Soya sat cross-legged on his bed, parchment balanced carefully across his knees. His sketchbook lay open beside him, covered in dozens of strange runes he'd unknowingly drawn. The dorm room was unusually quiet, with only the sound of scratching quills and the rustling of parchment filling the silence between him and Sage, who sat perched rigidly on the edge of his own bed, scrutinizing Soya’s work with narrowed, critical eyes.

  Soya glanced up briefly at Sage, unsure what to make of the other boy’s thoughtful stare. Sage had offered his assistance, but even now, there was a tension lingering between them that neither seemed entirely sure how to navigate. Sage wasn't exactly known for kindness, after all, and Soya was still wary, despite his gentle willingness to offer second chances.

  Soya paused, tapping his pen softly against his lip. "I was aiming for this rune here," he said quietly, pointing to a particular symbol from the textbook on runes they'd borrowed from the library. "It's supposed to represent protection, right?"

  Sage shifted closer, analysing the parchment with narrowed eyes. "You're doing it wrong," he said bluntly, the familiar sharp edge returning effortlessly to his voice. He jabbed a finger at the page, though there was no cruelty in the gesture this time—only his characteristic impatience. "The top stroke should be curved to the right, not straight. And these lines—" Sage's voice trailed off, and his eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

  "What is it?" Soya asked, shifting uneasily under Sage's intense scrutiny.

  Sage frowned, tilting his head slightly to better examine the parchment. He reached forward, pulling the page closer and peering down at the symbols as if confirming something he suspected but didn't quite want to believe. "You did it again," he said abruptly, scowling as if annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner.

  "What?" Soya asked, genuinely confused. "What did I do?"

  Sage exhaled sharply, looking vaguely frustrated as he gestured to the rune. "You started off drawing the basic shield rune correctly, but halfway through, you switched to something entirely different. You're drawing the ancient variant again. That's why they feel different—these aren't normal runes; they're older."

  Soya looked at the drawing closely, leaning forward to examine his own work. The rune on the page looked entirely normal to him, familiar even—but he trusted Sage knew what he was talking about. "I didn't even realize," he admitted quietly. "It just felt right."

  Sage regarded him for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. "You're weird," he remarked bluntly, shaking his head. "Most wizards can't even draw modern runes properly, let alone ancient ones by accident."

  Despite himself, Soya smiled faintly. Sage's bluntness felt oddly reassuring—it was more familiar, and perhaps easier to deal with than the gentler version of Sage he'd glimpsed in fleeting moments. "I guess that's one way to put it," he conceded softly.

  Sage leaned back against the bed frame, crossing his arms. "Do you know what these runes do?" he asked, tone still sharp, though there was genuine curiosity there now.

  Soya shook his head, carefully examining his own drawing as if it might suddenly explain itself. "No idea," he admitted honestly. "I know the basics, but the deeper stuff—I don't understand at all. It just happens."

  "Ancient runes," Sage murmured thoughtfully, eyes distant as though trying to recall something important. "They're old, powerful—and complicated. You're drawing them instinctively without any real instruction. That's not normal, even for a talented wizard." He paused, meeting Soya's gaze. "Especially not for a Muggle-born."

  Soya tensed slightly at the mention of his blood status, but Sage’s expression wasn't cruel—just blunt and honest, as always. "I know," Soya said softly, fiddling with the edge of his parchment. "I don't really know why it happens. It's… frustrating."

  For a moment, Sage seemed uncertain of what to say next. Vulnerability didn't come naturally to him, and the stiffness returned to his posture as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. "Look, I—" He faltered, jaw tightening before he forced himself to continue. "If you’re going to draw them anyway, you might as well learn to do it right. Properly. Maybe figure out what they actually mean."

  Soya glanced at him, sensing the veiled offer of continued help beneath Sage's rough words. "Thanks," he said gently, the corners of his mouth lifting into a hesitant smile. "I appreciate that."

  Sage scoffed, quickly looking away as if irritated by his own moment of softness. "Whatever. Just don't expect me to hold your hand the entire way," he snapped defensively, though the bite wasn't nearly as sharp as it once might have been.

  Soya couldn't help the faint smile that formed at the edges of his lips. "Wouldn't dream of it."

  The room fell quiet again, filled only by the gentle scratch of Soya’s pen as he continued to draw, this time carefully watching each line. Sage observed silently, his curiosity undeniably piqued by the ease and grace with which Soya translated thought into ancient symbols. Neither spoke further, each lost in their own thoughts—but something had subtly shifted between them. They weren't friends yet, perhaps not even fully comfortable in each other’s presence. But they weren't quite enemies, either. Not anymore.

  Seikan stood at the heavy oak desk in his private office, his slender fingers tracing thoughtfully over a parchment covered in complex runic designs of his own making. Around him, the flickering glow from lanterns and floating candles cast subtle, shifting shadows across shelves lined meticulously with ancient texts and delicate glass phials filled with softly glowing potions. The quiet hum of magic filled the room, the protective runes etched upon the walls pulsing gently, attuned to their creator's quiet contemplation.

  He glanced up sharply as a gentle knock echoed at his door. Without looking away from the parchment, Seikan flicked his wand, and the door swung open silently, admitting Sage, whose steps were hesitant, unsure. The boy moved stiffly, gripping a notebook as if the pages themselves burned his fingertips. He was usually confident, even in Seikan's presence, yet now something seemed to unsettle him deeply.

  "Father," Sage began cautiously, the familiar sharpness softened into tentative respect. "Can I show you something?"

  Seikan lifted his gaze slowly from his own intricate runes, emerald eyes narrowing slightly as he studied his son's nervous stance. "Come," he said quietly, gesturing with a subtle flick of his hand toward the seat opposite him. "Show me."

  Sage stepped closer, carefully laying the notebook open on the polished surface of the desk, its pages trembling slightly beneath his fingertips. "It's Soya," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the pages rather than on his father's searching gaze. "He’s doing it again. Writing runes—real ancient runes—not the kind we've been creating."

  Seikan's expression betrayed nothing, though his eyes sharpened with immediate interest as they swept the pages Sage had presented. A series of runes covered the parchment, their lines graceful, fluid, resonating with an unmistakable authenticity that immediately set them apart from Seikan’s meticulously reconstructed versions. His brows knitted together subtly, the faintest flicker of surprise flashing in the depths of his eyes.

  "You're certain he drew these?" Seikan asked quietly, his voice steady, carefully masking his intrigue beneath the familiar fa?ade of cool composure.

  Sage nodded, his expression troubled as he crossed his arms defensively. "I watched him do it. He wasn't even trying—didn't even realize he was doing it. One second he was sketching some nonsense, and then these appeared beneath his quill. They're genuine, aren't they? Not like your recreations."

  For a long moment, Seikan studied the intricate patterns on the parchment, absorbing each stroke and curve carefully. His own life's work had been dedicated to reconstructing these very symbols—yet here was a young boy, a Muggle-born no less, effortlessly etching genuine ancient runes onto paper without the slightest understanding of their complexity or meaning.

  "You are correct," Seikan finally murmured, the subtle tension in his voice betraying his astonishment. "These runes... they are authentic. True ancient runes. Not recreations, nor copies."

  "But how is that possible?" Sage pressed, frustration sharpening his tone. "You've studied these your entire life. You know more than anyone. Yet even your creations are not truly ancient—they’re just close approximations. How can Soya—a boy with no magical lineage, no background—do something even you can't fully understand?"

  Seikan remained silent for a long moment, his emerald eyes fixed thoughtfully on the parchment. His fingers brushed lightly over the intricate symbols, his mind turning over possibilities he had dismissed for years. This went beyond mere talent or luck; there was something far deeper, far more mysterious at work here. It unsettled him. Seikan had built his career on precision, discipline, and control—yet Soya seemed to shatter every preconceived notion of magical lineage and power he’d held.

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  "Ancient magic doesn't discriminate by blood," Seikan finally murmured, half to himself, his voice filled with cautious contemplation. "It chooses its vessel by qualities far deeper than ancestry. Whatever allows Soya to channel these runes is innate, something ancient, instinctual—something that even he himself is unaware of."

  Sage scowled slightly, dissatisfaction etched clearly on his sharp features. "It's absurd," he muttered, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. "He's drawing symbols of power beyond even your grasp, Father. If it's not his blood, what could it possibly be?"

  Seikan’s gaze flicked up sharply, pinning Sage in place. His voice softened subtly, filled not with anger, but gentle caution. "Beware of arrogance, Sage. Do not underestimate someone simply because their power does not align with your expectations. Magic, especially the ancient kind, defies such simple categorizations. We would be foolish to dismiss Soya’s talent as a fluke or coincidence."

  Sage exhaled, expression faltering as he absorbed his father’s words. He shifted uneasily, the bitter edge fading somewhat, though confusion still lingered heavily in his features. "But still," he murmured quietly, almost as if he couldn’t quite let it go, "he shouldn't be able to do this."

  Seikan lifted the notebook carefully, examining the runes closely once again, a deep curiosity ignited in his eyes. "Yet he does," he answered calmly. "And rather than question why, perhaps the more important question is how best we can guide him. This talent—unchecked, untrained—is potentially dangerous."

  Sage’s shoulders tightened, his eyes narrowing subtly. He said nothing further, instead simply watching as Seikan placed the notebook carefully back on the desk. Sage’s pride still resisted fully accepting the reality before him, yet curiosity and respect for his father's wisdom kept him silent.

  "You have done well to bring this to my attention," Seikan finally said, his tone quietly approving. "It seems our young Mr. Vareen is far more intriguing than even I had initially suspected."

  Sage nodded stiffly, uncertain how to respond to the subtle praise. After all, approval from his father came rarely, and he found himself unsettled by the conflicting emotions swirling within him. He had sought Seikan's approval, but now that he had it, the implications felt heavier than he'd expected.

  Without another word, Sage quietly took back the notebook, his eyes thoughtful and somewhat troubled as he turned away. As he exited the office, Seikan watched him go, his expression unreadable—but within, he felt the first spark of genuine fascination.

  Soya was different—unexplainably so.

  And now Seikan understood precisely why someone like Salsiar had taken such a keen interest in him.

  Sage returned quietly to the Thylacea common room, still clutching Soya's notebook as if it might somehow vanish from his grasp if he relaxed his grip. The common room was bathed in the golden warmth of the afternoon sun filtering gently through wide windows, creating lazy patterns across the polished wooden floors and plush, comfortable chairs. Near the crackling fireplace, Soya sat with Davonte and Draven, engaged in quiet, friendly chatter punctuated by occasional laughter. Davonte's ferret darted energetically around Inkwell, Soya’s kitten, the two creatures playfully chasing one another, oblivious to their amused audience.

  Sage hesitated at the threshold, his presence still uncertain and somewhat intrusive amidst this casual camaraderie. He was unused to being a part of something relaxed, friendly—warm. His approach was noticed almost immediately, Davonte's silver eyes narrowing suspiciously as they caught sight of the notebook clasped tightly in Sage’s hand.

  "Oi," Davonte said sharply, straightening in his seat and nodding pointedly toward the notebook. "Why do you have Soya's sketchbook?"

  The light-hearted atmosphere of the group seemed to falter momentarily, tension flickering briefly through the air. Sage stiffened instinctively, a familiar defensiveness rising in him, ready to meet hostility with his usual cold disdain. Yet before he could respond, Soya intervened gently, placing a calming hand lightly on Davonte's arm.

  "It's alright, Davonte," Soya reassured softly, offering his friend a patient smile. "I gave it to Sage earlier. He's helping me with some of the rune stuff."

  Davonte blinked, his expression shifting quickly from hostility to surprise, clearly not expecting such an answer. He glanced between the two boys with uncertainty, clearly torn between protective suspicion and trust in his friend's judgment. Finally, he gave a quiet, somewhat reluctant sigh, sinking back into his chair with an expression that suggested lingering skepticism but an acceptance of Soya’s wishes. "Fine," he grumbled quietly, glancing warily at Sage. "But I'm watching."

  Sage didn’t respond immediately, simply moving forward to hand the notebook carefully back to Soya. "Thanks," Sage said stiffly, not quite making eye contact as he placed it into Soya's outstretched hand.

  Soya offered a grateful nod, sensing the lingering awkwardness and doing his best to ease it with a gentle smile. "Thank you," he replied sincerely, carefully setting the notebook on the table beside him. "It really helped."

  Sage nodded curtly again, retreating quickly to an empty chair nearby, his discomfort clear despite his carefully maintained composure. His attention shifted, drawn away from the boys to the playful antics unfolding near their feet. Inkwell pounced playfully at Davonte's ferret, the two animals rolling around, batting gently at each other, a blur of fur and cheerful squeaks.

  He watched the creatures closely, expression softening unintentionally, betraying the gentler curiosity beneath his normally cold exterior. He'd never been allowed a familiar—Seikan always viewed such companions as distractions from true mastery of magic—but now, seeing the effortless companionship and affection these two animals displayed, Sage felt an unfamiliar pang of longing tug quietly at his chest.

  Almost without thinking, he murmured softly, "A kitten would be nice…"

  Draven, who rarely missed even the smallest comment, tilted his head curiously toward Sage. "What was that?" he asked calmly, his voice polite yet clearly intrigued by Sage's quiet admission.

  Sage immediately straightened, expression tightening defensively as embarrassment crept across his features. "Nothing," he snapped quickly, eyes quickly darting away from Draven's inquisitive gaze. "Forget it."

  Davonte smirked, clearly amused by Sage’s discomfort. "Really? Didn't peg you for a cat person, Blackthorn."

  Soya quickly stepped in once again, sensing Sage's embarrassment and trying gently to defuse it. "Well, kittens are nice," he said softly, his eyes gentle, understanding clear in his tone. "They're comforting, and they always seem to know when something's bothering you."

  Sage glanced sharply at Soya, expression briefly vulnerable before it quickly hardened again, a familiar defensive mask sliding smoothly into place. He didn't respond, merely turning away, though he couldn't quite hide the faint flush of embarrassment at being so clearly exposed.

  An awkward yet strangely companionable silence settled over the group for a moment, broken only by the quiet, playful sounds of Inkwell and the ferret at their feet. Sage found himself unable to look away completely, his eyes continuing to track the playful dance of the creatures, secretly enjoying their innocence and joy.

  Soya glanced sideways at Sage, seeing the lingering softness in his normally harsh gaze. He didn't say anything further, knowing better than to push, but the faint, hopeful smile tugging at his lips spoke volumes. Perhaps there was more to Sage Blackthorn than anyone, including Sage himself, realized. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was still hope yet for a boy so accustomed to cruelty.

  After all, even the smallest of creatures could soften the hardest hearts.

  After a thoughtful pause, Soya gently cleared his throat and turned toward Davonte and Draven. "Hey, I just remembered—I need both of your help preparing for class tomorrow," he said, keeping his voice as casual and natural as possible, though a faint hint of mischief flickered briefly behind his gentle eyes.

  Davonte raised an eyebrow skeptically, clearly suspecting Soya was up to something, but he didn't challenge him immediately. Instead, he exchanged a glance with Draven, who merely shrugged slightly, indifferent as ever. "Sure thing," Draven said simply, rising to his feet with calm, methodical precision. "Where to?"

  Davonte stood more reluctantly, still eyeing Soya with mild suspicion. "Are you sure, mate? You usually handle that stuff just fine on your own."

  Soya nodded quickly, carefully scooping up Inkwell from the floor, earning a quiet meow of surprise from the small calico kitten. Without hesitation, he turned to Sage, who was still sitting stiffly nearby, watching the sudden flurry of activity with thinly veiled confusion. Before Sage could fully grasp what was happening, Soya placed Inkwell gently into his lap.

  "Could you watch Inkwell for a bit?" Soya asked softly, smiling warmly. "It shouldn't take long. He doesn't really like being alone."

  Sage's eyes widened momentarily in surprise, quickly masked by his usual defensive expression. He stared down at the kitten now perched comfortably in his lap, frozen by the unexpected weight and warmth. "Wait—what—" he began, flustered, clearly unprepared for the sudden responsibility placed upon him.

  Davonte immediately looked wary, stepping forward protectively. "Soya, you sure about this? I mean, this is Sage we're talking about."

  Soya merely shook his head gently, placing a reassuring hand briefly on Davonte's arm. "I trust him," he replied quietly, meeting Sage's uncertain gaze with quiet sincerity. "He won’t hurt Inkwell."

  Davonte sighed reluctantly, glancing at Sage once more, clearly displeased. But he respected Soya enough not to push further. "Alright," he muttered grudgingly, turning toward the dormitory stairs. "Let's hurry up, though. The sooner we finish, the better."

  Draven followed Davonte without comment, seemingly unbothered by the arrangement. Soya lingered for a brief moment, offering Sage one last gentle, reassuring smile before hurrying off after his friends, leaving Sage alone, bewildered and entirely unsure what to do with himself—or the small, purring creature now curled comfortably in his lap.

  Sage glanced down at Inkwell, meeting the kitten’s curious, luminous eyes with hesitation. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered defensively, though there was no real bite behind his words, just uncertainty and embarrassment. "This was your owner's idea, not mine."

  The kitten purred softly, gently kneading Sage’s robes with tiny, rhythmic paws. Something about the innocent affection of the small animal softened the edge Sage so carefully maintained. Almost despite himself, he tentatively brushed his fingers lightly against the kitten's silky fur, startled by the gentle rumble of approval that greeted his cautious touch.

  Feeling oddly vulnerable, Sage glanced around quickly to ensure no one else was observing him in this moment of tenderness. Once confident he was alone, he allowed his guard to lower slightly, relaxing subtly into the chair as he stroked the small creature nestled contentedly against him.

  "I don't know why he trusts me," Sage murmured quietly, more to himself than the kitten, "but I'm glad someone does."

  Inkwell blinked sleepily, a soft, comforting warmth radiating from his small frame. Sage felt a tiny, tentative smile tug at the corner of his lips, his usual cold composure melting away ever so slightly. He still didn’t fully understand why Soya had chosen to trust him, or why the boy had reached out despite Sage’s previous hostility. But for now, with the gentle weight of the kitten curled against him, Sage decided not to question it.

  He just allowed himself simply to enjoy the peaceful moment and the quiet companionship he'd secretly longed for all along.