The Phantom's Gambit-Chapter 46: The Dark one

Void could sense Octavius’s presence stirring within him, slowly reasserting control.

A scowl twisted his features and his frustrations, simmered beneath the surface.

He had been denied the opportunity to be alone with Miss Wilmort, due to the sudden disruption caused by Emery.

And now, they were being summoned to the grand hall of the main Academy, where the council members and other authorities awaited. The weight of Octavius’s impending return settled over him like a shroud.

[This is going to be a long day,] Void groaned inwardly, his gaze sweeping the grand hall as more students filed in, their murmurs and shuffling footsteps filling the air.

"They make us look like the most despicable of them all, and yet they turn a blind eye to the other faction’s tardiness," a low, indignant voice muttered beside him. "Just look at them swooping in like they own the place. I’m quite certain if we had shown up late, we would’ve been reprimanded on the spot."

Void turned to the speaker, his eyes narrowing slightly as he wondered what had emboldened this person to stand so close to him.

[What’s your name again?] Void asked with a neutral tone, as he turned to the boy standing beside him, who was still distracted by the influx of students from the other faction.

The boy’s eyes snapped back to Void, a chuckle escaping his lips. "W—what?" he stuttered, seemingly surprised that he had forgotten his name.

Void’s gaze remained steady.

"It’s...Otto," the boy replied after a moment, looking nervous.

Octavius’s mental voice whispered a warning. "Void, don’t start."

Void disregarded Octavius’s warning and turned his attention back to Otto. [Let me guess, you have a sister named Soprano?]

Otto’s expression turned somber, and he fell silent for a moment before responding. "Her name was Celine...and she died." His voice cracked slightly as he continued.

"My father had gone out to find a cure for her illness, to bring back a renowned healer, but on his way, he was ambushed by monsters. The Academy called a lockdown, but it wasn’t mainly to search for my father. They didn’t care. And my sister...she died waiting for help that never came."

Otto’s eyes flashed with resentment as he continued. "That’s why it infuriates me when our efforts are ignored, even though we’re the ones doing all the work."

Void had been about to interrupt Otto, but something stayed his words. Now, he was left standing there, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

Octavius’s mental voice filled the silence, [Could it be the same people who tried to attack us? Could that be the connection?]

Before Void could respond, one of the Mages spoke up, providing a timely distraction from the uncomfortable conversation.

"We are under attack," he announced gravely. "I’m afraid the barrier I formulated won’t be sufficient to protect us at this point. More dark forces are closing in, and fast."

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Void’s thoughts turned inward, as he thought to himself. [So we’re not the reason for this gathering? I hate it when someone steals my shine.]

Octavius’s mental voice was laced with warning as he responded.

"You should be grateful you haven’t been caught, not whining about not being the center of attention. Who knows, when they finally discover a student is missing, they’ll likely attribute it to the dark forces."

[You’re saying the fall for his death would be given to someone else?]

Void asked, after thinking about the odds behind Octavius words.

"Most likely."

Void’s enthusiasm was decidedly lukewarm as he turned his attention back to the announcement, silently fuming at someone else taking his credit.

The Chief Mage and Headmaster, resplendent in his ornate robes, stood at the forefront of the gathering, his voice commanding attention.

"The Architect factions, I dare say, have been the least...desecrated by the sheer number of bodies that litter our grounds. A circumstance, no doubt, due to the fact that they possess no discernible essence for the dark forces to exploit."

Otto’s expression twisted in a mixture of disgust and amusement, finding it richly ironic that even in death, they were still deemed unworthy.

"In light of these...disturbing developments," the mage continued, with a grave tone, "I implore you all to prepare yourselves for the trials ahead. This conflict is no longer the sole purview of our guards; it has become our collective cross to bear. As such, we shall all be expected to participate in the forthcoming battles."

The mage paused, surveying the gathering with an air of solemnity.

"In order to ensure our preparedness, the tournaments traditionally held at the end of each semester shall now be conducted on a weekly basis, following every lecture. Vigilance is paramount; we must not be caught off guard when the enemy comes knocking on our very doorstep."

A murmuration of anxious whispers swept through the gathering as students exchanged fearful glances. Many of them appeared daunted by the prospect of combat, their talents still in the nascent stages of development, with most ranking a humble E. The weight of their inexperience hung palpably in the air, as they struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the task ahead.

In stark contrast, a sizable contingent of students seemed invigorated by the Mage’s words, their faces set with determination and excitement. Their confidence was a beacon of hope, illuminating the sea of uncertainty that surrounded them.

The Mage’s gaze swept across the gathering, his eyes lingering on the students who wore grim expressions.

A hint of a smile played on his lips as he continued, "However, for those who distinguish themselves in the tournaments, ranking among the top tiers...they shall be granted a singular privilege: the right to bear the esteemed Wysterian Crest, one that would distinguish you as a junior Mage. The emblem of our noble institution.

The atmosphere in the hall shifted as excitement began to build. Whispers of awe and envy circulated among the students, their faces aglow with the prospect of earning such a prestigious honor. The murmurs of discontent and fear were rapidly replaced by eager chatter and enthusiastic smiles.

The Mage raised his hands, commanding silence.

"We must not be distracted by promises of glory. The reality of our situation is dire. If we do not make haste and stop the dark forces now, while they are still weak, the whole of Wysteria will suffer the consequences."

Void’s lips curled into a sly smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. [Might be too late for that,] he thought to himself, his mental voice laced with subtle mockery.

Octavius’s eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed intently on Void. He couldn’t help but wonder what his counterpart was up to, what scheme was brewing behind those enigmatic eyes. The fact that he could no longer infiltrate Void’s thoughts, as he once had, left him with a growing sense of unease. And that grin...it sent a shiver down his spine.