The students' eyes shifted to Michael as he posed the question, but it was Melody beside him who seemed most affected. She reached out instinctively, then hesitated—her hand hovering for a moment before retreating.

"There are many reasons someone might want to divert the flow of mana for personal gain," Magnus replied, his gaze flickering with a subtle glow. "But as for the collection of souls…" His voice trailed off, the implication left hanging in the air.

"Only someone truly depraved would resort to that," he added, a look of disgust tugging at his features.

Blake adjusted his glasses, his tone more clinical. "There are scattered records of souls being used in Ancient magic—though nothing definitive. The methods and applications remain unknown, so unless this entity is simply experimenting..."

His unfinished sentence created a weight that settled uncomfortably over the room.

"As Professor Stark said, we're limited in what we can do until the royal investigation concludes," Rose added. For once, the normally composed girl showed the faintest crack in her demeanor. "Still, we need to inform the student body before panic spreads."

She glanced at Magnus. "Newhold is quite far inland. Some students may have come from there. It would be best if you were the one to tell them. Hearing it from someone in the royal family might... soften the blow."

Everyone understood what she meant. "Soften," in this context, meant "contain." With Magnus present, students might be less likely to lose control.

He nodded solemnly. "I'll check the registry after this and summon them directly. But you'll need to handle the broader announcement—before rumors get out of hand. We can't afford students taking matters into their own hands."

"Let's arrange a mandatory assembly in the Great Hall before noon," Michelle suggested. "If we deliver the message with all the professors present, we can keep things from spiraling."

While the others continued to organize the logistics, Michael remained quiet, listening. His mind, however, was racing. Even with everything laid out, he was no closer to uncovering the identity of the culprit—or their motive.

It was maddening. Tragic, even. He could only wait for the royal investigators to uncover something useful—assuming they found anything at all.

Still, being a class representative had its privileges. He was at least getting information firsthand. But for now, he was powerless to act.

"So, it's settled," Rose said with a decisive nod. She turned to Michael and Melody, her expression softening. "I'm sorry, you two. We had other plans for this morning—but they'll have to wait. You'll just need to stand beside us in the Great Hall when the announcement is made."

Michael gave a quiet nod. Melody followed suit.

Whatever they'd originally intended could wait. Compared to this, everything else felt trivial.

"With that, you're all dismissed," Magnus said, rising from his chair. The slouch and indifference that usually defined him were gone. In their place stood someone sharp-eyed and composed—finally resembling the second prince in full.

The students followed suit and quietly filed out of the student council room, their expressions heavy. This was a burden none of them had anticipated—but one they would now have to carry.

Michael walked beside Melody in silence, his thoughts spiraling as they passed beneath the watchful eyes of the former headmasters' portraits. Strangely, the usually boisterous paintings remained silent, as if they too sensed the weight hanging in the air.

As they began to descend the grand staircase, Michael felt a small arm loop gently through his. He didn't need to look to know it was Melody, but her face entered his peripheral vision nonetheless. She wore a rare expression—one he hadn't seen often, and never directed at him. Genuine concern.

"Are you okay, Michael?" she asked softly, her voice hushed to match the atmosphere.

Was he okay?

Not really. But what could either of them do?

"I'm fine," he answered, unconvincingly.

Melody's grip tightened ever so slightly, but she didn't challenge the lie. She simply walked beside him, silent and steadfast.

They were nearly back at the violet dorms when a trio appeared in the hallway ahead—led by the last person Michael wanted to deal with right now.

Braydon.

He stood at the center, flanked by two others, his smug expression already forming—until he saw Melody's arm linked with Michael's. His face twisted, eyes narrowing. A flicker of rage crossed his features before he stepped forward to block their path.

"Have some decorum," he snapped. "You may not care about your image, commoner, but Lady Winterborne is a noble. You sully her reputation by clinging to her in public."

Michael stopped. His eyes darkened, the shimmer of mana already pooling beneath his skin.

His fingers twitched as he summoned crimson energy to his palm. Spells surged through his mind—each one designed to silence, injure, or maim the arrogant pest who had harassed him all week.

He didn't care about the consequences. Not now. Not after everything.

He pulled his arm from Melody's grasp and raised his hand slowly, deliberately. The mana responded, swirling in his palm as his hair lifted from his shoulders in waves—animated by the growing force around him.

Braydon's smug look faltered.

"Oh, so the commoner wishes to attack me?" he sneered, but his voice cracked slightly. "Go ahead. Even the Winterborne family won't be able to shield you from the consequences."

Randolph, standing beside him, looked far less confident. He stepped back, pale-faced, and whispered harshly, "Braydon… I don't think he's joking."

Braydon scoffed again, though his eyes flicked nervously between Michael's face and his glowing hand. "He doesn't have the balls."

"Michael, don't…" Melody said urgently, grabbing his arm once more.

But it was too late.

Crimson mana danced upon his outstretched palm, flaring brightly even in the well-lit corridor. The pressure in the air thickened. His emerald eyes locked onto Braydon, seething with silent fury.

All thoughts vanished—except for one:

"Glacius Hastam. Congela et Traice."

Three glowing red mana circles burst into existence before Michael's outstretched palm. The air rippled with pressure, causing the walls of the corridor to groan as mana surged outward like a tidal wave.

"MICHAEL, NO!"

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