Chapter 56: The Dragon Seal‑Key and the Northern Flight!

Flint set her teacup back down on the desk, tapping her fingertips lightly against the rim. She leaned back in her chair, her ice‑grey eyes resting on Cecil’s face for two seconds before she spoke. Her tone held less of the detached formality from earlier, carrying the flat, measured cadence of someone poring over old ledgers.

"Let us start with your companion," she said, glancing toward the doorway. Lena lingered in the frame, not stepping inside, yet her figure fell perfectly within Flint’s line of sight. "By the time you emerged from the Labyrinth, word had already reached the academy’s higher ranks. The Church’s inspection knights are not merely ’asking questions’. They carry official templates for wanted‑person warrants, only awaiting names to be filled in."

Cecil’s fingers tightened faintly on his knees. "Wanted for what?"

"Heretic Blood‑Pact," Flint replied. "The formal charge reads ’unauthorized summoning of ancient covenants without Church sanction’. The addendum notes ’suspected Myth‑Beast Awakener’. Documents of this kind last surfaced more than thirty years ago, back in your father’s day."

A heavy silence settled over the office. Gwendolyn crouched on Cecil’s shoulder, her tail draped over the back of his neck, her blue eyes fixed on Flint, motionless. Lena shifted sideways in the doorway, her light‑brown gaze locking onto Flint’s face. Freddy and Lydia stood behind Cecil, both holding their breath.

"Thirty years ago," Cecil repeated.

"Yes," Flint met his gaze unflinchingly. "Your father signed something of that nature. The warrant was later withdrawn on grounds of ’insufficient evidence’. Yet after that, he vanished from all public records."

Cecil fell quiet for several seconds. He could feel Gwendolyn’s coolness against his neck, sharper than usual. He drew in a breath and steered the conversation back to the present. "What exactly are these tightened church regulations?"

Flint picked up a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. It was an official notice bearing the academy’s crest, titled Emergency Ordinance Governing the Registration of Spirit‑Beast Summons. The text was brief, yet each line made Cecil’s brows draw tighter. The ordinance required every new student to complete a second registration within seventy‑two hours of their Awakening Ceremony. Entries must include the true species, elemental affinity, and abilities of their spirit‑beast, plus any abnormal phenomena observed during summoning. The definition of "abnormal phenomena" was broadly written: "unusual pillar‑of‑light colour", "summoned creature possessing speech capabilities beyond its rank", and "spirit‑beast capable of shapeshifting or mimicry" all qualified.

"This was posted this morning," Flint said. "It applies across the entire academy. Groups A and B are both subject to it. Group A’s second registrations will be reviewed by their own tutors. As for Group B’s—" she paused "—they will be examined in person by the Church’s inspection knights."

Freddy let out a low curse from behind. Lydia’s hand rested on Ivy’s curled form, her fingertips turning pale.

"This is targeted at you," Lena spoke from the doorway, her voice low but direct. "Every single clause reads as if it was written to describe Gwendolyn."

"It is not only him," Flint shot a glance toward Lena. "It targets anyone who might awaken a Myth‑Beast. The Church believes Myth‑Beast pacts have been extinct for five hundred years. Now that signs of revival have appeared, they intend to snuff them out before they take root."

Cecil stared down at the wording on the notice. His finger pressed against the line about "unusual pillar‑of‑light colour", his fingertips growing cold. During his Awakening Ceremony, his pillar of light had burned dark‑red. The old spring‑keeper had paled and muttered the word "Pandora". If he went through the second registration, Church officials would cross‑reference the ceremony logs and spot the anomaly at once.

"I cannot register," he said.

"Naturally you cannot," Flint answered. "Yet if you fail to register, the academy will mark you as absent. Three consecutive absences result in automatic expulsion. Once you are expelled, the Church gains legitimate grounds to launch an ’investigation’ against you."

Gwendolyn flicked her tail lightly against his shoulder. "She means you are trapped. You cannot go forward, and you cannot retreat."

Cecil nodded. He lifted his eyes to Flint. "You have a solution."

Flint did not deny it. She pulled the old leather tube from her drawer, untied the leather cord around its mouth, and drew out a fresh sheet of parchment. This was no map, but a list. Lines of text were scrawled across it, each followed by an address or a name.

"Beneath the academy lies a network of hidden teleportation gates. One route connects to an abandoned old knight‑order outpost in the Northern Tundra. The outpost was decommissioned thirty years ago, and the Church’s archives hold no record of this passage," Flint pushed the list toward Cecil. "If you leave the academy before the second registration deadline and take shelter at that outpost, the Church will be unable to trace you. You may return once the political storm dies down."

"What about the others?" Cecil asked. "Five people remain trapped inside the Labyrinth."

Flint tapped her fingers on the desktop. "That brings us to the second matter. I will help you open a second passage into the Labyrinth and retrieve those prisoners. But unlocking that passage requires data from the dark‑red fragment. Tell me the runes carved upon it, and I will decode them."

Cecil glanced sideways at Gwendolyn. Her tail stilled against his nape for a heartbeat, then gave a soft tap.

Cecil turned back to Flint. "The fragment is in my possession. But I need confirmation first—once you decode the runes, will you hand that information over to the Church?"

A faint, subtle tug appeared at the corner of Flint’s mouth. "If I wished to report you to the Church, I could have done so long ago. You are right to distrust me. But you can trust this much: I do not want the Church meddling in my territory."

Cecil studied her for two seconds, then reached inside the inner fold of his robe. His fingers brushed beneath Gwendolyn’s belly scales. Gwendolyn slid down from his shoulder onto his lap, rolling onto her back. The dark‑red fragment emerged from beneath her scales. It was no bigger than a thumb‑nail, its charred edges faded, etched with a worn, blurred pattern resembling a six‑petaled snowflake.

Flint leaned forward to peer at it. Her ice‑grey eyes lingered on the fragment for several moments before she straightened, her expression hardening.

"This is a dragon seal‑key," she said. "Not an ordinary fragment. It bears the primary runic command for ’unsealing’. When combined with the other fragments, it will open not merely one passage — but the entire lower depths of the Labyrinth."

Cecil had Gwendolyn tuck the fragment back beneath her scales. She rolled upright and settled again, her tail resting on his wrist.

"What is this information worth?" Cecil asked.

Flint did not reply directly. She picked up the old leather tube, rolled the parchment list back up and slid it inside, then pushed the tube toward Cecil. "The first address on the list is the side entrance of the old storage warehouse behind the academy. Someone will be waiting for you there after dark to escort you to the Northern outpost. The second address marks the entrance to the Labyrinth’s second passage. I will send you the exact activation time before dawn tomorrow. Rescue the captives first, then make for the outpost."

Cecil took the tube. The leather felt solid and warm beneath his fingers. He tucked it under his arm and stood, Gwendolyn leaping back onto his shoulder.

Lena stepped aside from the doorway. As Cecil stepped out of the office, she followed close behind. The corridor was dim. The rest of the group filed out after them. Leon brought up the rear, closing the door behind him. His thunder griffin squatted waiting in the hallway, its golden feathers glimmering faintly in the low light.

"What do you make of this?" Lena walked beside him, her voice lowered so only the two of them could hear.

"Most of what she said is true," Cecil replied. "At the very least, the tightened church regulations are real. The notice is written plainly; she could not have fabricated it."

"But the safe haven she arranged for you — does it not feel too convenient?" Lena said. "She had the list prepared in advance, and contacts already lined up. It is as if she knew you would need to flee."

Cecil did not answer at once. He descended the main building’s stone steps, crossed the courtyard toward the old tower. Morning mist still hung in the air, leaving a thin damp film across the flagstones. Gwendolyn perched on his shoulder, her blue eyes fixed ahead.

"She knows far more than she lets on," Cecil said. "Yet she still needs me right now. She only holds half the knowledge of the Labyrinth’s lower‑depth key; the other half lies with me. She will not betray me at this critical juncture."

Lena shot him a look and said no more. She slowed her pace, falling back to walk beside Lydia. Her multicoloured butterfly lifted from her braid, circled once in mid‑air, then resettled.

By the time Cecil reached the old tower, daylight had fully broken. He did not enter his room, but stood at the window at the end of the corridor, gazing toward the main keep of the floating castle. He could see the notice posted on the bulletin board before the main gates, with several students gathered reading it. Gwendolyn sat on his shoulder, her tail brushing the edge of his collar.

"We leave tonight," Cecil said.

Gwendolyn’s tail swept across the back of his neck. "What about the five people inside the Labyrinth?"

"Flint says she can open the second passage before dawn. We have the whole day to fetch them. After that, I will head north under cover of night."

Gwendolyn fell silent for a beat. Then she tapped his nape gently with her tail, a silent affirmation.

"Very well," she said. "Today it is."

Cecil turned back into his room. He set the leather tube upon the desk, readjusted his robe and belt, picked up the rusted knife from the table and slipped it into his waistband, and fastened his bracers. Gwendolyn hopped onto the desk and sat beside his potion vials, watching his movements with blue eyes.

Once he was ready, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring out at the brightening sky. Today would be a day of rescue, of flight, of racing against the Church. He had no idea where he would be come nightfall, or what tomorrow would bring. But he knew Gwendolyn would remain on his shoulder, the list inside the leather tube would stay in his hand, and the five trapped souls inside the Labyrinth would be brought out.

He rose and pulled open the door. Freddy, Lydia, Oliver, Edwin, Lena and Leon were already assembled in the corridor, all watching him, waiting for his word.

"Let us go," Cecil said. "First we rescue the captives. Then we head north."

They crossed the courtyard toward the old library. Morning sunlight poured down from the floating castle’s vaulted ceilings, stretching their long shadows across the flagstones. Cecil led the way, Gwendolyn perched on his shoulder, her pale‑blue‑and‑white scales shimmering in the light. The six others followed, their footsteps echoing unevenly through the empty courtyard.

They halted before the breach in the foundation wall behind the old library. Freddy bent down and pushed aside the waist‑high brambles, revealing the narrow downward passage beneath. Cecil squeezed through, and Gwendolyn jumped down from his shoulder to land on the stone floor at his feet. The rest filed in one after another, the soft scrape of boot soles against stone filling the tunnel.

When they reached the old archive chamber, Cecil saw faint pale‑blue‑and‑white light flowing slowly within the rune sockets of the teleportation gate on the wall. It burned brighter than when he had last departed — Flint had already made her preparations.

He stepped to the gate and pressed his right hand against the runes along its frame. Cold seeped out from his palm, spreading along the carved lines. The pale‑blue‑and‑white glow rose steadily to a soft, steady brightness. The wave‑like space at the gate’s centre began to spin, yet it rotated differently this time: instead of expanding outward, it collapsed inward, revealing a sloped downward ramp.

"This is the second passage," Gwendolyn said. "It runs along the same axis as the seal my mother left behind."

Cecil stepped inside. The six others followed, their footsteps echoing layer upon layer down the sloped tunnel, like a marching company.

At the end of the ramp stood an archway. Beyond it lay the familiar dark‑grey stone tiles and blue‑white dome light of the Trial Grounds.

Yet the arena was altered. The triangular combat platform in the centre was gone, replaced by a complete circular rune‑pattern. Twelve fragments were arranged along its rim, one slot empty. Seated in the spectator stands around the perimeter were five figures: Vera, Martha, Eamon, Victor, and Victor’s dark‑purple bat.

Vera sat on the edge of the eastern tier. She lifted her head first. Her amber eyes crossed half the arena to lock onto Cecil, pausing for a heartbeat. Then she rose slowly, brushing dust from her robes.

"You have returned," she said.

Cecil stood in the archway, Gwendolyn perched on his shoulder. "I’ve come to fetch you."

Vera studied him for two seconds, the corner of her mouth twitching. She spoke no more, yet her shoulders relaxed by an inch. Lena burst out from behind Cecil, sprinting across the central rune‑circle toward her sister. Vera reached out and caught her, resting one hand on her head, not pushing her away.

Martha and Eamon stood up from their seats. Victor leaned against a stone pillar, his dark‑purple bat perched on his shoulder. His deep‑brown eyes fixed on Cecil, his smirk deeper than usual.

"The second passage," Victor said. "Where did you uncover it?"

"Someone within the academy is assisting us," Cecil replied. "We will explain everything later. Now we must leave."

The five survivors began walking toward the archway. Cecil stepped aside to clear the entrance. Gwendolyn hopped down onto the arch’s edge, her blue eyes watching each of them file onto the sloped ramp.

Vera paused beside him as she passed, glancing sideways. "You still hold the fragments?"

"Yes."

"Good." She gave his shoulder a firm, not‑heavy tap, then stepped onto the ramp.

Cecil remained in the archway, watching the last person enter the passage. Gwendolyn leaped back up onto his shoulder, her tail draped over his collar.

"Everyone is accounted for," she said.

Cecil nodded. He turned and stepped onto the ramp. Behind him, the gate’s runes dimmed and faded, the arch closing shut. Eleven sets of footsteps echoed through the sloped tunnel, overlapping and weaving together, travelling upward toward the surface.

Gwendolyn sat on his shoulder and brushed the back of his neck lightly with her tail.

"Come," she said. "The North awaits."