Chapter 40 A Dead Prophet
Headmaster’s POV
The office was a tomb of obsidian and cold iron, the only light provided by the flickering blue flames of the braziers that lined the walls. I sat behind my desk, the ancient parchment of the Prophecy of the Dark Mother spread out before me like a curse, its edges curled and blackened by time.
'Neither Saint nor Sinner, she will unite the warring flames.'
I spat on the floor, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence. It was heresy. It was a contamination of everything Salvation stood for. For millennia, we had maintained the barrier between the light and the dark. We had kept the bloodlines pure, the orders separate, and the world stable through discipline and a healthy dose of fear. And now, the Council had seen fit to bring a human—a fragile, emotional, unpredictable pharmacist from a world that smelled of exhaust and mediocrity—into our sanctuary because of a few visions and a dusty rhyme.
I watched her through the scrying pool on my desk. The water was dark, reflecting her face on the outskirts of the dorms. She was laughing with the wolfless brat. The sight made my stomach churn. Two aberrations, two mistakes of nature, huddled together in the dark. It was a symptom of a larger disease, a rot that was beginning to infect my school.
Malik and Ryker were already compromised. I could see it in the way they hovered around her in my mind’s eye, like flies to a rotting carcass. Malik, the golden son of Celeste, was losing his grip on his vows, his light flickering every time she looked at him with those defiant brown eyes. And Ryker? Ryker was a rabid dog who should have been put down centuries ago. He didn't want a student; he wanted a plaything. He was feeding her darkness, and Malik was feeding her delusions.
They were supposed to be mentors, the best we had to offer, but they were becoming obstacles. If they couldn't control her, if they couldn't mold her into something useful—something we could sacrifice or deploy when the time came—then they were as much a threat to the order as she was.
I tapped a gnarled, scarred finger against the obsidian desk. The girl’s power was precognitive, volatile. If she truly represented the 'Mother’s balance,' she was a threat to the sovereignty of Celeste and Acheron alike. She was a reset button for creation, and I had no intention of letting her push it. I had spent too many centuries building this world to let a human girl with a sharp tongue and a tragic backstory tear it down.
"You're worried, Juda. It’s an unappealing look on a man of your... experience."
The voice came from the shadows behind my chair, smooth and cool as a mountain stream. I didn't turn. I knew the cold, melodic tone of Archangel Cassian anywhere. He was the only one on the Council who seemed to understand the true stakes of this 'human experiment.'
"The girl is a stain, Cassian," I rumbled, my voice like grinding stones. "She brings out the worst in our best men. She mocks the hierarchy with every breath. And she carries a power that belongs to a god, not a mortal who used to count pills for a living."
"Then ensure she doesn't survive the forge," Cassian said, stepping into the dim light. His eyes were like a gathering storm—beautiful, serene, but utterly lethal. He adjusted the cuff of his immaculate white robe, his expression one of scholarly detachedness. "The training begins tomorrow. Let it be rigorous. Let the tests be impossible. If she is the savior the prophecy speaks of, she will endure. If she is the mistake, I suspect she is... she will break. And once she is broken, we can return to the order we know. A dead prophet is far more manageable than a living one."
I looked back at the scrying pool, at Amaya’s defiant face as she drank her Lumin, her laughter a direct insult to the gravity of her situation. "She will break," I promised, a dark satisfaction curling in my chest. "I will personally see to it that the 'fire' Ryker so admires becomes the funeral pyre for this entire ridiculous prophecy. We will forge her into a weapon, or we will melt her down for scrap. Either way, the balance will be maintained."
I waved my hand, and the image in the pool dissolved into black, stagnant water. The girl was a human. And humans, no matter how much 'prophecy' they carried, were remarkably easy to crush. Tomorrow, the lessons would begin. And tomorrow, Amaya Janice would learn that in Salvation, the only thing more dangerous than the darkness was the men who claimed to serve the light."