3C. A Glimpse Beyond

The hallways of the building were as silent as a forgotten library, but the weight of Dorian’s thoughts was anything but quiet. The flickering lanterns cast long, shadowed figures across the stone walls as he walked through the winding corridors of the Chronicle Hall. The college, a collection of imposing structures, stood with the solemnity of ages.

Dorian had only recently begun to understand the scope of magic at his fingertips—magic that, for better or worse, had chosen him. It was as if the world had drawn him into a web of forces beyond his control. The Perceptio school of magic, the art of seeing the unseen, was the one he had hoped might offer him clarity—a path to understand his fractured soul, the darkness lingering in him. But it was not easy. What he had learned so far barely skimmed the surface of what lay beneath.

His mind swirled with images of the ritual he had performed years ago, of Messers Gaupf and Sneed’s sinister instructions. The boy he had saved—now both an accomplice and a tormentor. His guilt gnawed at him, but it was the weight of not knowing, of not understanding, that hurt the most. Could magic, especially Perceptio magic, reveal answers to what he had done? Could it tell him if he was still human, if his soul had truly been lost in that dark ritual?

He had heard whispers about Dean Kaelith Sylvaris. A master of the Perceptio school, a woman of both beauty and intellect, whose gaze could pierce through layers of reality. Her words had stuck with him ever since that opening lecture: "To perceive is to understand. Magic flows through the world in infinite patterns, and the school of Perceptio teaches you to see them. With knowledge comes clarity, and with clarity, the power to illuminate the future."

Dorian was not certain what "the future" meant for him. Was it a future of redemption or damnation? With purpose, Dorian finally reached the grand doors of Chronicle Hall's central administration. The massive wooden doors, etched with intricate symbols, parted before him, as if the very stone sensed his arrival. The hall beyond was filled with towering bookshelves that seemed to stretch forever. In the center, Dean Kaelith Sylvaris sat at a desk, her silver hair cascading down in smooth waves, her green eyes sharp as she worked over a parchment, her fingers moving with swift precision. She did not look up when Dorian entered, but Dorian was not put off. There was something in the air here that made him feel like he was walking through time itself.



Dean Sylvaris looked up, her eyes sweeping over him with the practiced calm of someone who had seen a thousand students—yet her gaze lingered, as if she recognized the depth of his unspoken turmoil. "Dorian LaCroix," she said, her voice smooth and cool. "I’ve been expecting you."

He sits in a chair, a practiced move that makes him seem arrogant and commands the space as if he is more at home in it than anyone. He knows (or suspects at least) that she sees through his bravado into his core.

What do I want? It was a question that only recently began to enter his thoughts. He had a vision of himself, and the casual splaying out in an unfamiliar place is who he is in his minds eye. But is that enough? Apparently not.

"The deeds ascribed to the schools of magic are akin to miracles. Is Perceptio an eye into the hearts of others? Or into the unsettled futures themselves? These questions intrigued me, and so I followed them here to your presence. I will say the words out loud: I wish to learn, Dean Sylvaris."

She was a handsome woman, with a piercing gaze. Despite his sprawl, he was focused on her in return.

Dorian finds himself sitting more upright, reacting more strongly than he wanted to, but he doesn't really care. The cards, and more importantly her characterization of them strike too close to home to be ignored. Was this Perceptio, a mental trick, inside knowledge, or all three?

"My greatest nightmares laid bare before me. I take it as a warning, and once I've thought it through, perhaps an opportunity."

He closes his eyes, and repeats what he saw. "I saw just now a cathedral bathed in golden light, where robed figures chanted in tongues I did not recognize. A forest, deep and untamed, where laughter echoed between the trees, sweet and cruel. A tower, lost to time, where it felt like something ancient stirred in its sleep. A throne of fire, where a voice that was not a voice whispered promises of power and hunger."

Her opens his eyes. "I want to understand. Naturally that will be a journey of ponderous length. Where must I start?"

He appears as a tall, thin figure wrapped in tattered green robes that seem to be woven from moss, ivy, and torn children’s clothes. His face is obscured by shadows, save for two black, bottomless eyes that shimmer with unnatural hunger. His voice is a whisper on the wind, a lullaby sung in a language no one remembers but all understand.

Dorian shudders, his arms itching with the feeling of something crawling beneath his skin. What really happened that night? Were Gaupf and Sneed also pawns of this entity?

For a moment he forgets the Dean is even there, until his own pride blazes to life. His face turns to show a fierce resolution. He looks up at her, his will to assert himself he tempers.

"I know who my enemy is, the goat. I know where the box is, but not yet how to open it. Knowing that, I only know that I'm trapped but at least I now know my cage. Thank you."

Dorian senses that her reply is a dismissal so he gets up. "Thank you for your insight. You've given me much to think about and opened doors I did not know were there."

It's a lot to take in. Dorian leaves with a polite good bye and returns to his chances. Shadows in the corners seem to grow, and even his own silhouette is unrecognizable.

I knew. I knew. I just... I didn't know what. This is worse.

Dorian will seek out the others in his cabal.