The first bell for classes had long since rung, and the Illusionist Wing was usually quieter in the late afternoon. But today, our practice room buzzed with the low hum of friendly chatter and the faint shimmers of magical experimentation. Aster, with her perpetually furrowed brow, was trying to perfect a levitation illusion for a feather, while Wren, always more dramatic, was attempting to make a teapot appear to dance.
"No, Wren, the teapot needs desire!" Aster declared, poking the air where the invisible teapot presumably was. "It's not just about making it float; it's about making it want to float!"
I chuckled, adjusting the angle of a prism I was using to refract moonlight – a quiet exercise in light manipulation. "Perhaps the teapot simply desires to stay grounded, Aster. Not all objects yearn for the sky."
"Oh, Lyra, always with the philosophy!" Wren groaned good-naturedly, then gasped as his teapot wobbled precariously. "It's going to crash!"
We dissolved into laughter, the usual academy pressures forgotten for a moment. Our 4th year was demanding, but these small moments of levity kept us sane.
Just then, a presence at the door caught my attention. It was Professor Thorne, his silhouette framed in the doorway. My heart gave a little flutter – a familiar, dangerous warmth. He was a mountain of secrets, disguised as a pebble, and every interaction with him felt like walking a tightrope.
"Professor Thorne," I said, keeping my voice smooth, hiding the surprise. "To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"
He stepped into the room, his voice gruff as Elias, but his eyes, I noticed, flickered with a hint of urgency. "My apologies for the intrusion. I merely wished to speak with you, Lyra, regarding a matter I found… perplexing during my recent studies. If you are not too busy."
Aster and Wren exchanged curious glances, their playful attempts at illusion momentarily forgotten. They knew I was usually a quiet one, not prone to attracting professors' attention.
"Not at all, Professor," I replied, meeting his gaze, trying to convey a silent message of understanding. "My friends and I were merely discussing the finer points of perception. Perhaps you could offer some… insight from your own discipline?" It was my subtle way of telling him I understood he couldn't speak freely, and that I was willing to engage on his terms.
He picked up on it, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "My insights are often rooted in the tangible, Lyra. But sometimes, even the most tangible truths are obscured by layers of… artifice. I was hoping to discuss a particular historical family and their rumored connections."
Aster's brow furrowed. "Historical families? That sounds like quite a dry topic for an Illusionist class, Professor."
I quickly interjected, "Ah, but Aster, consider the illusions woven by history itself! The stories told, the facts omitted… it's all about what people are led to perceive." I turned back to the professor. "My friends and I were just finishing. Perhaps I could meet you in the arboretum in an hour, Professor? It is a place conducive to… deeper conversations."
He nodded curtly. "An hour. Thank you, Lyra." He turned and left, his broad shoulders seeming to carry a weight I couldn't yet fully comprehend.
As the door clicked shut, Aster turned to me, her eyes wide. "Lyra Moonshadow, what on earth was that about? Professor Thorne? He looks like he eats rocks for breakfast."
Wren giggled. "And he's so serious! He must be the sternest professor in the whole academy."
I merely smiled, gathering my prisms. "He's… a scholar, dedicated to his research. And he has a very unique way of looking at the world. He was asking about certain historical accounts that might involve some forgotten illusions." It was a vague answer, but it was enough to satisfy their curiosity, for now.
"Well, if he's that dedicated, I hope he finds what he's looking for," Aster muttered, still looking a little suspicious. "Just… be careful, Lyra. Some old histories are better left buried."
I met her gaze, a small, knowing smile on my lips. "Sometimes, Aster, the most dangerous thing isn't digging up old bones, but letting old lies fester." I walked out of the classroom, leaving them to their curious whispers.