Chapter 6

Julian stared at the endless fields blurring past the train window. The silence of the otherwise empty compartment remained unbroken except for the rhythmic thumping of the machinery beneath the floorboards. It was a familiar vibration, one that usually signaled a fresh start, but now it felt like the ticking of a clock he couldn't stop. He leaned back, his mind looping through the events of the last two resets. Ethan Cooper. The name sat heavy in his thoughts. Ethan's sudden academic explosion, his nervous twitching, the way he'd been in the wrong place at the right time—or the right place at the wrong time. Every piece of the puzzle pointed toward the same conclusion. Ethan wasn't just a lucky student; he was a traveler, just like Julian. He had to be the cause. The disembodied voice of the station announcer echoed through the carriage, snapping Julian out of his reverie. "Now stopping in Oakhaven." Julian glanced at the door. For a fleeting second, he considered standing up, grabbing his trunk, and disappearing into the small town. He could abandon the Arcane Institute, the looms of fate, and the impending death. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came. He couldn't hide from a temporal loop by changing his zip code. The compartment door slid open with a rattle. A boy stood there, clutching the handles of two oversized suitcases, his face flushed from the effort of hauling them down the corridor. "Excuse me, is this seat free?" Byron Kessler asked. Julian looked at the empty benches and then back at the boy. He had wanted the peace to plan, but the kid looked like he was about to collapse. "No, go right ahead," Julian said, offering a forced smile. Byron exhaled a breath of pure relief and hoisted his luggage inside, nearly tripping over his own feet. Julian watched him struggle to stow the bags. "First year, right?" Julian asked. Byron paused, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yeah." "Your arms are going to fall off by the time you get there," Julian noted, gesturing toward the heavy trunks. "It's a long walk from the station to the academy gates." Byron's eyes widened, his hands pausing on the leather straps of his bag. "Um, it's really not that bad, right? I heard there were carriages." "For the faculty and the high-nobles, maybe," Julian said with a smirk. "You better hope it doesn't rain. The mud on that trail eats shoes." The boy looked genuinely panicked for a moment before shaking it off. He stuck out a hand, over-eager and unpolished. "I didn't introduce myself! I'm Byron Kessler." "Julian Hayes." Byron froze, his hand still extended. "Like Marcus Hayes? The pianist?" Julian looked back at the window, the fields still spinning by. He didn't answer. He let the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. "So, um," Byron tried again, sinking into the seat opposite Julian. "Are you related to Marcus Hayes, or is your last name just a coincidence?" Julian blinked, turning his head slowly as if he had just realized the boy was still talking. "Huh? Did you say something?" Byron's face turned a shade of pink that matched his necktie. "Err, never mind." He sat in silence for a few minutes, fidgeting with the hem of his robe before his eyes drifted to the notebook in Julian's lap. It was filled with scribbles—magical notations, dates, and the phonetic spelling of a chant that still rang in Julian's ears like a death knell. "What's so interesting about that notebook, anyway?" Byron asked, unable to help himself. "No, these are just notes on some personal research," Julian replied, closing the book with a soft thud. Byron leaned forward, his curiosity overriding his social anxiety. "Did you search for the books yourself or did you ask the librarian to help you?" Julian tilted his head. "Ask the librarian for help, huh?" "You could always get a job in the library," Byron offered, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "My cousin worked in a scriptorium back home. Said it was the best way to find the rare stuff. You learn all the Scrying spells for cataloging. It makes finding specific references way easier." Julian stopped looking for ways to end the conversation. He looked at Byron properly. The kid was a first-year, but he'd just handed Julian a key he hadn't considered. If he wanted to know what that lich had been screaming, he needed more than just a general history book. He needed the restricted stacks and the tools to navigate them. *** The library of the Arcane Institute of Northwood was a cathedral of silence and dust. Julian stood before the main desk, where Elara Finch was busy levitating a return stack into their proper slots. "A job?" Elara beamed, her energy seemingly at odds with the hushed atmosphere. "Of course! We're always looking for help! Most students find the shelving too tedious, but it's a wonderful way to learn the layout." "How often do I come to work?" Julian asked. "When can you come?" she countered. Julian didn't hesitate. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it thoroughly. "Four times a week." Elara's eyes lit up. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful." She turned toward a stack of parchment. "Audrey! Come meet our new recruit." A shy girl with glasses that seemed a size too large for her face peeked around a bookshelf. "I am Elara Finch," the librarian continued, gesturing to herself before pointing at the girl. "And this pretty lady is our resident busy little bee, Audrey Miller." Audrey walked over, her eyes darting to Julian's face. "Hayes family? As in..." Julian let out a short, tired sigh. "As in, younger brother of Marcus Hayes." Elara gave Audrey a sly smile, leaning in toward Julian. "She's in class with Garrett Hayes and has a bit of a crush." Audrey's face went scarlet, and she immediately began busying herself with a stack of unsorted index cards. Julian ignored the gossip. He was officially a library assistant. The following week was a blur of ink-stained fingers and aching calves. Julian threw himself into the work, hoping to catch Ethan Cooper in class and demand answers. But much like the last loop, Ethan hadn't come to class. His seat remained empty, a mocking reminder that Julian was moving through a script he didn't fully understand. He considered the possibility that Ethan was the one pulling the strings of the loop, but he couldn't rely on that. If Ethan was the cause, he was an unpredictable one. Julian needed his own leverage. He spent his hours in the library not just shelving, but hunting. During a late shift, Julian cornered Elara near the back of the reference section. "I've been meaning to ask a small favor of you," he said. "Go ahead," Elara replied, pausing with a duster in her hand. "I barely know what I'm doing with the organization system," Julian started, affecting a look of slight embarrassment. "Nonsense! You're learning fast!" "I was wondering about book-finding Scryings," Julian said, getting to the point. "The manual mentions them for the higher-level assistants. I thought it might help with the backlog." "Of course I'll teach you," Elara said. "It's a specialized bit of divination. Very useful for when a book has been misfiled or... hidden." Julian nodded, then pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. On it, he had written the phonetic sounds of the chant the lich had used. "I found this in an old text, but the script was damaged. It's an unknown language. I was trying to find a reference for it." Elara squinted at the paper. Her cheerful expression faltered slightly as she traced the syllables. "Finding a written reference based on a phonetic pronunciation is a tall order, Julian. This doesn't look like any of the common trade tongues or even the High Arcane dialects." Audrey, who had been shelving nearby, piped in. "You should try Vincent." Julian turned to her, incredulous. "Our history teacher?" "He also teaches linguistics," Audrey said, pushing her glasses up her nose. "He's a polyglot. People say he speaks dozens of languages." *** Vincent Price's office smelled of old parchment and cold tea. The man himself sat behind a desk piled so high with scrolls that Julian could barely see his forehead. "Ah, mister Hayes," Vincent said, his voice quiet and steady. "What can I do for you?" Julian walked to the desk and laid the paper down. "I was told you can help me about some translation." Vincent picked up the paper. His eyes moved across the phonetic spelling once, then twice. His posture stiffened. "Where did you get this?" he asked quietly. Julian had prepared his lie. "I was attacked by someone a while ago. In the city. They were wearing a mask and they kept repeating this." Vincent set the paper down and looked Julian directly in the eyes. "You're lucky it didn't hit." "Hit? What is it?" Julian asked. "Spirit Weaving," Vincent said. "Spirit Weaving?" "Necromancy," Vincent clarified. "Blackest of the black rites. It's designed to unravel the tether between the soul and the physical form. It doesn't just kill; it shreds the essence." Julian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty office. "So, wait, what is that language anyway?" "It's Ancient Tongue," Vincent said. "The language of the cultures that shared Miroslav with the Aethelians. It's been dead for centuries, kept alive only by those who seek the arts that should have stayed buried." Julian took a breath. This was it. He had to push. "The person who attacked me... they weren't alone. I think there's something happening. An invasion plan. I overheard them talking about the academy." Vincent stared at him for a long beat. The silence in the room became oppressive. Finally, the teacher stood up. He didn't look panicked; he looked weary. "Go home, Mister Hayes," Vincent said. "Leave everything up to me. I will handle the administration and the authorities. Do not speak of this to anyone else. It is for your own safety." Julian wanted to protest, to tell him that 'handling it' usually resulted in the city burning, but Vincent's gaze was final. Julian turned and left. Back in his room, Julian couldn't sit still. He paced the small square of floor between his bed and the window. He had changed the variables. He had warned a member of the faculty. He had identified the magic. Now, he just had to wait for the ripple effect. The door to his room didn't creak. It didn't slam. One moment Julian was pacing, and the next, a shadow detached itself from the corner of the room. A figure in a dark mask, the same one he had seen in the chaos of the city, was suddenly there. Julian didn't even have time to reach for his focus. The first strike was a cold shock in his chest. Then another. And another. The masked assassin moved with a mechanical, terrifying efficiency. Julian collapsed against the foot of his bed, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. He looked up, but the assassin was already gone, leaving only the scent of ozone and the spreading warmth of blood on his shirt. Julian's vision tunneled. The room faded into a grey blur, and the world tilted into the familiar, welcoming dark. He had died again. The warning hadn't saved the city; it had just moved his execution date forward. ════════════════════════════════════════