"Remember the werewolf that got away?" Shira leans back against the wall, arms crossed.
I nod. "Did you find her somehow?"
She lets out a long sigh. "I did. Turns out the other wolves we got were just her pack. In the end, the alpha escaped—and now she's turned an innocent girl into a werewolf."
I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. "Shit—we should have—"
Shira cuts me off, placing a steady hand on my shoulder.
"Don't blame yourself. Mistakes happen. Being a High-Class Mage doesn't mean you're perfect," she says gently, though her words make guilt and shame churn inside me.
Maybe Shira was right. I hadn't been taking things seriously enough. I'd been devoting more attention to my schoolwork than to my mission. It had been a week since Shira and I spoke about our plans, and how we'd involve Sebastian.
Perhaps I'd gotten too comfortable living here.
"You're still young," Shira continues. "Don't take this to heart. I'm telling you so you're aware of what's happening. Anyway, we've taken the girl in. I'm sure the witches at the academy will find a way to cure her." She gives me a small, reassuring nod.
Thankfully, unlike vampires, werewolf bites were curable—painful for the bitten, but curable. Better to endure pain than be forced into becoming something you're not.
But still, I couldn't help but think about the werewolf I'd let escape. The same one who had done this…
"Silas?" Shira's voice pulls me back to the present. "That's all for now. Maybe tomorrow we can visit the academy to check on the girl and see how the cure's working."
I hesitate, embarrassed by the urge to demand we go now. But I couldn't. Not with Sebastian here in the house.
So I nod, clenching my fist. Tomorrow, I'd make sure to see if the girl was healing properly—hopefully without any side effects.
"You alright?" Sebastian's voice breaks my thoughts. He's balancing a pencil on one finger as he watches me from across the room.
I sigh, sinking back into the chair. "Just some work problems. Did you hear about it?" I raise an eyebrow at him.
He shakes his head, a small smirk on his lips. "You guys weren't too far away for my ears to not catch it, but I can tune you out with these." He plucks an earbud from one ear and waves it.
"Thanks," I mutter.
"That's not really something to thank me for. I just figured you'd want some privacy." He shrugs, then motions to the math book in front of me. "Anyway, want to get back to work?"
I nod quietly, still replaying Shira's words in my head. "I suppose."
Sebastian watches me closely, his curious eyes flicking between me and the book.
***
It was Saturday, and the weather felt warm—at least in this part of the world. Beside me, Shira was preparing a magic circle to teleport us to the other side of the country.
Back to England. Back to the academy where I once studied—Zaudseth. It had been a while since I last set foot there. Before this mission, most of my time had been spent in France with Shira.
I haven't explained this yet, have I? There are exactly six magical academies in the entire world. Why only six? No one knows for sure. Back in the days when demons still ran rampant, there were far more than six.
Demons hate mages just as much as mages hate them. Back then, there were no distinctions like "Light Mages" or "Dark Mages." There were just—mages.
It wasn't until spells like Necromancy and Mind Control were developed that the debate arose: Were Dark Mages connected to demons? These spells were dangerous, corruptible, and easily twisted for evil.
Perhaps that's why, even now, Dark Mages aren't as highly regarded as their Light counterparts. Most Dark Mages are agnostic, while Light Mages worship Gahena, the one and only goddess. And, naturally, many mages look down on those who refuse to follow her path.
This world is full of countless religions, but we only believe in one: Gahena, the Goddess of Virtue. She is the source of our power. She is the same goddess who banished the demons, driving them back beneath the soil where they belong.
Some say there are no demons left in this world. But that isn't entirely true. Vampires are the last surviving kind of demon. Their king, Vladimir Dracul—known more famously as Dracula—is still remembered. I suppose "Dracula" does sound cooler, especially with all the movies made about him.
"Are you ready?" Shira asked, standing beside the glowing circle.
"Mhm," I nodded, stepping closer to her.
She entered the circle first, and I followed. Before activating it, she turned to me. "Silas, no matter what they say about you, don't listen to them."
The circle beneath our feet began to glow. I chuckled under my breath. When had I ever cared about what others thought of me?
"Yeah, sure," I grinned.
The world flashed white.
Back at Zaudseth, I had been considered the smartest mage of my generation. It wasn't surprising for a Gael to be the youngest mage to reach High Class at such a young age. But with that title came expectations—a crushing weight that only grew heavier over time.
I was thirteen when I earned my license. Fourteen when I met her: Minerva Marlowe.
At the time, I knew nothing about the six purebloods who served as Dracula's right-hand aides. But Minerva… she was unlike anyone I'd ever met.
She had snow-white hair, soft pale skin, and ruby-red eyes. There was something otherworldly about her, something divine that I couldn't comprehend back then.
She saved me.
I was arrogant in those days, drunk on my own power. Everyone told me I was smarter, stronger, better. I believed them. I thought nothing could harm me—that I was untouchable. After all, I was the youngest High Class mage. What could possibly stand in my way?
"Child, you should know this part of the forest is dangerous," she said, her hair flowing like a silver river as she stared down at me with a soft smile.
I was distracted by her beauty, by the ethereal sound of her voice. She could have lulled me to sleep with just a word.
"Who are you?" I asked, staring up at her. Her glowing red eyes seemed to pierce through me.
"Hm. No, you're not the one," she murmured, as if speaking to herself. Then she turned to leave, her steps silent as a whisper.
"Hey, wait!" I shouted, reaching out to grab the back of her dress.
But before my fingers could touch the fabric, she vanished.
"Where…" I trailed off, stunned, confused.
A single red rose drifted on the wind, catching my eye. Slowly, I reached out and caught it.
It wasn't an ordinary rose. Its petals shimmered like a gemstone, its color deeper and richer than any flower I'd ever seen.
It was beautiful.