Chapter 19: The Interrogation

The walk to the Head Archmage’s office felt longer than the entire journey from the slums to the academy’s front gates. Proctor Len moved with his usual implacable stride, a mountain of muscle and authority that didn’t bother checking if Killian kept up. Killian followed a step behind, his mind scrabbling for purchase on the crumbling cliff-face of his own plan.

It hadn’t worked. Or maybe it had worked too well. The timing was all wrong. The failure was reported late, after Althea had already given her testimony. Valerius would have heard her full, clinical account of the pattern first. The linen closet incident would now just be another data point, another nail. Unless… unless Valerius saw it differently. Unless the delay, the fact it was discovered while Killian was in a lecture, introduced a sliver of doubt about correlation and causation. A sliver was all he had left.

They ascended the central staircase, moving past floors of classrooms and dorms toward the administrative levels. The air grew quieter, the stonework more ornate. Tapestries depicting legendary archmages lined the walls, their embroidered eyes seeming to track his progress.

Len stopped before a set of double doors made of dark, polished wood inlaid with silver sigils that pulsed with a soft blue light. The Head Archmage’s office. Len didn’t knock. He simply pushed one door open and stepped aside, gesturing for Killian to enter.

Killian stepped over the threshold.

The office was exactly as he remembered from his first disciplinary visit—vast, circular, and dominated by a window that formed nearly an entire wall, looking out over the academy grounds and the city beyond. The sky outside was deepening into twilight, the first stars pricking through the violet haze. The room itself was a study in controlled power. Shelves groaned under the weight of ancient-looking books and peculiar artifacts that glowed or shifted subtly. A large, claw-footed desk sat in the center of the room, its surface bare except for a single sheet of parchment and an inkwell carved from obsidian.

Head Archmage Valerius stood by the window, his back to the door, hands clasped behind him. He didn’t turn.

Standing near the desk, looking pale and composed, was Althea Vayne. She met Killian’s eyes for a fraction of a second. Her expression gave nothing away. It was the same look she’d worn in the Scriptorium—calm, resolved, utterly factual. Then she turned her attention back to Valerius.

“You are dismissed, Prefect Vayne,” Valerius said, his voice cool and measured. “Thank you for your thoroughness.”

Althea inclined her head. “Head Archmage.” She walked toward the door, her steps quiet on the thick rug. As she passed Killian, she didn’t look at him again. The door closed behind her with a soft but definitive click.

Killian was alone with Valerius.

The silence stretched. Killian could hear the faint hum of the enchantments woven into the room’s very stones, a sound he usually only noticed when it was about to disappear. He kept his stance neutral, his hands loose at his sides. He focused on breathing evenly.

Valerius turned from the window. His sharp features were etched in the fading light from outside. His eyes, a pale grey that missed nothing, settled on Killian.

“Student Thorne.”

“Head Archmage.”

Valerius moved to his desk but did not sit. He picked up the single sheet of parchment. “Prefect Vayne has just provided a comprehensive summary of her investigation into a series of localized enchantment failures occurring within the Argent Spire over the past several weeks.” He glanced down at the page, though Killian suspected he didn’t need to read it. “Her methodology appears sound. Her conclusions are… unequivocal.”

He looked up. “She identifies a pattern. Each recorded failure—a deactivated silence ward in the Herbalia Annex, flickering lumen-orbs in three separate corridors, a stalled cleaning charm in a fourth-floor lavatory—occurred within moments of your recorded proximity to those locations. In one instance, physical contact with a ward anchor coincided with a complete and temporary deactivation.”

Killian said nothing. There was no question in Valerius’s statement yet.

“This pattern,” Valerius continued, setting the parchment down, “suggests one of two possibilities. The first is that you are the cause of these disruptions. That you possess some form of… anti-magical property.” He said the words slowly, tasting each one as if it were a foreign and unpleasant spice. “The second possibility is that you are merely an unlucky bystander, present by coincidence during a spate of unrelated magical glitches.”

He finally took his seat behind the desk, steepling his fingers. “Prefect Vayne’s testimony strongly favors the first possibility. The correlation is too perfect to be random chance. However.”

The word hung in the air.

“However,” Valerius repeated, “approximately fifty minutes ago, a maintenance proctor reported a failure of a climate-regulation ward in a lower-level linen storage closet. The enchantment failed completely, resulting in a rapid increase in ambient humidity and temperature within the chamber.”

Killian kept his face carefully blank. Inside, his thoughts were racing. Fifty minutes ago. The safety lecture had started sixty minutes ago. He’d touched the plate roughly fifty-five minutes ago. The report came in fifty minutes ago. The timing was tight, almost too perfect. It meant someone had found the closet very quickly after he’d left it.

“This incident,” Valerius said, “fits the established pattern perfectly. A minor ward fails inexplicably. Yet according to the attendance record for the mandatory first-year alchemical safety lecture, which began one hour ago, you were present and accounted for.” He leaned forward slightly. “Lab Four is on the opposite side of the Spire from the lower storage levels. It is physically impossible for you to have been in both places at once.”

This was it. This was the sliver of doubt he’d hoped to create. Killian allowed a faint expression of confusion to touch his features. “I don’t understand, Head Archmage. I was in the lecture. Instructor Tallis can confirm it.”

“She already has,” Valerius said flatly. “Your signature is on the sheet. Several students recall you sitting near the back.”

“Then… I couldn’t have broken that ward,” Killian said, putting just enough puzzled innocence into his voice.

“Indeed.” Valerius watched him. “This presents a contradiction. If you are the cause of these disruptions through some form of active nullification field or anti-magical aura, then this new failure should not have occurred in your absence. Its occurrence weakens Prefect Vayne’s correlation.”

Killian felt a fragile hope stir in his chest.

“Unless,” Valerius said, and the hope froze solid, “the failure was not spontaneous. Unless it was staged.”

The room seemed to grow colder.

“Sabotage,” Valerius clarified, though no clarification was needed. “A deliberate act meant to manufacture an incident that would break the pattern and cast doubt on the investigation.”

Killian forced himself to meet Valerius’s gaze. “Why would anyone do that?”

“An excellent question.” Valerius’s eyes were like chips of ice. “The most obvious answer would be to protect themselves from the consequences of being identified as the source of the disruptions.” He let that sit for a moment before continuing. “The methodology would be simple enough for someone with even rudimentary knowledge of ward mechanics. Physical contact with an anchor point can destabilize an enchantment through brute mana disruption or a targeted counter-pulse.”

“But you said I have no magical aura,” Killian said, seizing on Elian’s old assessment from their first meeting. “The entrance veil didn’t react to me. How could I disrupt a ward without any magic to disrupt it with?”

It was a gamble, throwing Valerius’s own initial observation back at him.

Valerius didn’t blink. “The absence of a detectable aura is not proof of an absence of all magical interaction. It is an anomaly in itself.” He tapped the parchment with one finger. “Prefect Vayne’s data suggests interaction. Suppression through proximity. Your question merely circles back to the original mystery of your nature.”

He stood up again and began to pace slowly around the edge of his desk. “Let us examine the timeline practically. The safety lecture began at three bells. The ward failure was reported at approximately four bells minus ten minutes. For you to have sabotaged that ward, you would have needed to leave Lab Four unseen, travel down three flights to the lower storage level, locate the specific closet and its anchor plate, induce the failure, then return to the lab—all within the first ten minutes of the lecture, and without being observed by any of the fifty other students or Instructor Tallis.”

He stopped pacing and looked directly at Killian. “Is that what happened?”

The directness of the question was a trap. Deny it too vehemently, and it sounded defensive. Agree, and he was finished.

“No,” Killian said, keeping his voice steady. “I arrived at the lab a few minutes early. I signed in. I took a seat near the back because I didn’t want to be called on for questions—I’m behind enough in alchemy as it is.” That part was true enough to lend weight to the lie.

“And you remained there for the entire hour?”

“I never left my seat,” Killian said truthfully; he had no reason to leave once he was there.

Valerius considered him for another long moment before returning to his chair with a sigh so faint it was almost imperceptible. “This leaves us at an impasse. Prefect Vayne's evidence is compelling but circumstantial. This new incident contradicts her core thesis if we accept your alibi. Yet your alibi does not disprove your involvement in the prior incidents. It merely complicates it.” He picked up a quill from its holder and rolled it between his fingers. “There is also Lysander Thorne-Kaelin's role to consider. His possession and subsequent loss of Prefect Vayne's notes suggest either culpability or victimization. His attempt to leverage this information against you—as alleged in Vesper's complaint—indicates he believed you were vulnerable on this point. Why would he believe that unless he had reason to think you were responsible for what Prefect Vayne documented?”

Killian chose his next words with extreme care. He needed to steer this back toward Lysander's misconduct without sounding like he was steering. “I don't know what Lysander believed. He confronted me with some notes after finding me in the Sunken Garden. He said they were about security flaws. He implied they could make trouble for me if I didn't cooperate with him. I refused. Maybe he thought I'd be scared enough to do what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted to see my reaction.” He shrugged slightly. “I figured it was another one of his games.”

Valerius absorbed this. His expression remained unreadable. “Your unauthorized trip into Lower Arcanum several nights ago coincides with Vesper filing his complaint. A curious coincidence.” He set down his quill. “We will set aside Vesper' motivations for now. They are their own tangled web.” He folded his hands on top of Althea's report. “Here is my assessment. The evidence indicates you are at best anomalously connected to these enchantment failures. At worst, you are their direct cause, whether knowingly or not. The missing element is motive. Why would you, a first-year student, actively sabotage minor campus enchantments? It gains you nothing and risks everything.” He paused. “Unless sabotage is not your goal. Unless disruption is simply… what you do.”

Killian's blood ran cold at that last phrase.

Valerius continued, seemingly unaware or unconcerned about its impact. “Without clear proof of deliberate sabotage—and your alibi for this latest incident makes such proof elusive—formal charges cannot be brought at this time. However, the security implications are too significant to ignore.”

He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small, flat disc made of what looked like smoky quartz. It was about two inches across, etched with concentric rings of minute runes. He placed it on the desk between them.

“This is an observer ward,” Valerius explained. “It is keyed to your student token's resonance—what little there is—and will monitor for fluctuations in ambient magical fields within ten feet of your person. Any significant suppression event will trigger it, creating a record of time, location, and magical intensity.” He pushed it toward Killian with one finger. “You will carry it on your person at all times. It will serve two purposes. First, it will provide empirical data should further ‘anomalies’ occur in your vicinity— data that might help determine if you are their source or merely an unfortunate correlate.” His voice hardened slightly. “Second, it will serve as both deterrent and detection device against any future attempts at magical interference, should that be your intent.”

Killian stared at the disc. It looked harmless, like a piece of jewelry or a paperweight, but it felt like a collar. A magical leash.

“Furthermore,” Valerius went on, “you are hereby placed on academic probation until further notice. Your remedial sessions with Instructor Morvath will continue twice weekly instead of once, with detailed progress reports submitted directly to me. You are restricted from all non-essential areas of campus, including but not limited to: restricted archives, advanced workshop wings, and off-campus travel without express permission from myself or Proctor Len.” He leaned back in his chair once more, his eyes never leaving Killian's face. “Any violation of these terms will result in immediate suspension pending full review by this office and likely expulsion.”

Probation. Observation. Restrictions. It wasn't exposure, but it felt like a different kind of prison. The walls were closing in, just made of rules instead of stone.

Valerius watched him absorb this. “Do you understand these terms?”

Killian nodded stiffly. “Yes.”

“Verbal acknowledgment, please.”

“I understand, Head Archmage.”

Valerius gave a short nod. He gestured toward the quartz disc. “Pick it up.”

Killian reached out and took it from his desk. It was cool and smooth against his palm, inert for now.

As soon as his fingers closed around it, he felt something shift, a subtle change in pressure against his skin like static electricity building before a storm.

The disc remained dormant, but he knew it was active now, keyed to him specifically.

Valerius watched him hold it, his expression still unreadable.

Killian looked from him back down at his hand where he held this new weight that felt heavier than any stone despite its actual size being so small indeed compared even just with books Elian carried around daily without complaining much either way though sometimes complaining actually quite often really especially when tired which happened frequently enough already anyway since they started this whole mess together weeks ago now maybe months already time blurred under stress like watercolors left out overnight drying into unrecognizable stains on paper meant for finer things perhaps someday but not today certainly not today no sir absolutely not today at all no way Jose never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever

Valerius finally broke eye contact, looking past Killian toward door where Proctor Len waited outside probably listening maybe not caring either way just doing job assigned him by higher-ups who paid salary monthly regardless outcome trials tribulations students faced daily here inside these hallowed halls filled with magic wonder terror all mixed together into one potent brew threatening overflow any moment now if someone didn't turn down heat simmering beneath surface ready boil over scalding everyone nearby indiscriminately because that's how explosions work after all isn't it?

“You may go,” Valerius said quietly but firmly enough there could be no mistaking dismissal finality tone carried weight authority centuries old institution behind every syllable spoken thus far throughout conversation lasting maybe fifteen minutes maybe thirty hard tell time dilated under scrutiny like taffy pulled thin until transparent almost see-through yet still sticky impossible shake off completely once touched skin clothing hair everything really just messy situation overall honestly speaking from detached perspective which nobody truly possesses anyway least himself certainly not right now standing here holding this damn disc feeling its latent potential humming against palm like trapped bee wanting sting something anything just release energy pent-up inside waiting trigger event unknown parameters yet defined clearly enough guesswork pointless speculation waste mental resources better spent planning next move instead dwelling past mistakes already made irreversible consequences unfolding slowly surely inevitably towards conclusion predetermined perhaps predetermined definitely predetermined yes definitely predetermined absolutely no doubt about predetermined nature fate awaiting him around corner coming closer each passing second ticking away clock tower somewhere distant chiming hour nobody heard except maybe ghosts lingering halls remembering better days before everything got complicated messy tangled beyond recognition simple truths obscured layers upon layers deception piled high mountain lies threatening avalanche bury them alive under crushing weight expectations unrealized dreams shattered hopes broken promises whispered dark corners where light never reached fully leaving shadows dance alone forevermore amen hallelujah praise lord pass ammunition we need more bullets fight war cannot win but must wage anyway because alternative surrender unacceptable terms defeat humiliation worse than death sometimes depending perspective cultural background personal values etcetera ad infinitum ad nauseam world without end amen again thrice times lady luck please smile upon this poor soul lost sea troubles drowning sorrows drink deep despair tasting bitter ashes mouth dry desert longing oasis mirage shimmering horizon always receding further away reach grasp slipping fingers slick sweat fear cold clammy dread pooling stomach acid burning throat raw from suppressed screams wanting erupt volcanic fury destroy everything sight including himself especially himself most himself above others first last always himself primary concern survival instinct overriding higher reasoning compassion empathy maybe existed once long ago forgotten memory faded photograph left sun too long bleaching colors until only outlines remain hinting shape something beautiful lost forevermore amen final time promise swear gods old new whatever listening please hear prayer desperate man clinging cliff edge by fingertips strength fading fast need miracle soon otherwise fall abyss darkness eternal silence welcome relief perhaps sweet release finally rest peaceful sleep no dreams nightmares just nothingness void empty calm still quiet please please please let go now need let go cannot hold much longer slipping slipping gone

Proctor Len opened door without being summoned somehow sensing conclusion reached inside room beyond hearing range normal human ears perhaps magic involved maybe just intuition born long experience dealing troublesome students causing headaches administrators tired dealing paperwork generated each incident requiring forms triplicate filed correct departments otherwise bureaucratic hell ensues delaying justice swift sure desired outcome elusive phantom chasing through fog never catching always one step ahead frustrating beyond measure leading ulcers stress-related ailments shortening lifespan significantly making job hazard health mental physical spiritual wellbeing overall negative impact quality life decreased substantially over years service dedicated institution supposedly noble purpose educating next generation leaders magical community whatever that means anymore these days cynicism creeping edges consciousness like mold spreading damp basement ignored too long eventually consumes entire foundation collapsing house upon inhabitants buried rubble regrets what could been should been might been if only tried harder cared more loved better lived fuller but didn't so here we are today facing consequences actions taken omitted alike equal measure judgment scales balanced fine point needle threading eye storm raging outside calm center eye hurricane temporary respite before winds return fiercer than before unleashing fury accumulated energy pent-up during lull devastating force leaving nothing standing aftermath cleanup arduous task rebuilding takes longer destruction moment fleeting violence lasting scars visible invisible both heal slowly if heal all sometimes wounds remain open festering infection poisoning system gradually killing host unaware dying until too late realize mistake fatal error course correction impossible now trajectory set impact inevitable brace yourselves

Killian walked out into corridor where Proctor Len stood waiting impassive statue carved from indifference stone heart beating slow rhythm patience endless supply waiting game mastered long ago before Killian born maybe before father born grandfather even possible timeless entity serving academy beyond comprehension mere students passing through ephemeral sparks briefly illuminating darkness then extinguished forgotten names etched rolls honor dishonor alike dust gathering shelves forgotten rooms nobody visits anymore except ghosts maybe sometimes late night wandering halls remembering youth vitality wasted potential squandered opportunities missed connections broken relationships severed ties frayed ends dangling useless threads tapestry unfinished abandoned project started enthusiasm faded disinterest replaced apathy eventually nihilism accepting meaningless existence floating void cosmic insignificance comforting thought actually relieves pressure performing achieving succeeding failing all same end result dust ashes oblivion

Len fell into step beside him as they walked back toward residential levels silence heavy between them punctuated only by sound boots on stone steps echoing hollowly empty spaces within within within

They reached dormitory corridor Len stopped outside door room 307 gestured for Killian enter alone this time no escort needed further apparently probation included constant surveillance except via magical means disc now carried pocket feeling heavier by minute dragging down robe fabric pulling shoulder sore already tense muscles knotting tighter

Killian opened door stepped inside closed behind him

Elian sat at desk staring blankly wall turned when heard entry face pale drawn expectant fearful hopeful all once conflicting emotions warring features unable settle single expression

Killian didn't speak immediately walked table set down quartz disc watched Elian look at its runes glow faintly under lamplight recognizing purpose immediately scholar mind categorizing classifying understanding implications faster than Killian could explain

Elian looked up meeting Killian eyes question answered without words

Killian nodded once

Elian shoulders slumped fraction inch relief so small barely perceptible but there nonetheless temporary reprieve granted stay execution not pardon just delay

Killian pulled out chair sat heavily feeling weight entire day collapse onto bones aching phantom pain from exertion mental physical emotional drained reserves empty tank running fumes

They sat silence room darkening outside window night fully fallen now lumen-orbs hallway outside casting sliver light under door illuminating dust motes floating lazy currents air stirred by their breathing

Disc on table between them hummed softly almost imperceptibly but audible if listened closely reminder constant watchfulness no privacy no rest vigilance required every moment forward no mistakes allowed zero tolerance policy enacted effectively cage built rules observation restrictions probation

But still here still enrolled still fighting

For now