The castle slept. Moonlight bled through arched windows, painting silver streaks across the worn stone floors of Hogwarts' upper corridors. The light pooled in irregular shapes—oblongs and diamonds and fractured circles—that shifted imperceptibly as the moon traced its slow path across the cloud-scattered sky. Each window told a different story: one threw a perfect silver rectangle across a suit of armor, turning the polished steel into a ghostly sentinel; another scattered its light through ancient, warped glass, creating rippling patterns that seemed to breathe with the night air.
A cold wind howled through the winding passageways, carrying whispers of centuries-old magic that clung to the walls like cobwebs. The sound was not merely wind—it was the castle itself breathing, its ancient stones settling and shifting as they had for a thousand years. Sometimes the wind carried other things: fragments of long-dead conversations, snatches of spells cast by students long turned to dust, the faint echo of laughter from some forgotten century. Tonight, it carried all of these and more, weaving them into a tapestry of sound that would have kept any ordinary student awake with fear.
Adam moved like a shadow, his emerald robes billowing softly around his ankles as he slipped from the darkness of the Slytherin common room. The portrait hole had closed behind him with barely a whisper—he'd oiled the hinges himself weeks ago, planning for exactly this kind of night. His breath misted in the chill air, each exhale sharp and controlled, visible for just a moment before dissipating into the gloom. At every turn, he paused, listening—not just with his ears, but with every fiber of his magic-heightened awareness. The castle groaned around him, its ancient stones settling with sounds that could have been sighs or warnings. He'd learned to distinguish between them over the months: a sigh was harmless, the castle merely adjusting to the temperature drop; a warning meant something else entirely—a prefect on patrol, a ghost making its rounds, Filch and Mrs. Norris creeping through the shadows.
Tapestries stirred as he passed, their embroidered figures seeming to track his progress with suspicious eyes. In one, a group of medieval witches paused mid-dance, their painted faces turning to follow his passage. In another, a hunting scene froze as the hounds scented something invisible to their woven senses. Adam ignored them, his focus locked ahead, though a part of him filed away every movement for future reference—knowledge was power, and power was survival.
The suits of armor lining the halls creaked, their hollow helmets turning just slightly, as if drawn by his presence. One—a particularly ornate suit from the Tudor period—actually raised its gauntlet a few inches before lowering it again, perhaps deciding the disturbance wasn't worth the effort of full animation. Adam held his breath during that moment, his hand drifting toward his wand, but the armor settled back into stillness.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silent movement, he reached his destination: the entrance to the Forbidden Tower Sector.
The door loomed before him—a solid slab of enchanted oak, its surface etched with silvery runes that pulsed like a slow, steady heartbeat. The wood was ancient, darker than the surrounding stone, its grain visible only as deeper shadows within the darkness. Iron bands crossed it at intervals, each one inscribed with characters that predated Hogwarts itself—magic from before the Founders, some whispered, though no one could confirm it. The runes themselves shifted as Adam watched, rearranging themselves in patterns that seemed almost alive.
The magic here was old, thick in the air, tasting of iron and something faintly herbal on his tongue—wormwood, perhaps, or the ghost of some long-evaporated potion. It pressed against his skin like a physical weight, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. This was not the comfortable magic of the common rooms or even the educational wards of the classrooms. This was defensive magic, protective magic, magic designed to keep things out—or in.
---
[ System Notification ]
→ Entering Quest Zone: Forbidden Tower Sector (Top Floor).
→ Time Remaining: 25 minutes.
→ Objective: Use magic under mental pressure while evading magical surveillance.
---
Adam licked his lips, his throat dry. The weight of the task settled over him, a tangible pressure against his ribs. He could feel his heartbeat in his temples, in his wrists, in the hollow of his throat—each pulse a countdown in itself.
No direct spells on creatures, he reminded himself. Just me… my brain… and whatever lunatic security Hogwarts cooked up in here.
With a slow exhale, he pushed the heavy door inward.
---
A rush of frigid air swept over him as he stepped inside, the temperature dropping sharply enough to make his skin prickle and his breath crystallize instantly. The cold was unnatural—not the simple chill of a winter night, but something deeper, older, that seemed to reach into his bones and remember ages when such towers were built for purposes long forgotten. Frost formed on the edges of his robes, tiny crystals that sparkled in the dim light before melting against his body heat.
The tower's interior was a study in eerie beauty—narrow, circular walls winding upward in a tight spiral, their stones embedded with glowing runes that shifted like liquid silver. The stones themselves were irregular, some protruding slightly, others recessed, creating a surface that seemed almost organic in its imperfections. Moss grew in the deeper crevices, luminescent green that added its own faint glow to the illumination from the runes. Every few steps, torch sconces flickered to life without flame, casting ghostly blue light that illuminated swirling eddies of dust. The dust moved in patterns that defied logic—spiraling upward when physics suggested it should settle, forming tiny cyclones that danced across the steps before dissipating into nothing.
The sounds were worse.
Somewhere deep in the walls, ancient clockwork mechanisms ticked with metronomic precision, their rhythm just slightly off, like a heartbeat out of sync. The ticking seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere—from behind the stones, from within the floor, from the very air itself. Occasionally, the ticking would pause, and in that silence Adam could hear his own blood rushing through his ears, loud as a waterfall. Then the ticking would resume, but faster or slower than before, as if whatever powered the mechanisms was adjusting its rhythm based on something only it could perceive.
Occasional metallic clangs echoed through the space, as if invisible gears were snapping into place, rearranging the very structure of the tower around him. Once, he felt the floor shudder beneath his feet—a deep, resonant vibration that traveled up through his bones and made his teeth chatter. The runes on the walls flared brighter during these moments, as if feeding on whatever energy drove the mechanisms.
Twenty-five minutes, he thought, flexing his fingers around his wand. Evade surveillance. Use magic… but carefully.
He took a step forward.
_ _
First Obstacle: The Floating Runes
Ten paces in, the corridor narrowed sharply, and Adam froze.
The walls on either side drew closer together here, forcing the path into a funnel that seemed designed to channel intruders directly into danger. The ceiling lowered correspondingly, dropping from its previous impossible height to just inches above Adam's head. The effect was claustrophobic, oppressive—a deliberate architectural choice meant to unsettle anyone who passed this way.
Stretched across the passageway like a spider's web of light, hundreds of silver runes floated in midair, rotating slowly in an intricate, ever-changing dance. They were not fixed in place but moved with a grace that suggested consciousness, each rune following its own path while simultaneously responding to the movements of all the others. The overall effect was mesmerizing—a constellation of magical symbols that seemed to tell a story Adam couldn't quite read.
Every few seconds, they rearranged themselves, forming a shimmering wall of magical script that hummed with restrained power. The hum was low, almost below the threshold of hearing, but Adam could feel it in his chest—a vibration that resonated with something deep inside him, something that recognized the magic as both beautiful and deadly.
---
[ System Prompt ]
→ Warning: Floating Runes detect physical movement and react with Stupefy hexes.
---
Adam's brows shot upward.
Because walking down a hallway wasn't terrifying enough, he thought, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the tension coiling in his gut. The grin was automatic, a defense mechanism he'd developed over years of facing situations that would have made lesser students cry. If he could find humor in danger, the danger couldn't find weakness in him.
He crouched low, studying the runes with narrowed eyes. Tiny currents of magic pulsed between them, arcing like miniature lightning strikes in the gaps between rotations. The arcs were beautiful—crimson and gold and electric blue—but Adam knew they'd be agonizing if they touched his skin. Each arc carried enough power to stun a troll, or so the System had warned in an earlier quest briefing.
Then, unbidden, Hermione's voice echoed in his mind—"Observe patterns. Everything magical has a rhythm." It was strange, hearing her voice in his head after their confrontation earlier. Strange, but useful. Granger might be infuriating, but she was also brilliant, and brilliance didn't care about personal feelings.
Adam exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus.
He counted.
The runes shifted every seven seconds—he timed it three times to be certain, counting the beats of his own heart as a metronome. Their outermost rings spiraled outward during each shift, creating a brief, narrow gap just wide enough for a person to slip through. But the gap only lasted for perhaps two seconds before the runes settled into their new formation and the web became impenetrable again.
The hex triggers pulsed a fraction of a second before the rearrangement—a vulnerability, if timed perfectly. Adam watched for it, studying the pattern until he could predict exactly when the pulse would come. It was like learning a dance, he realized—the runes had their own choreography, and if he could match their rhythm, he could move with them rather than against them.
Adam's fingers tightened around his wand.
When the moment came, he didn't hesitate.
"Finite Incantatem," he whispered, canceling the flicker of magical energy binding the runes for the barest instant. The word was barely a breath, lost in the ambient hum of the tower, but the magic responded instantly—a tiny disruption in the web's perfect pattern.
He dove forward, rolling beneath the shimmering barrier just as the runes snapped back into place behind him. The stone floor was cold against his back, rough with age, and he felt a dozen tiny cuts opening on his palms where the surface scraped his skin. A soft whoosh of released magic filled the air as half a dozen Stupefy hexes fired off—but struck only empty stone where he'd been standing moments before. The impacts left scorch marks on the floor, black circles that smoked faintly in the blue light.
Adam exhaled a ragged laugh, his pulse hammering in his throat. The sound echoed off the narrow walls, too loud in the silence, and he clamped his mouth shut immediately, listening for any response from the tower's defenses. Nothing moved. The runes resumed their eternal dance, apparently satisfied that no intruder had passed.
One down. Who knows how many to go…
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the sting in his palms, and continued upward.
_ _
Second Obstacle: The Magical Mirrors
The tower wound upward, the stairs growing steeper, the air thicker with magic that prickled against Adam's skin like static. Each step required more effort than the last, as if the tower itself was resisting his progress. The runes on the walls had changed—these were different from the ones below, darker in color, their light more crimson than silver. They seemed to watch him as he passed, their glow intensifying when he looked directly at them.
Then, abruptly, the corridor opened into a circular chamber lined with tall, slender mirrors. Each stood at least eight feet high, their surfaces shimmering with distortions that made Adam's stomach lurch. The frames were elaborate—gilded serpents twining around carved roses, silver unicorns leaping through forests of crystal, bronze dragons breathing flames that seemed almost real. Between the mirrors, the walls were invisible, swallowed by darkness that reflected nothing.
In one, his reflection was invisible—just empty air where his body should have been, a ghost-shaped void that made his skin crawl. In another, he appeared as Professor McGonagall, her stern gaze judging him from behind spectacles that weren't his own. A third showed Dumbledore's twinkling eyes staring back at him, the old headmaster's expression knowing and slightly amused, as if he understood exactly what Adam was doing here and found it entertaining.
---
[ System Prompt ]
→ Magical Mirrors detect unauthorized presence. If reflections fail to match reality, an alarm triggers.
---
Adam glared at the nearest mirror, where his reflection currently sported Snape's hooked nose and greasy hair. The image sneered at him with Snape's characteristic contempt, and Adam had to resist the urge to make an obscene gesture at it.
So… don't look like a lunatic. Great.
Gritting his teeth, he cast the Disillusionment Charm, feeling the magic wash over him like cool water. The sensation was always strange—like being dipped in liquid shadow, his sense of self momentarily disconnected from his physical form. His outline shimmered, blurring at the edges until he was little more than a heat haze in the air. In the mirrors, his image flickered and shifted, trying to find a reflection that matched this new, uncertain form.
Slowly, carefully, he began creeping sideways along the wall, avoiding the mirrors' gilded frames by inches. The floor here was polished marble, black with veins of gold, and his feet made no sound on its surface. He passed the first mirror—the one that had shown emptiness—and saw his blurred shape reflected for just a moment before it passed out of the glass's range.
The second mirror showed something else entirely—a shadow that moved against the darkness, formless and undefined. Not a perfect match for his Disillusioned state, but close enough that the mirror's magic seemed uncertain. It flickered, trying to decide if what it saw was real or not.
Halfway through the chamber, disaster struck.
One mirror—slightly larger than the others, its frame carved with serpents that seemed to writhe in the dim light—flashed bright gold. Adam's true face snapped into focus within it, his wide-eyed panic unmistakable. The Disillusionment Charm had flickered, just for an instant, as his concentration wavered under the pressure of so many watching surfaces.
A low buzzing noise filled the air, rising in pitch.
No, no, no—
Adam's wand snapped up. "Finite Incantatem!"
The spell struck the mirror just as a crimson warning rune began to glow at its base. For a heart-stopping moment, the gold light pulsed—then blinked out, the alarm dying mid-squeal. The serpents in the frame stopped writhing, frozen mid-twist, their jeweled eyes staring at Adam with what looked like accusation.
Adam slumped against the wall, his chest heaving. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging, and he wiped it away with a trembling hand. The mirror before him was dark now, its surface showing only his own exhausted reflection—his real reflection, the Disillusionment Charm completely gone.
Too close.
Then, absurdly, a quote floated to the surface of his mind: "You cannot create experience. You must undergo it."
Camus would be proud.
He recast the Disillusionment Charm with steady hands—steady now, the panic subsiding into something more useful: focus. The magic took hold more easily this time, as if his body was learning to accept it. He moved on, passing the remaining mirrors without incident, though each one seemed to watch him with a knowing gaze.
_ _
Final Challenge: The Clockwork Sentinels
The topmost level was the worst.
Two floating bronze spheres hovered in the stairwell, each the size of a Quaffle, with whirring metal wings and glowing crystal eyes that swept the area in methodical arcs. Their wings were delicate things—filigree patterns of bronze and brass that caught the light and scattered it in rainbows across the walls. Every time their searchlights hit a surface, golden runes flared to life, recording magical signatures with the precision of a historian documenting artifacts.
The spheres moved in perfect synchronization, their paths crossing and uncrossing like dancers in some mechanical ballet. Their eyes—if such things could be called eyes—glowed with an inner light that shifted through the spectrum: amber to crimson to emerald and back again, cycling endlessly. When the light touched Adam's hiding place, he felt its warmth even through the Disillusionment Charm, a heat that seemed to probe beneath his skin.
---
[ System Prompt ]
→ Clockwork Sentinels detect magical presence. Must evade detection until countdown ends.
---
Adam crouched low, sweat trickling down his spine despite the chill. The stone alcove where he'd pressed himself was barely deep enough to conceal him—his shoulders touched both sides, and his knees ached from the cramped position. His muscles trembled with the effort of holding perfectly still as he studied the sentinels' patterns.
Their movements were precise—five seconds scanning left, five seconds right, then a two-second gap as they drifted apart to reset. During the gap, their searchlights crossed, creating a brief moment of blindness in the center of the stairwell. It was just enough time, if timed perfectly, to move from one shadow to the next.
Fourteen minutes left on the quest clock. Fourteen minutes of this.
When the gap came, Adam whispered the Disillusionment Charm again—though it was already active, the reinforcement couldn't hurt—and crawled forward, hugging the inner wall so tightly the rough stone scraped his shoulder through his robes. He felt fabric tear, felt skin break, but he didn't stop. A searchlight beam passed inches over his head, the heat of it singeing the air and leaving behind the smell of ozone.
He froze, breath caught in his throat.
The sentinels whirred suspiciously, their crystal eyes dimming as if listening for something. The sound they made was complex—gears turning, magic flowing, something that might have been communication passing between them in frequencies too high for human ears. One of them drifted slightly closer to his position, its searchlight probing the shadows where he'd just been.
Adam didn't breathe. Didn't blink. Didn't even allow his heart to beat, or so it felt.
The sentinels exchanged another series of whirrs, then drifted apart again, resuming their pattern as if nothing had happened.
Adam didn't hesitate—he bolted for a shadowed alcove behind a pillar, his heart hammering so loudly he was certain the mechanical guardians would hear it. The distance was maybe fifteen feet, but it felt like miles. His legs burned, his lungs burned, everything burned with the effort of moving silently and quickly at the same time.
He made it. Just barely. The searchlight swept past his heels as he tucked himself into the alcove's deepest shadows, pressing his back against cold stone and willing himself to disappear entirely.
For three agonizing minutes, he waited, counting each second as the sentinels completed their cycles. Five left, five right, two-second gap. Five left, five right, two-second gap. The rhythm became hypnotic, almost soothing, and Adam had to fight to stay alert, to not let the repetition lull him into carelessness.
Then, with one final synchronized sweep, they powered down, their crystal eyes dimming to a dull glow. The wings stopped whirring, folding against the spheres' bodies like sleeping birds. The sentinels drifted to opposite corners of the stairwell and hovered there, motionless, dormant.
---
[ System Notification ]
→ Quest Complete.
→ You evaded magical surveillance for 25 minutes.
→ Rewards Gained:
· Intelligence +3
· Endurance +2
· New Spell Unlocked: Silencio
---
Adam laughed softly, the sound ragged with relief as he leaned against the stone wall. The laughter threatened to become hysterical, and he clamped down on it hard, forcing himself to breathe evenly until the urge passed.
Silencio, he thought, grinning despite his exhaustion. Perfect. Now I can finally shut people up without getting detention.
For now...
---
Adam leaned against the cold stone wall of the Forbidden Tower's top floor, his wand still gripped tightly in his hand. The stone was rough against his back, each irregularity pressing into his spine through his torn robes, but he barely noticed. His pulse was slowing, sweat cooling on his forehead as the System's gentle chime echoed in his mind like a clear silver bell. The tower around him had gone quiet, its defenses apparently satisfied that no intruder remained, and the silence was almost louder than the mechanisms had been.
He straightened up and whispered:
---
Adam (softly):
"All right. Show me how far I've come."
---
A translucent, shimmering System Screen flickered into existence before his eyes, glowing blue and silver in the dimness. The light reflected off the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed almost alive, and Adam watched the numbers materialize one by one with something approaching wonder.
---
[ System Status – Adam ]
Current Level: 4
---
Attributes:
Strength: 8
Endurance: 11 (+2)
Agility: 9
Intelligence: 15 (+3)
Magic Power: 13
Observation: 12 (+2)
---
Skills & Magic:
Basic Spells:
Lumos / Nox
Wingardium Leviosa
Finite Incantatem
Unlocked Spells:
Disillusionment Charm
Allows user to blend invisibly into surroundings.
Silencio
Silences target completely for a set duration.
---
Quests Completed:
Daily Quests: 3
Special Quests: 0
Trials: 0[ Unlocked until Level 20.]
---
Rewards Earned:
Bonus Stat Points Gained: +10 (distributed)
System Currency Earned: 20 Units
Items Unlocked: None yet
Titles: None yet
---
Current Health: 98%
Current Magic Energy: 87%
---
System Notes:
Congratulations, User Adam, on reaching Level 4. Your progress has exceeded system projections by 12.8%. New quests will become available after your next rest cycle. Prepare accordingly.
---
Adam scanned the glowing numbers, a grin slowly spreading across his face. The expression felt strange after the tension of the past half hour—his facial muscles had to remember how to form it.
---
Adam (thinking):
Intelligence fifteen… Endurance eleven… Silencio unlocked…
---
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. The motion made him dizzy, and he braced himself against the wall until the world stopped spinning.
---
Adam (quietly):
"Hermione's going to have a heart attack when she figures out I'm actually… not an idiot."
---
He flicked the screen away with his fingers, the blue glow dissolving into motes of light that drifted upward like reverse snowfall before winking out of existence. The tower returned to its natural darkness, lit only by the faint glow of dormant runes and the distant moonlight filtering through some unseen window.
---
Adam (determined):
"All right. Let's see what tomorrow has in store."
---
He turned, robes sweeping behind him, and began his descent from the Forbidden Tower, the chill night wind swirling around him like the quiet promise of secrets yet to come. His footsteps echoed on the stone stairs, each one taking him further from the danger and closer to the relative safety of the common room. The tower accepted his departure without comment, its runes dimming as he passed as if closing their eyes in sleep.
---
Adam was halfway down the spiral stairs of the Forbidden Tower when he paused, suddenly troubled. The stone walls around him hummed faintly with residual magic, their ancient runes pulsing like veins of silver light. He'd passed this way mere minutes ago, but now something felt different—charged, almost, as if the air itself was holding its breath.
He frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The stubble there was rough under his fingers—he hadn't shaved in two days, too focused on preparing for this quest to bother with personal grooming.
---
Adam (thinking):
Wait… I've done daily quests. Three of them, actually. But… I've never had an actual Special Quest.
What exactly counts as "special," anyway?
---
He slowed, drawing up the System screen with a flick of his fingers. The blue glow was comforting now, familiar—a friend in the darkness rather than a stranger. He opened his mouth to ask—
But before a single word left his lips, a new chime rang out—sharper, deeper than any notification before. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, from the walls and the floor and the very air itself, and it resonated in Adam's chest like a second heartbeat. The glowing blue screen abruptly flashed crimson, filling the stairwell with blood-colored light that painted the stones in shades of warning.
Adam flinched backward, shielding his eyes. The light was painful—not physically, but somehow deeper, as if it was reaching into his soul and finding things there that shouldn't be disturbed.
---
[ SYSTEM – SPECIAL QUEST ACTIVATED ]
→ Quest Classification: Special (E )
→ Quest Title: Shadow's Claim
→ Objective:
Investigate a recent incident wherein a Shadow has stolen the soul of one Hogwarts student.
Identify the student.
Eliminate the Shadow and reclaim the soul.
→ Time Limit: 12 hours
→ Rewards if Successful:
Instant Level Advancement to Level 7
+10 Magic Power
+8 Intelligence
New Skill Unlock: Shadow Command (Ability to summon and control lesser shadows temporarily)
Unique Title: Seeker of the Abyss
→ Punishment if Failed:
-10 Magic Power permanently
Severe Magic Instability (random spell misfires for one week)
Shadow Mark applied (Shadow Entities will seek you perpetually)
→ Note:
The existence of Shadows is beyond the knowledge of common wizardry. The System deems this a matter of divine judgment.
Proceed with caution. Death is a possibility.
---
The crimson glow slowly faded, reverting to the usual silver-blue. Adam stood frozen on the steps, reading the screen three times as though convinced he'd misunderstood. His lips moved silently, forming the words, trying to make sense of them.
He finally blurted out aloud:
---
Adam (staring wide-eyed):
"What the hell is this Shadow?? And what does it mean, stealing someone's soul?"
---
His voice echoed off the stone walls, too loud in the silence that followed the System's announcement. The runes on the walls flickered, as if responding to his distress, and for a moment Adam feared he'd triggered another defensive mechanism. But nothing happened—the tower remained still, the only movement the trembling of his own hands.
He swallowed hard, fingers gripping his wand until his knuckles turned white. The wood creaked under the pressure, and he forced himself to relax his grip before he snapped it in half.
---
Adam (quietly):
"This… this is the stuff out of nightmare stories…"
---
The System answered, its voice cool and neutral, flickering across the screen letter by letter. The words appeared with the inexorable certainty of a death sentence being read aloud.
---
[ SYSTEM RESPONSE ]
→ A Shadow is a creature formed of pure darkness and corrupted magic, capable of possessing or devouring the soul of living beings. It is an agent of imbalance, acting against the world's natural order. Such entities should not exist in the mortal plane.
→ Eliminating the Shadow will prevent further corruption. Saving the stolen soul is critical for restoring cosmic equilibrium. No further details can be disclosed.
---
Adam felt a cold sweat break out across his shoulders. The moisture was icy against his skin, chilling him despite the physical exertion that should have left him warm. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, feeling the strands cling to his damp fingers.
---
Adam (breathless):
"Brilliant. So now I'm hunting soul-eating demons. Wonderful."
He tilted his head back and gave a humorless chuckle. The sound echoed off the stones, hollow and empty, like laughter in a tomb.
---
Adam:
"Seeker of the Abyss. Yeah… just what I wanted to be when I grew up."
---
The screen blinked one more time, revealing the countdown clock already ticking down from 47:59:47. The numbers changed with each passing second—47:59:46, 47:59:45—a relentless reminder that time was moving forward whether Adam was ready or not.
Adam stared at it, his jaw setting with quiet resolve. The fear was still there, churning in his stomach like living thing, but beneath it something else was rising—something harder, colder, more determined. He thought of the students sleeping peacefully in their common rooms, unaware that one of them might already be hollow inside. He thought of Hermione, brilliant and infuriating, who would never stop fighting to save someone in danger. He thought of Harry, burdened with prophecies and visions, who still got up every morning and faced whatever came.
If they could do it, so could he.
---
Adam (firmly):
"All right… let's figure out who's missing first."
He turned and began descending the stairs at a run, the distant echoes of his footsteps swallowed by the towering silence of Hogwarts. The runes on the walls blurred past him as he ran, silver streaks of light that marked his passage through the darkness. His breath came in gasps, his torn robes flapping behind him, but he didn't slow down.
Twelve hours. Somewhere in this castle, a student was walking around without a soul. And Adam was the only one who could save them.
The thought should have been terrifying. It was terrifying. But beneath the terror, for the first time in his life, Adam felt something else—something that might have been purpose.
---
[ End of Chapter. ]
