The Great Hall bustled with eager chatter and laughter, the morning sunlight streaming through the tall stained-glass windows, casting brilliant patterns of colored light over the students gathered at their tables. Breakfast was momentarily forgotten, conversations fading to expectant whispers, as Boromus Spellchecker rose gracefully from his seat at the staff table and stepped calmly forward, holding up a hand to quieten the hall. His deep eyes sparkled with amusement, as if he found the bustling excitement as delightful as the students themselves.

  "Good morning, students," Boromus began, his rich voice warm and comforting as it echoed gently across the Great Hall. "As I'm sure many of you have realized, the school year draws swiftly toward its end, and with that comes the usual flurry of excitement and activity. We've had an eventful year, more so than usual." His eyes twinkled mischievously at this, hinting at the understatement, and several students chuckled knowingly, memories of recent chaos fresh in their minds.

  "However," he continued, adjusting his robes with an exaggerated flourish, "we will not let recent events dampen our spirits! In fact, it is my pleasure to announce a rather unusual addition to our usual end-of-year celebrations, an idea kindly suggested to me by our very own Davonte Evander." At the mention of Davonte’s name, several eyes turned curiously toward the Thylacea table, where Davonte leaned back proudly, arms crossed, clearly savoring the attention, despite the lighthearted smirks his friends wore at his antics.

  Boromus's eyes twinkled even brighter as he continued, clearly entertained by the idea himself. "We will be hosting Austramore’s first-ever Cosplay Day! Yes, I know," he added, chuckling gently, "it's new to me as well. The idea is for you all—and indeed, your professors—” seated beside him Seikan Blackthorn stiffened. “to dress as your favorite fictional or historical characters. It promises to be quite the enjoyable spectacle, I suspect."

  Whispers and excited laughter filled the room, students already beginning to enthusiastically discuss potential costumes, each more ambitious and creative than the last. Boromus held up a hand, waiting patiently as the noise faded.

  "Of course, Cosplay Day will take place on a regular class day, ensuring our usual academic rigor remains undisturbed, though admittedly somewhat more colorfully attired. Your professors have assured me they too will participate,” Seikan’s emerald eyes flicked to Boromus, a promise of something close to murder flashing across his face, “so I recommend taking full advantage of this rare opportunity to see Professor Coorong as someone other than himself," Boromus said, with a teasing glance toward the Charms professor who sat with a wide, mischievous grin. The students erupted into laughter at the playful jab, Professor Coorong grinning back cheerfully as he mimed removing an imaginary hat and bowing dramatically in acknowledgment.

  As the laughter subsided, Boromus's expression turned gentle once more. "This event will take place just before we break for the holidays, and it is my sincere hope that it brings joy and a sense of unity to our halls. Remember, while the year has been challenging for many, we have much to celebrate. Your creativity and enthusiasm are what makes Austramore truly magical."

  With a soft smile and a final wave of his hand, Boromus returned to his seat, and the hall immediately burst into excited conversations as students began eagerly planning costumes and speculating about what their professors might wear.

  At the Thylacea table, Soya sat quietly amused, a faint smile on his lips as Davonte beamed proudly at the recognition. "See, told you he'd love the idea," Davonte said confidently, turning to Draven, who merely rolled his eyes in gentle amusement.

  Nearby, Tiana Loreman sat thoughtfully, fingers absently tracing patterns along the polished tabletop as she seemed lost in thought. After a moment, she turned quietly to Soya, who was busy feeding Inkwell small pieces of bacon from his plate.

  "Soya," she began quietly, her voice steady but carrying a note of uncertainty, "I wanted to ask you something."

  He looked up curiously, noticing the seriousness hidden beneath her carefully maintained composure. "Of course, what's up?"

  Tiana hesitated slightly, her eyes shifting briefly before returning resolutely to Soya's. "I was wondering—since holidays are nearly here—if you'd mind if I spent them with you and your family. I don’t really have a place to go, and…" She paused again, seeming unusually vulnerable for the normally poised girl. "I thought maybe it would be nice to see the Muggle world for myself."

  Davonte, Draven, and Kalsei watched curiously, remaining quiet but attentive as they awaited Soya's response. Davonte especially seemed intrigued, his silver eyes wide with curiosity.

  Soya smiled warmly, sensing a hidden weight behind her casual request, but didn’t push it. "Of course, Tiana," he said gently, his voice quiet but firm. "My family would be more than happy to have you. And if you really want to see the Muggle world, I can promise it'll be an adventure."

  Tiana visibly relaxed, a faint smile flickering across her usually reserved face. "Thank you," she replied quietly, genuine relief clear in her eyes.

  "Hey, don't leave me out," Davonte suddenly interjected, leaning forward eagerly. "If you two are planning adventures in the Muggle world, I'm definitely coming. I've always wanted to see a tellybox thing!"

  Draven sighed dramatically beside them. "It's just called a television, Davonte."

  Kalsei giggled softly, nudging Davonte playfully. "Careful, you might actually learn something."

  Their laughter rippled down the table, filling the air with warmth and camaraderie. Nearby, Sage watched silently, his dark eyes fixed thoughtfully on the group, quietly absorbing the unfamiliar but comforting sense of belonging that seemed to radiate from them all.

  Unseen by the others, Boromus Spellchecker sat at the professor’s table, observing the interactions with quiet satisfaction. His eyes lingered thoughtfully on the small group, noting particularly the calm, genuine warmth Soya radiated even amid all the uncertainty he faced. A quiet smile played across the headmaster’s lips as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

  It seemed Austramore was changing—perhaps for the better—and he couldn't help but feel pleased by it.

  Davonte leaned back, his expression lighting up as the chatter around the table slowly faded into comfortable background noise. "Alright," he announced eagerly, rubbing his hands together as his eyes gleamed with anticipation. "If we're going to pull off this cosplay thing properly, we'll need costumes. And I know just the place—Fernwick has that quirky little costume shop, right?"

  Tiana raised an elegant eyebrow at Davonte’s enthusiasm, though the faint smile tugging at her lips softened her skeptical expression. "You mean Madame Marigold’s Masquerades? I've passed by a few times but never actually gone inside."

  Davonte’s grin widened, his voice gaining excitement. "That's the one! I've heard from older students it's full of all kinds of strange outfits and magical accessories. Perfect for whatever this 'cosplay' thing is."

  Kalsei giggled, leaning closer with sparkling eyes. "Sounds fun! I bet they even have cat ears!"

  Draven adjusted his glasses with methodical precision, his expression thoughtful. "It sounds entertaining enough. I suppose acquiring proper costumes will enhance the overall enjoyment of the event, provided, of course, we don't end up looking utterly ridiculous."

  Davonte flashed him a playful grin, patting Draven lightly on the shoulder. "Oh, we'll absolutely look ridiculous, and it'll be brilliant. Besides, you’ll probably pick the weirdest, most obscure character anyway."

  Draven gave an amused, indifferent shrug, conceding the point without protest. Davonte turned his attention toward Soya, who was quietly sketching something into his notebook, though clearly paying close attention to their conversation.

  "What about you, Soya?" Davonte asked warmly. "You in?"

  Soya glanced up with a gentle smile. "Definitely. Sounds like fun." His eyes shifted subtly past Davonte, resting briefly on Sage, who sat quietly at the far end of the Thylacea table, apparently immersed in his own thoughts but clearly eavesdropping. Soya hesitated briefly, a thoughtful look crossing his face before turning back to Davonte. "Mind if Sage comes along too?"

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  Davonte blinked, momentarily startled out of his excitement, his expression shifting from surprised to faintly displeased. He lowered his voice, leaning closer to Soya so their conversation remained private. "Really? You want him along? After everything?"

  Soya met Davonte's skeptical gaze with calm determination, speaking softly but firmly. "Davonte, has Sage done anything cruel lately?" He paused, giving his friend a moment to consider his words before gently adding, "People can change. You know that."

  Davonte sighed heavily, clearly torn between his protective instincts and his trust in Soya’s judgment. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod, murmuring quietly, "Fine. But if he tries anything—"

  "He won't," Soya interrupted softly, confidence clear in his gentle voice. "Trust me."

  With a resigned glance, Davonte nodded again, still uncertain but willing to trust his friend's instincts. Soya turned, gently calling out to Sage, who immediately stiffened, startled to have been noticed at all.

  "Sage," Soya said gently, offering a reassuring smile. "We're going to Fernwick tomorrow to find costumes for Cosplay Day. Want to come with us?"

  Sage hesitated, clearly caught off-guard by the invitation, his initial defensive impulse fading quickly beneath the sincerity in Soya's eyes. After a tense pause, he finally nodded stiffly, a faint flush coloring his pale features. "Sure," he mumbled quietly, trying to sound indifferent despite the awkward gratitude lurking beneath his careful tone. "I'll come."

  Davonte rolled his eyes slightly, though he kept any further comments to himself, instead focusing his attention back on planning their upcoming trip. Kalsei clapped excitedly, already dreaming aloud about the cat ears and outfits he hoped to find, while Tiana and Draven began discussing potential characters from wizard literature, exchanging calm but enthusiastic suggestions.

  Soya glanced toward Sage once more, who was now staring down at the table thoughtfully, clearly unsure what he'd just agreed to. Yet beneath his guarded expression was something softer, something Soya had rarely seen from Sage—gratitude. Sage may never admit it aloud, but Soya sensed, deep down, the invitation had meant more than he could express.

  Soya turned back toward Davonte, quietly relieved and hopeful. Perhaps tomorrow’s trip to Fernwick would not just be a chance to find costumes, but a step toward healing for someone who needed it more than anyone realized.

  Across the Great Hall, sitting rigidly at the Yarramundi table, Sevrin stared darkly at the opposite side of the room. His sharp green eyes were fixated on Sage, now seated comfortably among the Thylacea students—fitting in, relaxed, included. It felt unnatural seeing his once closest friend, someone he'd trusted implicitly, now willingly mingling with the very group they had once mocked together.

  Sevrin's jaw tightened, fingers curling into tense fists beneath the polished table as his anger flared silently. He could still hear Sage's furious voice echoing in his mind, the sting of rejection still fresh, a wound refusing to heal. Sage’s words—that he wanted nothing to do with Sevrin anymore—echoed relentlessly, each repetition burning like a fresh insult, a bitter reminder of his own mistakes.

  But worse than that, far worse, was seeing Sage with Soya Vareen.

  Just the sight of Soya's gentle, unassuming smile made Sevrin's blood boil. How could everyone fail to see what was obvious? Vareen was nothing more than a freakish anomaly—a Muggle-born contaminant, an aberration in a school steeped in magical purity. Yet Sage, his former ally, was sitting there willingly, even gratefully, accepting Soya’s company.

  Sevrin's teeth ground together, bitterness surging violently within him. He despised Soya—not merely for existing, but because he had somehow stolen everything Sevrin once held dear. First, Sage’s friendship, then his sister’s respect. Even Lykaios, normally as cold and indifferent as he himself, had snapped at him for daring to speak against Soya. And Salsiar—the powerful, ancient entity Sevrin had foolishly served—had even suggested the unthinkable: that Vareen, this insignificant Muggle-born boy, was somehow stronger, superior.

  He despised that notion more than anything. The very idea that Soya could be special, powerful, or meaningful in any way repulsed Sevrin to his core. No matter how effortlessly the boy seemed to charm others—professors and students alike—Sevrin refused to accept it. He saw only weakness in those bright eyes and gentle smiles, only inferiority hiding behind an undeserved air of quiet strength.

  Yet, despite his stubborn denials, the evidence sat blatantly before him. Sage, once his closest ally, lowering his guard, looking flustered at something Soya said. Sage never lowered his guard, he never got flustered, not openly, not genuinely. Not with him. The ease Sage displayed, seated among those he’d once mocked alongside Sevrin, felt like a slap in the face.

  Jealousy twisted cruelly in Sevrin’s chest. Vareen didn't deserve any of this—this admiration, this acceptance. He certainly didn't deserve Sage's loyalty. Sevrin felt robbed, betrayed, isolated.

  "You won't have anything to do with me anymore," Sage's words whispered harshly through Sevrin's thoughts, tearing deeper with every repetition. How could Sage discard years of friendship for a Muggle-born nobody?

  Sevrin's fists clenched harder, nails biting sharply into his palms. Anger mingled dangerously with shame. He remembered the weight of his wand, remembered clearly how easily he'd raised it, how willingly he'd obeyed Salsiar's orders to harm his closest friend. But beneath that regret lurked resentment, a raw bitterness he wasn't ready to confront fully—resentment directed squarely at the boy who'd disrupted everything.

  In his mind, Sevrin silently promised himself something dark, something inevitable. He wouldn't let this go. He wouldn't stand by and watch as Soya took everything from him, piece by piece. Sage would regret abandoning him for that insignificant boy. Everyone who chose Vareen’s side would regret their blind faith.

  As Sevrin forced himself to look away, seething silently in the shadows, one truth rang clear in his mind:

  He wouldn't rest until everyone saw Soya Vareen for exactly what he truly was—a powerless, undeserving freak who belonged nowhere near Austramore.

  Breakfast ended and the great hall cleared as students left for the library, the courtyard, their common rooms.

  The dormitory was silent, save for the soft scratching of quill against parchment. Soya sat cross-legged on his bed, his sketchbook propped up against his knees, the dim glow of his bedside lantern casting long shadows across the page. Since his talk with Seikan, he'd found himself drawn more and more often into solitude, compelled to explore the mystery that surrounded him—this magic he had been unknowingly wielding. He still didn't truly understand what it was or how it worked, but at least now he had a name for it: Ink Magic.

  Soya carefully dipped his quill back into the small vial of ink beside him, watching the dark liquid drip slowly from the tip before guiding it gently across the blank page. His hand moved almost instinctively, tracing delicate, winding shapes without fully knowing what they would become. Gradually, the vague outlines formed into the familiar shape of a small bird, each line detailed and elegant as if guided by something deep within him.

  He paused, taking a slow breath as he considered the drawing he'd created. It was simple enough—a bird perched lightly on a branch, poised to take flight. Yet there was something strange about it, something different. Before he could understand why, the ink lines suddenly began to shiver and ripple gently across the page. His eyes widened, watching with quiet awe as the bird’s sketched wings slowly unfurled, stretching gracefully outward with a life all their own.

  Soya felt his heart race, excitement battling confusion. He had seen this before—the spontaneous movement of his drawings, the way they shifted and danced without his intention—but this time, he could feel something deeper. He sensed a connection, as though the ink wasn't simply moving on its own, but responding to him. Tentatively, he spoke in a soft whisper, almost afraid to disturb the fragile moment. "Stay still."

  The bird paused instantly, the ink settling as if frozen mid-motion. A surge of hope filled him, a tentative confidence beginning to form. He was controlling it—truly controlling it for the first time, not simply watching helplessly as the magic acted on its own. Carefully, he reached out again, whispering gently as though soothing a skittish animal. "Spread your wings slowly."

  Immediately, the bird obeyed. The sketched wings extended with deliberate, careful movements, the ink shimmering softly as they stretched wide. Soya's pulse quickened in excitement. It was working. He drew in a deep breath, exhilarated by the realization that he wasn't just at the mercy of his mysterious magic—he was beginning to master it.

  But as that thought crossed his mind, something unexpected occurred. The ink lines trembled again, this time violently, twisting and bending unnaturally as the image distorted. What had moments ago been a delicate drawing suddenly darkened, thickening into something else—something jagged and frightening. The once gentle bird transformed, its form stretching grotesquely as feathers sharpened into dagger-like edges, eyes darkening into hollow, sinister voids. Panic flashed through Soya, his heart leaping painfully in his chest.

  "No," he breathed out shakily, desperately trying to regain control. "Stop—stop!"

  But the ink did not listen, twisting further into a monstrous shape, as though feeding off his anxiety. Taking a deep breath, Soya forced himself to calm down, clenching his hand tightly around the quill as he gathered his willpower. With a sudden decisive stroke, he slashed a determined line through the distorted image, severing the twisted form. The ink responded instantly, collapsing inward as if deflating, retreating to its original sketched form. In mere seconds, it was just a harmless drawing once more, nothing more than lifeless lines of ink on parchment.

  He stared down at the page, heart still hammering, breath ragged. Sweat had formed along his brow, but he barely noticed. Frustration tightened in his chest, mingled with lingering excitement. He had almost had it—almost managed to control his magic. But it had slipped away just as swiftly, replaced by something dark and uncontrollable.

  Soya sighed deeply, leaning back against his pillows. His thoughts raced, replaying the moment again and again in his mind. He had glimpsed control, however brief, and that gave him hope. He wasn't helpless, wasn't completely at the mercy of this strange power that lived within him. But clearly, there was still so much he didn't understand—so much more he needed to learn.

  He flexed his fingers, gripping and releasing the quill, letting the tension slowly ease from his hands. As frightening as the experience had been, he couldn't deny the growing spark of excitement and curiosity beneath his fear. It was a start—a tentative, uncertain first step—but a start nonetheless. He glanced out the window at the darkening sky beyond, a thoughtful expression settling over his face. If he could control this magic, if he could truly master it… maybe, he could finally understand who he was meant to become.