wasn't just about rebuilding a school—it was about preserving a symbol of hope, of unity between witches and humans, and of the belief that wild magic could be embraced rather than feared.

The days bled into one another, filled with the sounds of restoration and renewal. By the end of the third week, much of the University's structure had been restored. Especially the west wing, whose new halls gleamed with promise and its readiness to house the students that would walk within them. Yet, despite the progress, there were still pockets of damage scattered throughout the palistrom tree. Entire stairways remained sealed off, as roots that functioned as stairs were too unstable to tread upon. Certain classrooms still smelled faintly of char and ash. And every so often, when the wind passed through the bark, it carried with it the faint, hollow whisper of burned glyphs.

Still, amid the wounds that remained, there was life again. Students and teachers returned in growing numbers, their laughter echoing softly through the repaired courtyards. Flowers began to bloom again in the garden terraces, nurtured by caretakers who whispered blessings of regrowth into the soil. From her office at the highest branch, Eda Clawthorne watched the bustle of renewal below; workers shouting orders, brooms sweeping up sawdust, and magic humming faintly in the distance. The University wasn't what it once was, not yet but regardless, it was alive. And that, in Eda's eyes, meant everything.

The afternoon light poured gently through the arched window of Eda Clawthorne's office, filtering through the thin canopy of the palistrom leaves that grew naturally into the structure of the room. The air carried a subtle earthy scent—a reminder that the university itself was still alive and breathing even after all it had endured. A faint ambience of magic resonated from the bark walls, as if the great tree was quietly waking after a long and painful rest. Eda stood before a cracked mirror propped against her desk, tugging at the lapels of her deep gray suit jacket. Her wild hair had been wrangled—somewhat—into a loosely tied bun, a few stubborn silver strands refusing to be tamed. Her eyes flicked up at her reflection, narrowing slightly. "Raine," she called, brushing off imaginary dust from her sleeve, "be honest with me—how do I look? I feel like a fancy beetle trying to impress a toad."

Raine Whispers chuckled softly from across the room, leaning casually against the doorframe, their own attire far more composed. It is an elegant indigo suit accented with a small brooch shaped like a treble clef. Their gentle, musical voice carried a warmth that softened the room. "You look amazing," they said, taking a few steps forward until they were close enough for Eda to catch the faint scent of lilac oil in their hair. "Like someone who's about to charm an entire crowd into falling in love with her." They smiled, that familiar, teasing smirk tugging at their lips. "Though I'm not sure that suit can handle your level of chaos."

Eda let out a low laugh, placing her hand and hook on her hips. "Chaos is part of the presentation, sweetheart. Keeps the crowd on their toes!" Her tone was confident, but her eyes softened as she caught Raine's reflection beside her own. There was a flicker of something quieter beneath her bravado, a weight she still carried, even after all these months of rebuilding. She turned toward Raine, her voice lowering, tinged with that rare sincerity she reserved only for them. "You know... I still think about them sometimes. King, Luz... even the old gang when we were all just trying to survive one day at a time."

Raine nodded gently, their expression tender and understanding. "You miss them," they said simply, reaching out to adjust Eda's collar with careful fingers. "But I think they'd be proud of you, Eda. You've turned everything you went through into something real. Something that helps people."

Eda's smile faltered for just a heartbeat before it returned, smaller and more genuine. "Heh, maybe. Some days I still feel like I'm just wingin' it—pretending to be this wise old Headmaster when I'm really just the same ol' Owl Lady trying not to set the place on fire again." Her hand fell to her side, brushing lightly against the carved wooden desk where a framed picture of her, Luz, and King sat beside a mug of cold apple blood. "But if I've learned anything," she continued, her voice quiet but steady, "it's that leading doesn't mean being perfect. It means being stubborn enough to keep trying, even when everything falls apart."

Raine's eyes shimmered with quiet pride as they took her hand. "That sounds like the Eda I fell in love with," they said softly. "You don't need to be perfect, Edalyn. You just have to be you. And that's always been enough."

Eda smirked, leaning in slightly. "Careful, Whispers. You keep saying sweet things like that, and I'll start thinking you're trying to butter me up."

"Maybe I am," Raine replied, leaning closer still until their foreheads nearly touched. Their voice dropped to a whisper, their thumb brushing across her knuckles. "But only because you deserve to hear it."

For a brief, fragile moment, the chaos of the outside world seemed to fade away. Eda exhaled softly and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to Raine's in a kiss that was gentle yet filled with all the unspoken words they'd shared over the years—love, loss, resilience, and the quiet understanding that their story was still being written. The palistrom light above them glowed faintly, as though the tree itself was smiling.

Their moment, however, was soon cut short by a familiar, muffled voice echoing from outside the office door. "Eda! Eda! Are you ready yet?! The crowd's starting to get restless!" The voice was unmistakably Hooty's, followed immediately by the sound of Fola's hurried footsteps and exasperated tone.

"Hooty, please, she doesn't need you yelling through the door!" Fola scolded. "Headmaster Clawthorne, the ceremony's starting soon, we're waiting for you!"

Eda groaned softly, pulling back but still holding Raine's hand for a moment longer. "Guess duty calls."

Raine chuckled. "You've got this, Edalyn."

"Yeah," Eda said with a smirk, rolling her shoulders and straightening her tie. "I always do... eventually."

With that, the two made their way toward the door, the faint sound of voices and music from the courtyard below beginning to rise. As Eda and Raine stepped into the hallway, sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the busy bustle of students and faculty gathering for the grand reopening. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement, hope, and a sense of renewal. And for the first time in a long while, Eda Clawthorne didn't just feel like the old Owl Lady trying to hold things together. She felt like someone who had built something worth standing for.

The corridor of the University of Wild Magic glowed with the soft shimmer of renewed life. Pale sunlight filtered through the translucent leaves that had grown into the glasswork of the windows, scattering flecks of green and gold across the polished floors. As Eda and Raine walked side by side, their footsteps echoed faintly beneath the hum of chatter, laughter, and the occasional burst of spontaneous spellcasting that rippled through the air. The walls, once scarred by smoke and fire, now bore the traces of careful restoration. Fresh panels of palistrom bark melded seamlessly with the old, their new growth forming elegant natural patterns that wrapped around light fixtures and doorways. The scent of sap and wild magic lingered, it was earthy yet comforting, like the promise of something reborn. Students filled the hallways, as their hopeful and optimistic energy was contagious. Some levitated scrolls and books between each other, practicing control spells; others sat cross-legged in small groups. The youthful confidence in their eyes struck Eda deeply. Not long ago, these halls had been filled with uncertainty and fear. Now, laughter drifted from every corner—soft, unrestrained, alive. A group of witches waved as she passed, their faces lighting up with admiration. Eda grinned and shot them a casual salute, her tone light. "Don't burn anything down, alright? That's my job." The students chuckled, and Raine smiled at her side, squeezing her hand briefly in quiet affection.

As they continued down the corridor, Eda found herself slowing her pace, taking in the sights like someone walking through a dream she'd once been afraid to believe in. The energy of the place no longer felt chaotic or uncontrollable. It instead was vibrant, balanced, and free. For the first time since she had taken the role of Headmaster, she felt like the university no longer needed her to hold it together; it was learning to stand on its own, just like the people inside it. "You feel that?" Eda said softly, glancing toward Raine. "It's different now. They're not afraid anymore."

Raine nodded, their expression serene. "They trust you, Edalyn. You gave them a place where they could be themselves."

Eda tilted her head, her smile turning wistful. "Guess I did, huh? Hooty'd call this 'personal growth.' I call it barely keeping up." Her tone was playful, but her eyes reflected her quiet pride within her. "Still, not bad for someone who used to run an illegal magic stand out of a house with a talking owl."

They both laughed, their voices blending with the chatter of students. The sound echoed warmly down the corridor as they turned toward the West Wing—a section of the university that had once been reduced to ash and ruin.

The air grew quieter as they entered the newly reconstructed wing. The wooden arches overhead gleamed with fresh polish, their bark still showing faint lines of healing from the fire. The faint scent of resin hung in the air, mingling with traces of lavender incense left behind by students offering gifts for support and renewal. Eda's eyes softened as they came to a stop before the Glyph Mural. It stood tall against the inner wall of the palistrom tree. It was a sprawling tapestry of intricate symbols once illuminated by what seemed like living light by the palistrom tree's own magic. Now, the glyphs were nothing more than carved impressions, they were just dulled and lifeless. The gentle luminescence that once danced across their lines was gone, replaced by shadows that traced the grooves like faint scars. Eda stepped closer, her fingertips brushing the rough edges of one of the symbols, the wood was cool under her touch. She remembered the day the flames had almost consumed everything. It had taken everything in her and Hunter had to save them and to calm the Tree's magic. And though it had cost them this—their brilliance, their "life"—it had spared the school.

"They're quiet now," Eda murmured. "Used to feel like they were talkin' to us, you know? Like they were alive in their own way. Guess they just... needed some rest." she added, "With them gone, the barrier that allowed our students to use the glyphs is also gone."

Raine stepped beside her, their gaze soft but steady. "Maybe they're still here," they said. "Just quieter. Sometimes the strongest magic doesn't glow—it just stays."

Eda looked at them for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "Yeah... you're probably right. Still, I'll miss the light shows." She gave the mural one last fond glance, her thumb brushing the grooves of a spiral glyph before lowering her hand. "But if it means everyone gets to come back safe, then I'll take dull bark over disaster any day."

The two stood in silence for a moment longer, the atmosphere gentle but heavy with reverence. Somewhere down the hall, laughter echoed again—a sound of life continuing, of the world moving forward. Eda straightened, the flicker of melancholy fading from her eyes. "C'mon," she said, her voice regaining its signature spark. "We've got a crowd to wow. Can't keep them waiting forever, or Hooty'll start singing."

Raine chuckled, shaking their head. "Now that's motivation."

Together, they turned from the mural and continued down the corridor, their steps light and sure. Behind them, the carved glyphs caught a stray shaft of sunlight. For a fleeting second, one of the symbols seemed to glow faintly. As it was just enough to cast a gentle glint before fading once more into stillness.

Elsewhere, the sun hung high above the Boiling Isles, its warmth bathing the newly restored university in a golden glow. The great palistrom tree that formed the heart of the University of Wild Magic stood proudly despite its scars, its branches now adorned with colorful banners fluttering in the breeze—each one painted by the students themselves, displaying symbols of unity, freedom, and resilience. The overall mood buzzed with a palpable sense of anticipation. From the grand courtyard stretching before the entrance, rows of seats had been arranged for the reopening ceremony. Professors, students, and visitors from across the Isles filled the space, their murmurs blending with the rustling leaves overhead and the distant chirps of native avian life of the isles. Such species included Glowfinches: small, glowing songbirds with translucent feathers that shimmer in pinks, blues, and greens. There were also Needlenests; tiny hummingbird-sized creatures with porcupine-like spines on their backs and metallic wings. Finally, another specimen would be Snickerjays; Brightly colored birds with mischievous grins (literally, their beaks form smiling curves). The tree seemed alive with quiet energy, as if it was even waiting for the moment to come.

Raine and Eda emerged from the main doors together, stepping onto the cobblestone pathway that led to the stage at the courtyard's edge. The stage itself had been crafted from intertwined palistrom roots and adorned with wreaths of ivy and glowing orbs of light. Eda paused briefly at the steps leading up to it, her gaze sweeping across the crowd. She recognized so many faces—Edric and Emira Blight chatting animatedly with Viney near the front, Callum Bloodbranch and Liora Ashwing standing tall beside their fellow professors, Braska Thornhelm leaning heavily on his hammer as Selene Moongale and Thistlewick Grimsbane discussed a reconstruction blueprint between them. Toward the left stood Lilith, composed yet smiling proudly, with Hooty cheerfully popping out of the small portable house strapped to her back, waving his feathered tendrils at passersby. Further in the crowd stood a cluster of familiar figures: Alador and Amity Blight, Darius Deamone, and Eberwolf; all of whom were exchanging quiet conversation. Hunter stood a little apart, his expression calm yet thoughtful, his hand resting on the hilt of his staff. Nearby, Dell and Gwendolyn Clawthorne watched from the front row, Gwendolyn beaming as she waved at her daughter. Bump stood beside them, his formal robes immaculate but his expression gleamed with unmistakable pride. The sight made Eda's chest swell with emotion. These were her people—her colleagues, her family, her students. The university might still bear the marks of what it had endured, but the faces before her told her everything she needed to know about its future.

Raine leaned closer and murmured, "You've got this, Edalyn." Their tone carried that calm steadiness that had always centered her. Before she could reply, they smiled and added, "And you look incredible, by the way."

Eda huffed softly, a grin tugging at her lips. "Flattery'll get you everywhere."

Raine chuckled, brushing a thumb gently against her cheek before pressing a soft kiss there. "Good luck." With one last reassuring smile, they moved to join the audience, taking a seat beside Lilith and giving Eda an encouraging nod. Eda turned back toward the stage, taking in a slow breath. Her reflection flickered briefly in one of the glowing orbs; her silver hair was a little frizzy, her suit slightly rumpled despite Raine's best efforts to make it professional as possible, and that unmistakable spark of wildness still in her eyes. "Alright, Clawthorne," she muttered to herself. "Let's make this official."

She stepped up onto the stage, the crowd quieting almost instantly. A gentle hush fell over the courtyard. Eda approached the podium, cleared her throat, and began.

"Alright, everyone, let's keep the applause till I don't trip over my own tongue," she started with a grin. A few scattered laughs broke the tension, and that was enough to set the tone. "First off—wow. Look at all of you. If someone had told me a few years ago that I'd be giving a formal speech at a fancy magic university instead of dodging the Emperor's Coven, I'd've called them batty. But hey, life's full of surprises!"

The crowd chuckled again, and Eda relaxed, her confidence settling naturally into place. "The last few weeks haven't been easy," she continued, her tone softening. "When the fire hit, I thought for a moment we'd lost everything we'd worked for. The school, the students, the dream of what this place could be... But turns out, you can't burn down an idea. You can scorch the walls, maybe roast a few banners but what we've built here? That's something fire can't touch."

She glanced out across the crowd, catching sight of the younger students sitting in the front rows, their eyes wide with admiration. "Being Headmaster isn't exactly something I ever thought I'd be good at," she admitted. "There were times I felt like I was making it all up as I went. Because, let's be honest, adults don't always have the answers. Sometimes we're just trying to figure it out, with a better posture and more caffeine to get us through the day." The audience laughed, and even Lilith rolled her eyes with a fond smile. "But what I've learned," Eda continued, her voice gaining warmth, "is that leadership isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up—messy, tired, and a little unhinged sometimes—and saying, 'Yeah, I care enough to keep trying.'"

Her gaze softened, her voice lowering just a bit. "I won't lie to you all. After Luz and King left, I... didn't think I could do this. I thought maybe I wasn't the kind of person who could hold something together. But I had help... from friends and family, in this big chaotic mess of students and staff who reminded me that asking for help doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger. It makes you... connected."

Eda paused, letting the words sink in. A soft breeze moved through the crowd, tugging lightly at her coat. "So here's my promise to all of you," she said finally, her tone steady and sure. "This university will always be a place where wild magic can thrive. Where mistakes are lessons, and where everyone—witch or human—can learn to stand tall and be proud of what makes them different."

She reached for the ceremonial scissors placed beside her, their golden blades glinting in the light. "I, Headmaster Eda Clawthorne," she declared, her grin widening, "have the honor to declare the University of Wild Magic reopened to the public!"

With a satisfying snip, the ribbon parted cleanly, fluttering to the ground like a burst of color. For a heartbeat, silence hung in the air, and then the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Raine was the first to stand, followed quickly by Lilith, her parents, and the professors. Students whistled and clapped, some even conjuring bursts of harmless fireworks that exploded into glittering stars overhead.

Eda laughed softly, shaking her head, but the warmth in her eyes was unmistakable. She took in the sea of faces before her—faces filled with hope, pride, and joy. Her gaze drifted upward, to the great branches of the palistrom tree swaying gently against the sky.

The university stood reborn, and so did she.

"Not bad, huh?" she murmured to herself, her smile widening as she turned back toward the crowd, ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

A full month had passed since the grand reopening of the University of Wild Magic, and life on campus had settled into a chaotic, lively, and oddly comforting tone. Somewhere below, laughter echoed from students in the courtyard, the kind of laughter that Eda Clawthorne once thought she'd never hear again within these halls. At her desk, Eda sat hunched over a mountain of parchment, signing forms and skimming through student reports with a tired but content sigh. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, a quill pinched between two fingers while a mug of apples blood specially made for her hook's socket was attached instead of her usual hook prosthetic. The office had changed a bit since the early days of her headmastership—books stacked neatly (mostly), shelves filled with magical trinkets, and a few drawings tacked onto the wall courtesy of the younger students who saw her as both teacher and local legend. A few feathers from her curse transformation still clung to her coat collar, a reminder that even now, she was a work in progress.

"Paperwork," she muttered to herself, signing another requisition form. "The real evil of higher education." She gave the paper a dramatic flick and reached for another stack. "How did Bump do this for decades without going insane? 'Cause everyday it feels like I'll lose my mind any second now!"

With the last document stamped and sealed, Eda let out a groan and leaned back in her chair. "That's enough for one day." She stretched, the joints in her back cracking like twigs. Her eyes wandered to the side of her desk, where a cluster of parchment sheets lay spread out, covered in rough sketches and symbols. Her expression softened.

They were the same strange markings Hunter had drawn for her a month ago—the ones he said he saw when he entered the palistrom tree's subspace. Eda had been studying them in her spare time, hoping for some breakthrough that would explain what they meant. Now, she pulled one closer and traced her finger over its swirling, geometric lines. It wasn't any witch writing she'd ever seen. The design felt... deliberate and to a degree, cosmic.

"Come on, what are you supposed to be?" she muttered, squinting at the paper as if sheer stubbornness would force the symbol to reveal its secret. After several minutes of frowning, doodling half-formed theories in the margins, and tapping her quill against her teeth, she sighed in defeat. "You're lucky you're pretty, otherwise I'd've turned you into scrap by now."

Setting the parchment aside, she turned her attention to the window to clear her head. Outside, the late afternoon sunlight bathed the campus in warm hues of gold and amber. The courtyard was alive; students rushing between classes, professors chatting near the shade of the palistrom roots, and young witches testing spells that fizzled harmlessly into the air. Even from here, Eda could feel the heartbeat of the place she'd rebuilt. It filled her chest with something rare: pride.

She smiled faintly. "Not bad for a bunch of wild magic misfits," she murmured.

Her gaze shifted downward to a group of human students sitting cross-legged beneath one of the smaller branches of the great palistrom tree. They were surrounded by notebooks and parchment, all of them bent over with pencils in hand. Eda tilted her head, curious, and realized they were sketching glyphs. The sight made her chuckle softly.

"Ah, trying to be little Luzes, huh?" she said with fond amusement. "Cute. But sorry, kiddos, those things don't exactly work anymore. Magic walls went kaput the day the glyphs burned out."

She leaned her chin on her palm, watching as the students continued to draw, unaware of her observation. After a few minutes, one of them—a young girl with a mop of curly hair—held up her finished drawing: a light glyph, nearly identical to the one Luz had once used years ago. Eda's heart gave a pang of nostalgia, and she almost looked away... until the girl placed her hand over the symbol and tapped it lightly. A spark flickered... Followed by another instantly Just like that, what occurred before Eda's eyes, the glyph came alive—glowing with a gentle yellow-white light.

Her posture straightened immediately, disbelief flooding her features. "Wait, wait, wait—what?!"

The glow spread to the other students' glyphs as they each tapped their drawings, sending ripples of illumination across the courtyard. Within seconds, small orbs of soft, warm light floated upward, hovering in the air like fireflies. The entire courtyard was bathed in a gentle shimmer, the laughter of students now joined by gasps of wonder.

Eda pressed her hands against the windowpane, eyes wide and unblinking. "No way... That shouldn't be possible. The barrier—those glyphs are dead!"

Before she could even decide what to do, the door to her office burst open. Fola rushed in, out of breath, flanked by two university staff members who looked equally startled and excited.

"Headmaster Clawthorne!" Fola exclaimed, voice trembling with urgency. "You have to see this! The glyphs, they're—something's happening!"

Eda blinked, still reeling from what she'd just witnessed outside. "Yeah, no kidding," she said, already grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. "Lead the way, Fola. I've got a feeling this day's about to get a whole lot weirder." Without another word, she followed them out of the office, the door swinging shut behind her as the faint light from the courtyard spilled into the hall like a promise and a warning.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the freshly polished stone corridors of the University of Wild Magic as Eda followed Fola and a pair of staff members through the west wing. The soft glow of daylight filtered through the tall windows, tracing golden lines across the banners and hanging plants that adorned the hall. Fola was speaking quickly, her tone a mixture of awe and disbelief, while the staff members kept glancing nervously at one another, clearly unsure of how to process what they had just witnessed.

When they reached the end of the hallway, Eda slowed her stride. The air here felt different, alive somehow, tingling with a faint hum of magic she hadn't felt in a while. The group stopped before a broad mural etched into the smooth palistrom bark embedded into the wall — the same mural where glyphs had once burned faintly before fading to dormancy a month prior. But now, the mural pulsed with a soft radiance, the carved symbols glowing gently like fireflies against the bark. The glyphs shimmered in layers of color — faint yellows, blues, and greens overlapping in intricate, living patterns.

Eda's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. "Well, I'll be plucked and petrified..." she murmured, stepping closer to the mural. The light reflected off her eyes as she reached out, letting her fingers hover just above the surface. "They're back. The glyphs are actually back." She turned toward Fola, who was standing there slack-jawed, and gave a grin full of pride and wonder. "Looks like the Boiling Isles isn't done surprising me yet."

The staff members exchanged smiles of relief. For months, the glyph mural had been nothing but a husk. Although now, it glowed with life once more. Eda could feel the pulse of life radiating from the bark, the faint hum of palistrom magic flowing through the veins of the tree once more. It wasn't chaotic or unstable like before; it was calm, harmonic — as if the tree itself had healed.

As she stood before the glowing wall, something stirred in her mind. She reached into the deep pocket of her patched teaching uniform and pulled out a folded bundle of papers — the strange symbols Hunter had drawn a month ago when he'd entered the palistrom's subspace. Eda carefully unfolded them, her eyes darting between the drawings and the glowing mural. Her heart began to race.

The shapes were not identical, but their essence — the energy in their lines, the flow of their design — matched the living glyphs glowing before her. "These... these aren't just random marks," she whispered, mostly to herself. "Hunter, you clever little bird boy... these might be new glyphs."

Fola tilted her head, curiosity overtaking her awe. "Professor Clawthorne, do you think this is connected to the tree awakening again?"

Eda didn't respond immediately. She was too busy tracing her finger along one of the lines on Hunter's drawing, watching how it seemed to align perfectly with one of the glowing runes before her. Her lips curled into a small smile. "I don't think — I know it is. That boy might've just stumbled onto a whole new branch of magic."

She straightened, her mind whirring with possibilities. "Fola, I'm gonna need a second pair of eyes on this. Do me a favor and fetch Professor Selene Moongale from her classroom. Tell her it's about the glyph mural — she'll know what that means."

"Right away, Headmistress!" Fola replied with a salute, quickly motioning for the two staff members to follow her. Their footsteps faded down the hall as they hurried off.

Eda turned back to the glowing bark, unable to suppress a laugh of pure excitement. "Who knew my teaching career would end up this interesting," she muttered to herself. Pulling her crow phone from her coat pocket, she dialed a familiar number. After a few rings, Lilith's voice came through, calm and inquisitive as always. "Eda? What's got you calling so early in the afternoon?"

"Lilith, you might wanna sit down for this," Eda said, grinning ear to ear. "The glyphs are back — the mural's glowing again! And I think Hunter's symbols might be connected. I need you here at the University, pronto."

A sharp inhale came through the receiver. "The glyphs have returned? That's... remarkable! I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Good. Bring your research notes too — the ones about the inter-realm barrier and palistrom resonance. We might be onto something big, Lils."

Eda hung up, her hands trembling slightly with the rush of discovery. The once quiet, mysterious symbols had meaning now — a message from the heart of the palistrom tree itself. She turned from the mural and began striding back toward her office, her cloak fluttering behind her like a tattered flag of triumph.

As she passed through the halls, she could still hear the laughter of the students in the courtyard and the hum of magical life returning to the school. For the first time in a long while, Eda felt the spark of the unknown calling her again — that same thrill she'd felt as a young witch discovering wild magic for the first time. Only this time, she wasn't chasing chaos but instead was guiding it. She quickened her pace toward her office, ready to retrieve the rest of Hunter's drawings. Whatever was happening, it was only the beginning — and Eda Clawthorne was determined to understand it.

A while later, a soft ambience of magic filled the west wing of the University of Wild Magic as faint beams of light rippled across the walls. The glyph mural still glowed faintly, its radiant lines breathing with a pulse that seemed almost alive. Eda stood near it, papers scattered across a nearby table, her foot tapping impatiently. The faint echoes of conversation drifted through the hall — footsteps approaching quickly. Moments later, Professor Selene Moongale and Lilith Clawthorne appeared at the far end of the corridor, their robes flowing behind them as the golden light from the mural shimmered against their faces.

"About time you two showed up," Eda called with a smirk, though her voice carried a note of excitement. "You're not gonna believe what I've stumbled onto."

Selene adjusted her moon-patterned spectacles as she approached, her silvery hair reflecting the mural's glow. "I could feel the magic from my classroom," she said softly, her tone awed. "It's... extraordinary. The glyphs are alive again."

Lilith stepped closer to the wall, her keen scholar's eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "It's remarkable indeed. The resonance pattern is stable this time, not volatile. It's as if the palistrom's core has synchronized with the ambient wild magic once more."

Eda grinned, rubbing the back of her neck. "Well, that's what I wanted you both to see. Because I think I've figured out why." She spread Hunter's sketches across the nearest table, flattening each page with her hand. "Remember these? The strange symbols Hunter drew after he connected with the palistrom tree a month ago? At first, I thought they were just something he saw while his mind was synced with the tree — like magical static or visions. But now I'm thinkin'..." She gestured toward the glowing mural, her gold eyes gleaming. "...these might be glyphs. New ones."

Lilith blinked in surprise. "New glyphs? You believe these were revealed to Hunter during his communion with the palistrom tree?"

"That's the theory," Eda said, her tone firm but fascinated. "They're not Titan glyphs, and they don't look like King's either. But there's something in the design, that same sort of flow, that magical rhythm. If I'm right, they could still function like the others. Maybe they're part of a whole different system of magic that ties into the tree itself."

Selene leaned in, studying the drawings closely. Her long, delicate fingers traced one of the curved symbols, her expression thoughtful. "Hmm... the structure is unlike any known glyphic language. See these interlocking shapes? They suggest a layered syntax, almost as if each symbol interacts dynamically with the next."

Lilith nodded, her brow furrowing in deep analysis. "Yes... it's not random artistry. Look here — this mark repeats across three different drawings, but each time it's rotated slightly. It implies rotational alignment, meaning the symbols might not be separate at all."

Eda tilted her head. "Meaning what exactly?"

Selene glanced up, her eyes shining with quiet excitement. "Meaning these could be fragments of a greater pattern. If we align them properly, they may form one unified glyph, something much larger, and perhaps more powerful, than any individual one."

That idea hit Eda like a thunderclap. "Well, what are we waitin' for?" she said, sweeping the rest of the papers toward them. "Let's see if we can piece this puzzle together."

The three women worked quickly but carefully, arranging the sheets across the table. Lilith brought precision to every placement, measuring angles and noting repeating elements. Selene applied her deep understanding of magical geometry, turning certain pages slightly and connecting edges where the lines seemed to resonate. Eda, ever the instinct-driven wild witch, relied on intuition — seeing the rhythm and flow in ways that defied formal logic.

Minutes stretched into nearly an hour as they shifted and rearranged the papers, each discovery met with soft murmurs of amazement. Slowly, the individual drawings began to merge into something far more intricate; a grand symbol sprawling across the table. Its pattern was circular yet filled with interwoven spirals and cosmic lines, like a map of the stars blended with the roots of a tree. The design shimmered faintly in the glow of the nearby mural, almost as though responding to the glyphs' magic.

Eda stepped back, breath caught in her chest. "Whoa... that's... beautiful."

Lilith's eyes widened with wonder. "It's extraordinary. Look at these inscriptions around the outer ring — they resemble text, but I can't read them. The structure doesn't match any known language, not even ancient Titan script or the runes from the Isles' pre-Coven eras."

Selene leaned closer, squinting. "They're complex. Almost... self-referential, as if the glyph is aware of itself. If this truly came from the palistrom's subspace, it could represent the consciousness of the tree."

Eda whistled low. "You're tellin' me this is a thinking glyph? Stars above, no wonder Hunter came back lookin' like he'd seen infinity."

Lilith chuckled softly. "It wouldn't surprise me. Magic connected to sentient life often mirrors thought and language. But deciphering it will take time."

Selene nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps the key lies in activation. Every glyph, old or new, responds to intent and medium. The question is: how do we awaken this one?"

Lilith tapped her chin. "Ink and surface resonance are standard, but this is beyond ink. The pattern's complexity suggests it requires direct magical input, perhaps energy from a living source."

Eda folded her arms, her gaze flicking between them and the glowing mural. "So you're both sayin' it needs a jolt of wild magic to come alive?"

"That's a possibility," Selene admitted. "But it must be controlled. The energy has to be pure, not chaotic."

Eda smirked, summoning her staff with a flick of her wrist. Owlbert swooped into her hand, his carved wooden wings fluttering softly. "Well, lucky for us, I'm the reigning expert on chaotic magic that somehow works out."

Lilith raised a brow. "Eda, are you suggesting you touch the glyph with your staff?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggestin'," Eda said with a grin that carried both confidence and curiosity. "If it reacts to wild magic, then maybe I can wake it up, gently of course."

Selene hesitated, then nodded. "It's risky, but... I concur. The resonance between your staff and the glyph's structure might provide the minimal energy required for activation. Just be cautious, we don't know what this symbol might do."

Lilith sighed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "You never change, do you, sister? Always the first to jump headfirst into magical mysteries."

Eda chuckled. "What can I say? Someone's gotta keep things interesting." She stepped toward the assembled glyph, the room bathed in the faint, pulsating glow of the mural behind her. The energy in the air felt alive again and for the first time in years, Eda Clawthorne felt the thrill of discovery tinged with something deeper: hope. She gripped her staff firmly, taking a deep breath before pressing Owlbert's tip to the center of the cosmic glyph.

"Alright, big fella," Eda muttered softly, glancing down at Owlbert's carved face. "Let's see what kind of secrets you've been keepin' from us." Her usual confidence carried through her tone, but underneath it was an edge. The faint, careful respect of someone standing before something grand yet alive.

Lilith adjusted her glasses, voice steady but laced with unease. "Eda, proceed slowly. We don't yet know what triggers its energy pattern."

Selene clasped her hands together, the light of the mural catching her silver rings. "Let the glyph feel your intent, not your force," she added calmly. "If it's tied to wild magic, it will respond to purpose not power."

Eda nodded, inhaling deeply. Then, with deliberate care, she lowered her staff toward the center of the vast, interconnected glyph. The tip of Owlbert's beak brushed the paper lightly... no reaction. The silence stretched a moment longer. Eda exhaled through her nose, half a grin forming on her lips.

"Well, I'll be—guess it's nothin' but fancy doodlin' after a—" The words caught in her throat.

A faint light flickered at the very center of the glyph — a pulse, quick and rhythmic, like a heartbeat beneath the paper. Then another. The light grew, branching outward along the connecting lines in slow, deliberate veins of gold and silver. Within seconds, the entire symbol ignited in brilliance, filling the room with a soft, humming radiance that cast shifting shadows along the walls.

Lilith gasped, stumbling back a step. "By the Titan..."

Selene shielded her eyes from the sudden glare. "It's responding—! Eda, step back!"

But before Eda could move, the glow shifted from gentle to overwhelming. The air thickened with raw energy, swirling like wind though none was present. The papers lifted slightly off the table as if gravity itself hesitated. The light expanded, stretching beyond the boundaries of the glyph until it consumed their vision entirely.

And then, the world changed.

The west wing faded away — no walls, no ceiling, no polished stone floor. Eda, Lilith, and Selene found themselves suspended in a vast expanse of color and void, an endless cosmic sea of fractal lights and shifting darkness. The sensation was both weightless and crushing, as though they were being observed by something too great to perceive directly.

Eda's eyes darted around in disbelief. "What in the Isles—?!"

Selene's voice trembled, her calm veneer cracking. "This isn't an illusion. We're... inside something. Inside it."

Lilith turned, her body trembling as ghostly shapes flickered in the void. Vast, abstract forms moved in the distance — titanic silhouettes with no fixed shape, glimmers of galaxies burning inside their contours. Some were serene, luminous; others radiated dread, their mere presence pressing against the trio's minds like a storm of thought and emotion.

Whispers surrounded them — they weren't the traditional sense that's done by voices, but they were instead vibrations of meaning, ideas without language. They came and went like breaths in the cosmos. The trio caught glimpses between the lights: a burning forest of stars collapsing into a void, waves of magic rippling through shattered dimensions, and something vast — alive — reaching through them all.

Eda clutched her staff tighter, her usual bravado dissolving. "Selene... Lilith... what are we lookin' at?"

Selene's face was pale, her voice hushed with both awe and fear. "A disturbance... I can feel it — in the flow of magic itself. Something ancient. Something that's been awakened- I- I can't really know for s-sure but it feels like it..."

Lilith's gaze darted around, struggling to process what she saw. "It's like the Titan's magic — but bigger and older. Something that's beyond this realm. I- I don't know wh-what that is-"

Suddenly, the void pulsed violently. A tremor of energy tore through the space, sending waves of distorted light across their vision. The whispers rose to a chaotic crescendo — not words, but warning. Shapes began to fracture and blur; the stars themselves screamed silently as they were pulled toward an unseen center. Eda felt the world tilt, her body weightless, her heart pounding in her chest.

Then, a blinding surge of white enveloped everything.

The trio gasped and staggered backward, their surroundings snapping back into focus. They were once again standing in the west wing of the University, the faint scent of smoke clinging to the air. The table before them was scorched, and the pages that once bore the magnificent glyph were now nothing but blackened ash curling at the edges. The west wing was eerily still. The faint crackle of the mural's glow had faded, leaving only the soft hum of magic ebbing through the bark walls. The smell of scorched paper lingered in the air, mingling with the faint earthy scent of the palistrom wood. Where the great cosmic glyph had once stretched across the floor, there was now only ash, the edges still faintly glowing as they cooled. Eda, Lilith, and Selene sat together on the polished wooden steps, the light from the high windows falling across their faces in uneven, fractured lines. None of them spoke. None of them could.

Eda's hands trembled faintly as she stared down at the floor, her staff lying forgotten at her side. Her golden eyes, usually so full of life and mischief, were wide and distant, as if she were still looking into that impossible void they had just escaped. She tried to piece together what she had seen. The endless space of shifting forms, the feeling of being watched by something far beyond comprehension. However, every time she tried to think too deeply about it, her mind recoiled. The memory wasn't something that could be reasoned with; it pressed against her thoughts like a weight that couldn't be lifted.

Lilith sat beside her, elbows resting on her knees, her expression uncharacteristically pale and drawn. Her scholar's mind ran wild with questions — the origins of the glyph, the meaning behind the shapes, the reason they were shown that. But for once, she couldn't bring herself to analyze it. The images had felt too real, too overwhelming to fit into the neat boxes of academic reasoning. She swallowed hard, breaking the silence with a whisper barely audible. "That... wasn't just a glimpse of magic, was it?" Her voice cracked slightly. "It was something else entirely."

Selene's gaze remained fixed on the ashes that had once formed the vast glyph. Her silver eyes reflected the faint light that still flickered from the mural, now calm and quiet once more. She looked shaken but thoughtful yet her usual composure strained beneath the magnitude of what they'd witnessed. "No," she murmured, her voice carrying a strange mixture of awe and fear. "I don't know... What that truly was..."

Eda's fingers curled into her palms, her nails digging lightly into her skin. For a long moment, the silence hung heavy between them, filled only by the distant sound of laughter and chatter from the courtyard outside, a reminder that life continued, blissfully unaware of what the trio had just glimpsed. The contrast was jarring. Eda glanced toward the window, watching the soft golden light filter through the branches of the great palistrom tree. The sight should have been comforting, but now it only made her heart twist.

Lilith finally turned to her sister, her voice trembling. "Eda... what do you think it was trying to tell us?"

Eda didn't answer right away. She took a slow breath, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the unknown. Her usual confidence — the swagger, the jokes, the grin that defied the world — had quieted into something steadier, more contemplative. She looked at her sister, then at Selene, and finally at the ashes that marked the spot of their discovery. Her heart thudded softly, like the echo of something vast and distant still resonating in her chest.

"I don't know," she admitted softly, her voice uncharacteristically fragile. "But whatever it was..." She trailed off, her gaze lowering to the charred remnants of the paper. A faint breeze from the window stirred the ashes, scattering them into the air like fading sparks. "...I think it might've been a warning."

Lilith frowned slightly, her brow furrowing. "A warning?"

Eda nodded slowly, her tone growing quieter. "Yeah..." She swallowed, staring into the empty space where the glyph once burned so brightly. "A warning for something much, much more terrifying."

The words lingered in the air like the echo of a spell long after it was cast. None of them spoke after that. The only sound was the faint hum of the palistrom bark and the whisper of wind outside, brushing through the leaves that shimmered faintly in the afternoon sun. The moment was fragile, a quiet heartbeat between revelation and dread. As the light outside began to shift toward evening, the mural's glow dimmed, returning once more to its natural state; calm, unassuming, and utterly silent. The trio sat together in that quiet, united by the fear and wonder of what they had seen, yet unable to name it.

Eda Clawthorne, Headmaster of the University of Wild Magic; wild witch, rebel, mother, and leader, stared at the ashes for a long and heavy moment. And in her heart, she knew that whatever force had stirred behind that vision had not yet finished its story. The light from the setting sun caught the ashes on the floor, and for the briefest second, they shimmered before fading into nothing.

To Be Continued...