Veyra was an enigma, even by Vyrith's standards.
Officially, she was an Instructor—barely mentioned in orientation lectures, known to teach a single elective each year. Advanced Pattern Compression, a course so niche and limited in seats that most students assumed it was a formal listing meant to check some bureaucratic box.
But the staff whispered otherwise.
There were no public dueling records, no combat rankings, and yet the runes etched on her quarters glowed with security glyphs far beyond the reach of even Grandmasters. She had refused professorship thrice. Once from the Card Weaver Association. Once from the Imperial College. Once from the Arcane Conclave itself.
Most students had never seen her.
Which made Asher Augustus' arrival at her isolated tower all the more unusual.
The tower Veyra lived in didn't appear on any official map. Tucked behind the archives and sided by stone towers that refused to fall, it was a place students rarely noticed. Those who did quickly forgot.
But Asher Augustus remembered.
He remembered the first time he met her—not here, but in the palace gardens when he was barely eleven. His eldest brother had brought him along to a closed-door demonstration, and Veyra had been the guest caster. Basically some recruitment meeting.
Since then, she had been many things: a name in whispers, a hidden hand in academy politics, and occasionally… a reluctant advisor to a boy she once deemed "too polite to survive."
Now, as Asher stood outside her door, he wondered if she still thought the same.
The door opened before he knocked.
Veyra stood in the entryway, dressed not in robes or a coat, but in a simple black tunic and slate-grey slacks. Her long hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her sharp, ageless features. She still looks the same, Asher thought.
"You took longer than I expected," she said.
"I needed time to be sure it was worth bothering you."
She stepped aside. "It usually is."
The interior of her home was less strange than he expected—stone floors, floating lights, rows of artifact cabinets, and a large alchemy circle permanently etched into the back wall. Books lined the place, though many weren't in any language Asher recognized.
He didn't speak until she motioned him to sit.
"You heard about Marvin?"
"I hear about everything," she replied calmly, settling into her chair like a queen on a battlefield. "What's your angle?"
Asher folded his hands. "He's been distributing illusion cards. Rare-tier. Legally refined, on record. But we received some of them off the books."
"You… did?"
"I was asked to review the batch. Not by the academy, but by someone with authority over card approval. Everything was clean, Asher. Refined, tagged, sealed. No leaks. No swaps."
"So…" Asher leaned back, digesting. "You're saying the cards he handed out were exactly what he was supposed to."
Veyra gave a slow nod. "Every illusion card issued under his elective was cleansed, inspected, and refined by registered cardsmiths. I even sampled one myself. They're not tainted. No mind-warping. No hidden glyphs. Just very clever enchantment work."
Asher frowned. "Then why do they feel… wrong?"
"That," she said, "is why you're here, isn't it?"
He nodded.
"They are not uncleaned asher, nor is there any problem with them. every card is like a normal card but if you inspect them closely, they give off some ominous aura. thats it. It's just aura, nothing else; it cannot do anything, cannot harm any student in any way, just some bad labeling. Even though Academy allowed politics and power plays, it will never allow harm to students."
Asher was shocked by this but still he maintained his composure.
He leaned forward. "I need to know who signed off on Marvin's electives. Who authorized the distribution of rare illusion cards?"
Veyra didn't ask why. She just exhaled and reached under her table, pulling out a flat stone tablet etched with delicate silver veins. When she placed her hand on it, a list of approvals shimmered into view.
"Here," she said, tapping one name. "Professor Haltright."
Asher's brow furrowed. "Haltright? The Head of External Arcane Relations?"
Veyra nodded. "He doesn't usually deal with electives. That's what makes it strange."
"Strange enough to be dangerous?"
Her eyes glinted. "In this place? Everything is dangerous."
Asher stared at the name. Haltright was known for his diplomatic finesse—he handled magical pacts between the academy and foreign entities, made deals with guilds, and even helped sponsor certain research exchanges. In simple words, he was an administrator who was also a politician. But approving Marvin's program? That wasn't in his job description.
"Why would he get involved in a low-tier illusion elective?" Asher asked.
Veyra shrugged. "Because it's not about the class. It's about who gets the cards—and what that implies. Haltright's entire career is built on influence. Quiet strings. Gentle pressure."
Asher leaned back. "So Marvin was a puppet."
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe he volunteered. But Haltright holds the thread."
He stood. "Thank you."
Veyra rose as well, walking him to the door.
As he reached for the handle, she said quietly, "You're playing a dangerous game, Asher. Don't mistake curiosity for immunity."
He paused. "Is that advice or a warning?"
"Both," she said.
He left without another word.
Clayton rubbed his temples as Asher relayed everything back to them.
They sat on a stone bench in one of the shielded gardens near the upper ring of the campus. Eric leaned against a tree, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Haltright?" Eric finally said. "That's not a name I expected."
Clayton let out a slow breath. "We've been chasing Marvin, but the real string starts higher. Makes sense. Marvin's not subtle enough to orchestrate a campus-wide card distribution with layers of psychological bait."
"And now we have a name," Asher added.
Eric pushed off the tree. "So we trail him. Watch where he goes, who he meets, and how involved he really is."
Clayton raised a brow. "He's not exactly wandering around the dueling grounds. Haltright works from the Tower of Accord, which is the office of many master-level professors. That place is guarded by faculty-tier barriers."
Asher smiled faintly. "We're not breaking into his office. Not yet. We start soft—follow his routines. Catch him during events. See if anyone meets him off-book."
Eric cracked his knuckles. "I've got a contact in Facilities Oversight. She logs all instructor movement through the reinforced zones. I can get copies of Haltright's travel logs."
"Good," Clayton said. "I'll pull whatever student reports or academic approvals he's signed in the past semester. Maybe Marvin's not the only one."
Asher leaned back. "And I'll try to get us into one of his open panels. He speaks once a week to select students from international backgrounds. If we get close enough, maybe we see something… off."
Clayton's gaze darkened. "This still doesn't explain why. Why illusion cards? Why target us?"
Asher hesitated. "My contact said something. It's not about the card's power—it's about what the card suggests. Whoever's behind this is watching how we respond. Not testing our strength. Testing our choices."
"Testing or shaping," Eric said. "Planting ideas. Creating arcs."
Clayton didn't respond, but the thought of someone else controlling his every action terrified him.