Chapter 89: _ Creepy Master Man

I felt a chill settle over the courtyard fountain, cutting through the distant chatter of sweat-stained initiates.

My fingers instinctively tightened around the worn leather strap of my canvas bag.

Come, Initiate No-One. We leave together.

Every instinct I had honed since stepping foot into this wretched academy screamed at me to turn around, grab Bren and Miriel, and run in the opposite direction. But I had promised myself—sworn on the dirt of Stonewick and the blood on my hands—that I was done cowering.

I was done bowing my head in this realm and letting powerful people dictate when I was allowed to breathe.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and forced my posture straight as I met Master Eldritch’s sharp blue eyes.

"Is... everything alright, Master?" I asked, refusing to let my hands tremble. "Did I do something wrong with the snare?"

Eldritch didn’t look angry. In fact, his face was completely unreadable, his iron rod resting across his shoulder as he tilted his head. "Everything is perfectly fine, initiate. I simply require your assistance moving a few crates of runic equipment back to my office before afternoon lectures."

I blinked, thrown off by the mundane request. I glanced back over my shoulder at my friends. Miriel looked wide-eyed and terrified, her hands clasped over her chest as if I were being led to an execution block, but Bren gave me a single nod as a reassurance that she’d keep an eye out if I didn’t return soon.

"Of course, Master," I said, stepping away from the fountain and following him toward the archway.

As we walked out of the courtyard and stepped into the sprawling corridors of the faculty wing, my mind raced.

Why me? There were a hundred initiates standing in that arena; stronger ones, higher-born ones, students with dragon-fire humming in their veins who would have jumped at the chance to suck up to a master instructor.

Why would a hardened combat instructor need a markless, dragonless trench rat to haul boxes?

The faculty wing was a part of Last Bastion I had never stepped foot in before. Unlike the overcrowded dormitory hallways, the corridors here were wide, towering, and unnaturally quiet. High-arched windows cast long beams of afternoon light across marble floors, and the air smelled heavily of expensive tobacco, and concentrated magical incense.

Seniors and upperclassmen who had just finished their first period paced the hallways, clutching grimoires and runic scrolls. The moment they saw Master Eldritch, they immediately parted, stepping against the walls to offer respectful bows.

"Master Eldritch," a third-year dragon initiate murmured deferentially as we passed.

Eldritch merely grunted, not bothering to slow his pace.

Then, the whispers started. The seniors’ eyes darted from the scarred master down to me, taking in my frayed Stonewick tunic, patched trousers, and complete lack of an aura.

"Is that the markless girl?" a girl with silver braids hissed behind her palm.

"The one who caused the brawl in the Great Hall?" another boy whispered. "Why is she walking with Eldritch?"

I kept my head held high, ignoring their stares as we rounded a wide corner. Up ahead, a plump, pompous-looking professor dressed in starched robes walked toward us, carrying a stack of glowing crystals.

"Ah, Eldritch!" the plump man called out with a fake smile. "Grand performance on the lower terrace today! I heard the noise all the way from my elemental theory chamber!"

"Professor Roderick. Good day." Eldritch acknowledged, his voice dry as bone as he kept walking.

The moment we passed Professor Roderick and turned into a quieter, private corridor, Eldritch let out a disdainful snort.

"Incompetent fool," Eldritch muttered under his breath, not even looking back. "Spends three hours lecturing students on elemental theory and couldn’t cast a proper fire shield if his trousers were on fire. The only thing he knows how to manipulate is his dining schedule."

A dry laugh almost escaped my lips, but I clamped my mouth shut, following him down a narrow flight of winding stone stairs. We stopped in front of a door reinforced with iron bands and etched with protective runes.

Eldritch pushed the door open, stepping inside. "In here."

I stepped past the threshold, expecting to see stacks of heavy wooden crates or iron snares waiting to be moved. Instead, the room was a sprawling private study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with maps, preserved monster organs in glass jars, and weapons.

In the center sat a mahogany desk littered with scrolls, a half-empty glass of amber liquor, and a crackling fireplace.

There were no crates. No equipment to carry. Nothing.

"Sit," Eldritch said, gesturing toward a leather armchair positioned directly in front of his desk.

My stomach dropped into an uneasy knot. I slowly walked over and sat down on the edge of the leather cushion, keeping my canvas bag clutched tightly in my lap.

Eldritch set his iron rod against the corner of his desk with a loud thud. He didn’t sit in his own chair. Instead, he walked around the desk and leaned against the front edge, crossing his broad arms over his chest as his eyes locked squarely onto my face.

The silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.

"Why are you here, Elira?" he asked.

Gods above. Didn’t this man ask me here himself?

I frowned, caught completely off guard. "I... I have lecture at two, Master..."

"You know what I am asking," Eldritch interrupted. "Why are you at Last Bastion? What brought a markless, dragonless girl from the outer wastes into the most dangerous institution in the realms?"

I stuttered, my mouth opening and closing as my mind scrambled for an answer. "I... I don’t... I didn’t choose to come here, Master. I was brought here under the anomaly clause. The Academy scouts came to Stonewick, claimed my name was drawn, and forced me onto the carriage. I didn’t even know what Last Bastion is like until I stepped through the gates."

Eldritch stared at me for a long moment, studying my reaction as if searching for a lie in my expression.

"A dragonless female being in Last Bastion is a death sentence, Elira," he said plainly, lacking any heat or malice, which somehow made it sound even more terrifying. "You are the ultimate anomaly. You have no beast to shield your mind, no lineage to buy you immunity, and no magic to defend yourself when the high-borns decide they want to tear you apart. You shouldn’t have survived the first week."

An uncomfortable prickle swept across my skin. I shifted in my seat, my knuckles turning white against the strap of my bag. "Is... is there something wrong with me being here? Master Eldritch, if this is about my performance in the Gauntlet..."

He completely ignored my question, leaning forward. "You said during your intake assessment that you don’t know who your true parents were. Is that correct?"

"I... yes," I stammered, feeling increasingly defensive. "My adoptive mother raised me in Stonewick. She told me my biological mother died during childbirth."

"And her name? Your biological mother’s last name? Her lineage? A crest? Anything?"