Chapter 39

The Scrying Mirror

Raphael made his way to the Grand Library, its towering shelves stretching high above, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged parchment, beeswax, and ink—a subtle blend that seemed to wrap around him like a whispered promise of forgotten knowledge. The soft glow of enchanted lanterns cast elongated shadows across the worn floor, and the faint creak of ancient wood under his steps echoed faintly in the vast, hushed space. Each breath he took seemed to fill his lungs with a weighty reverence, as if the very atmosphere of the library pulsed with quiet secrets waiting to be unearthed.

Ms. Ravenwood sat at her desk, spectacles perched on her nose, absorbed in an old parchment that caught the fading light, making the edges of the text gleam faintly. Her expression was one of intense concentration, the kind that drew faint lines across her forehead, though her features retained a serene elegance. Her posture was poised, yet relaxed—like a guardian who had long grown accustomed to the burden of her watch. The soft rustle of pages turning and the distant, muffled whispers of other students added a subtle rhythm to the quiet.

As Raphael approached, a ripple of anticipation stirred in his chest, a flutter of curiosity mixed with a thread of unease. The towering shelves seemed to lean in slightly, their contents whispering intangible promises as he moved forward. The scent of old leather and faded ink grew stronger.

Ms. Ravenwood looked up, her deep red hair falling in elegant waves around her shoulders, catching the golden light from a nearby sconce. A warm but slightly serious smile played on her lips, the curve of her mouth both inviting and expectant. Her gaze, sharp and piercing even behind her glasses, seemed to hold a quiet knowing—a weight of knowledge that Raphael felt without fully understanding.

– Hello, Ms. Ravenwood, – Raphael greeted her, his voice quiet but steady, though he felt the faintest quiver of apprehension beneath the surface.

Ms. Ravenwood glanced up from her work, her eyes meeting his with a clarity that seemed to cut through the dimness of the library. The glint in her gaze was subtle but unmistakable, a spark of recognition, as if she had been waiting for this moment. A warm but slightly serious smile crossed her features.

– Ah, my dear. I was hoping you’d stop by. – She adjusted her glasses with a graceful motion, the gesture so natural it seemed almost ceremonial. Her voice carried a measured warmth, like the gentle crackle of a hearth fire—welcoming yet laced with an undertone of caution. – I might have something… interesting for you.

Raphael tilted his head, intrigued, a flicker of excitement sparking in his chest despite the quiet tension in the air. The vastness of the library seemed to close in around them, the sounds of the world outside fading into a hushed, expectant silence.

– Oh! That’s great! I’m all ears.

His voice felt smaller here, swallowed slightly by the towering shelves and the echoing stillness of the room. A faint draft stirred the edges of nearby pages, as if the books themselves had paused to listen.

– Excellent. – Ms. Ravenwood rose gracefully, the movement fluid, almost otherworldly, as her long robe shifted and whispered across the floor. Her presence seemed to command the space, as though the very library bent subtly to her will. She gestured for him to follow. – Come with me, please.

Her tone held the quiet authority of someone who had led many such journeys through the labyrinthine corridors of knowledge. As Raphael fell into step behind her, the familiar scents and sounds of the library seemed to sharpen, each footstep a soft echo in the cavernous hall. The golden light from the lanterns shimmered faintly on the polished wood, catching the glint of metal clasps on ancient books. The silence between them thrummed with unspoken questions, the weight of centuries pressing in on the edges of his awareness.

She led him to a secluded corner of the library, where the shelves seemed to curve inward, forming a small, intimate alcove bathed in a soft pool of light. The air here felt heavier, charged with a subtle energy that raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. A large, leather-bound book lay open on a small table, its cover cracked and worn, the pages yellowed with age and inscribed with intricate symbols that seemed to shift ever so slightly when he tried to focus on them. The faint scent of ancient parchment mingled with a whisper of something metallic, like the trace of magic long dormant.

Raphael’s gaze followed hers as she carefully turned the pages, the soft shffft of parchment against parchment filling the quiet air. The faded ink seemed to shimmer faintly in the low light, and the symbols on the page tugged at the edges of his memory, stirring something just beyond his grasp. His heart beat a little faster, the weight of the moment settling into his chest like a tangible presence.

She stopped at a specific page, her slender finger resting with practiced precision on a particular passage, her touch as delicate as if she feared the symbols might ignite beneath her skin.

– Do you recognize any of these symbols? – Her voice was soft but firm, her eyes searching his face with a quiet intensity, as if she was reading not just his expression, but his very essence.

Raphael studied the page, frowning slightly. His gaze lingered on the intricate lines, their delicate curves and sharp angles weaving together like a language of forgotten worlds. A faint pulse of recognition stirred within him, a shiver running down his spine as if a whisper had brushed against the back of his mind.

– I’m not sure… but I think this one looks like the one from that Enochian book.

His voice was low, hesitant, as if afraid to break the fragile balance of the moment. A flicker of doubt crossed his features, but the words hung in the air with a weight that could not be ignored.

Her eyes widened with interest, a subtle gleam of approval sparking behind her lenses.

– Ah, you have a keen eye. – She traced the symbol slowly, her finger gliding across the page with a reverence that sent a shiver through him. The air around them seemed to hum faintly, charged with a quiet anticipation. – It’s the same symbol at the end of a text. And this was indeed translated from the same Enochian language found in that particular book in times when there were more people still able to do that. The passage here, however, is quite… unusual.

Raphael’s curiosity deepened, the threads of fascination and apprehension tangling in his chest, tightening their grip.

– In what way?

His voice was barely above a whisper, the words laced with cautious intrigue.

Ms. Ravenwood lowered her voice to a near whisper, her tone dropping into a cadence that seemed to draw the shadows closer around them.

– It’s a summoning ritual. But not just any summoning. This specific incantation is known to call forth… unusual entities. Creatures that are rarely seen or summoned. – She paused, watching him closely, her gaze sharp and assessing, as if she could already see the weight of the knowledge pressing down on him.

– Very interesting, – Raphael murmured, though the words felt almost hollow in the sudden hush that seemed to settle around them, the air growing thicker, charged with a quiet, uneasy energy.

– Unsettling, isn’t it? – she whispered, her voice barely a breath, as she gently closed the book, the soft thump of its cover falling shut resonating faintly in the stillness. Her gaze sharpened, her expression tightening into a look of quiet gravity. – What’s even more intriguing is that this ritual is specifically linked to the celestial configuration which matches your birth. – Her eyes seemed to bore into him, unblinking, her tone measured but carrying the weight of something far greater than her words. – Do you understand the implications of this?

Raphael frowned, his brow creasing, a flicker of unease coiling in his chest. The sense of something vast and ungraspable loomed just beyond his reach, and he felt a faint tightening in his throat.

– Not exactly… – The words left him in a breath, quiet, uncertain, laced with the sense that he was teetering on the edge of something he could barely begin to comprehend.

– The symbols, moment of your birth… – Ms. Ravenwood spoke with calm precision, her voice steady as a blade, her words cutting through the haze that clouded his thoughts. – They suggest that you might have an innate ability to summon these rare creatures. Moreover, it implies that you could potentially control or communicate with entities that others can’t. But there’s a catch. – Her voice softened slightly, though her gaze never wavered, watching him as if she could see the thoughts unravelling behind his eyes.

– Which is? – Raphael asked, his intrigue growing, though a cold knot had settled in his stomach, a flicker of dread twisting with the curiosity.

– The ritual is incomplete. – Her words hung in the air like a faint echo, reverberating with the weight of the unknown. – The book doesn’t show the final step required to successfully summon these creatures. It’s as if the last page is missing. But here’s the strange part – I believe the missing piece might be something only you can provide.

Raphael blinked, a slight furrow forming between his brows, confusion evident in his eyes as the weight of her words pressed down on him. A shiver ran through him, as if the air itself had shifted, cooler now, heavy with something unspoken.

– I think I’m a little lost here… – His voice was quiet, trailing off into the silence, laced with the faintest thread of vulnerability.

Ms. Ravenwood’s lips curled in a faint smile, an almost imperceptible softness flickering across her face as she recognized the swirl of questions and uncertainty in his mind. Her fingers tapped the book gently, a subtle rhythm that seemed to ground the moment.

– Allow me to simplify it. – Her voice was steady, her tone a blend of patience and quiet authority, as though she had explained such complexities countless times before. – This ancient tome suggests that something unique within your supernatural potential could complete the ritual. Something personal to you. But frankly, we don’t yet know what that something is.

Raphael let out a breath, a hint of resignation in his tone, the weight of it sinking into his bones.

– Ok. As I see it – with every step closer, we’re one step further.

The words fell softly into the dim space, their quiet acceptance tinged with frustration. The silence that followed seemed to stretch, heavy with the unspoken weight of the unknown.

Ms. Ravenwood chuckled softly, a sound that rippled through the stillness like the faint crackle of a fire in a darkened room. A touch of warmth flickered in her eyes, though her gaze remained steady, as if she saw beyond his words, beyond the moment itself.

– Indeed, it can feel that way. But consider this: every step we take brings us closer to understanding your unique abilities. And who knows? You might discover something extraordinary about yourself.

Her voice was calm, the quiet conviction in her tone offering a thread of reassurance against the rising tide of uncertainty.

– I don’t need extraordinary, but the truth would be nice, – Raphael said quietly, his voice carrying a note of resignation that lingered in the charged stillness, as if the very air had been listening.

– The truth is what we’re after. – Her eyes glinted with quiet determination, her voice steady and sure. – And I have an idea that might help us find it faster. But it involves a test. Are you willing to participate in an experiment? – She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharpening, gauging his reaction.

Raphael nodded slowly, a faint tension settling in his shoulders as if bracing himself for what was to come.

– Sure.

– Excellent. – Ms. Ravenwood’s voice grew crisp as she pushed back her chair and stood, the motion fluid, purposeful, as though she was already moving toward something inevitable. The soft scrape of the chair against the floor seemed to echo faintly in the quiet space. – Follow me.

She led him to a small, dimly lit room at the back of the library. The heavy wooden door groaned softly as it swung open, revealing a space that felt both ancient and alive, as if the walls themselves whispered forgotten secrets. The scent of aged parchment mixed with a faint trace of incense, lingering in the air like a memory of long-past rituals. The faint glow of enchanted lanterns cast flickering shadows on the stone floor, their golden light barely touching the dark corners, where shelves groaned under the weight of arcane artifacts. There was a palpable sense of quiet reverence here, a stillness that wrapped itself around Raphael’s chest, making each breath feel heavier, more deliberate. The silence hummed, broken only by the faint crackle of energy that seemed to vibrate from the objects around him—an array of magical tools, some gleaming with polished metal, others darkened with age, their surfaces etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the half-light.

In the center of the room stood a large, ornate mirror, its gilded frame curling in intricate, swirling patterns that seemed almost alive in the shifting glow. The mirror’s surface shimmered faintly, like a pool of liquid silver disturbed by an invisible wind, as if the glass itself breathed in anticipation.

Ms. Ravenwood gestured to the mirror, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were performing an age-old rite. Her voice took on a ceremonial tone, smooth and measured, like a chant half-remembered from sacred texts.

– This is a Scrying Mirror, an enchanted device that, among other things, can reveal glimpses of one’s inner supernatural potential. Stand before it, please.

The words settled into the quiet, filling the space like an invocation. Her eyes, sharp and intent, glinted in the low light, reflecting a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or a cautious hope—as she handed him a small vial containing a shimmering liquid. The liquid inside glowed faintly, a soft, pearlescent swirl that seemed to shift with the slightest movement, casting tiny flickers of light onto his fingers as he took it.

– Ok. – Raphael accepted the vial without hesitation, though a faint tremor of apprehension coiled in his gut. The weight of her gaze, the heavy air thick with expectation, pressed in on him, and yet he felt a strange, resigned calm settle over him—a quiet surrender to the unknown.

– Drink the potion, and look into the mirror, – she instructed, her voice lowering as if they stood on the edge of something sacred. – The effects may be disorienting at first, but try to remain calm and focused. The mirror will show you a reflection that might surprise you.

Raphael held the vial between his fingers for a brief moment, feeling the subtle warmth of the liquid inside, a pulse that seemed to match the quickening rhythm of his own heartbeat. He tilted his head slightly, studying the mirror, its surface now trembling with faint ripples, as if it were waiting for him—calling him. Then, without another word, he brought the vial to his lips and drank. The liquid was cool and smooth, sliding down his throat like liquid moonlight, and the moment it settled in his stomach, a shiver ran through him, sharp and sudden.

As the liquid coursed through him, a strange sensation bloomed in his chest—a crackling energy that spread like tendrils of static, racing along his skin, curling around his bones. The air seemed to thicken, growing denser, as if the room itself were holding its breath. The mirror’s surface began to ripple like water, the faint light catching on its curves, distorting and shifting in fluid waves.

His reflection started to change. The face staring back at him warped and twisted, distorting into forms that seemed to flicker at the edges of his vision. Raphael’s breath caught, his chest tightening as a knot of unease twisted in his stomach. His pulse raced, but he forced himself to stay still, watching as the mirror painted strange, alien versions of himself in quick, dizzying flashes. His features melted and reshaped—sometimes angelic, bathed in soft, ethereal light, wings unfurling behind him; sometimes devilish, his eyes burning gold, his skin darkened, his form sharper, more dangerous. The transformations came faster and faster, so quick they blurred together, impossible to catch in full detail. Raphael felt as though he were on the brink of something—caught between awe and fear, between revelation and chaos.

The reflection blurred into a ball of blue light, pulsing with an intensity that seemed to beat in time with his own heartbeat. It grew, swelling outward, expanding like a star ready to consume the space around it. The light grew brighter, hotter, until it seared against his eyes, becoming unbearable, blinding. Raphael instinctively flinched, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth as he shielded his gaze, but the image remained etched into the darkness behind his eyelids.

The library room plunged into darkness, a sudden, engulfing void as the mirror radiated an intense, pure blue light—like a small sun igniting in the center of the room. The air crackled with heat, the temperature rising so sharply it made the back of his neck prickle. Sweat beaded on his forehead, a thin sheen that caught the light like dew. Ms. Ravenwood raised her hands in reflex, shielding her eyes, her lips parting as she whispered in Latin, her voice strained, her words laced with a tremor of reverence and fear.

– Sanctus caelum… Protect us from heavenly forces…

Her breath hitched, the incantation slipping from her mouth like a prayer lost in the storm. The bright blue light exploded from the mirror in a sudden, blinding burst, washing over every surface, flooding the room with a radiance that left no shadow untouched. It felt as if the very air vibrated, resonating deep within his bones, and Raphael’s skin tingled, alive with energy that wasn’t entirely his own.

And then—everything snapped back to normal. The light vanished in an instant, leaving behind a hollow silence, as if the room itself had exhaled. The temperature dropped, the oppressive heat dissipating, and the faint, flickering glow of the lanterns returned, casting soft, golden halos in the dim space. The scent of parchment and ancient magic lingered, but now mingled with a sharper, electric tang, like the aftermath of a storm.

– Ms. Ravenwood? – Raphael’s voice was tentative, almost a whisper, the sound small in the stillness that had settled over the room.

As the blinding light faded, Ms. Ravenwood lowered her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she blinked rapidly to adjust her vision. Her breath came in shallow, uneven puffs, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. She turned to him slowly, her expression pale and shocked, the usual sharpness of her gaze softened by an edge of disbelief.

– By the divine… – she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the words falling from her lips as if spoken to herself, as though she couldn’t fully comprehend what she had just witnessed. – The mirror… it couldn’t contain your reflection.

Raphael’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse still racing beneath his skin, a cold knot of confusion and dread coiling deep in his gut. His voice cracked slightly when he finally spoke, the words slipping out with a raw edge.

– What does that even mean?

Ms. Ravenwood took a deep breath, steadying herself, her posture straightening with deliberate effort. She clasped her hands together for a moment, as if grounding herself, then let them fall to her sides. Her voice was quiet but steady, laced with a note of awe that she couldn’t entirely suppress.

– It means that your supernatural potential is extraordinarily powerful and… unique. The mirror has never reacted this way before. It suggests that you possess an immense amount of latent magical energy, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.

Raphael’s lips parted, but no words came. He felt hollow, adrift in a sea of questions with no shore in sight. The thought of being extraordinarily powerful rang in his ears, but it didn’t feel real—just words, floating in the space between them. And for the first time, a faint, cold seed of fear nestled within him—unfamiliar, yet undeniable.

– I see… – he managed, though in truth, he felt utterly lost. The words tasted foreign on his tongue, empty against the overwhelming tide of uncertainty.

Ms. Ravenwood’s voice softened, her expression shifting into something gentler, though her eyes still held that sharp, assessing glint.

– And the blue light… it reminded me of celestial beings, angels perhaps. But the fact that it grew so intense and unstable implies that your power might be tied to something even more rare and extraordinary. I’m not sure what to make of this, but one thing is clear – you are not an ordinary student.

Raphael exhaled slowly, the sound shaky, barely audible. His voice was distant, almost as if he were speaking from somewhere far away.

– I think I’m getting used to this though.

He barely registered the faint tightness in his chest, the quiet resignation that settled over him like a heavy cloak. The enormity of it all felt unreal, yet somehow inevitable, like a storm he could feel in his bones long before the first drop of rain.

She observed him quietly, her gaze lingering on the subtle shift in his posture—the way his shoulders drooped slightly, the faint, weary glint in his eyes. There was no panic, no wild fear in him—just a quiet, almost unsettling calm. Her breath caught for a moment, and then she reached out, resting her hand gently on his shoulder, her touch light but grounding, as if she sought to anchor him in the moment.

– Most students would be terrified or overwhelmed by such a discovery. But you… you seem almost accepting.

Her voice was soft, touched by something akin to admiration, though the lines of concern in her forehead hadn’t fully eased.

– What other choice do I have? – Raphael’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, the words laced with quiet exhaustion, as if the fight had drained out of him long ago.

– None, I suppose, – Ms. Ravenwood replied, her thumb brushing over his shoulder in a small, comforting gesture, a fleeting attempt at reassurance in the face of the unknown. – You’re right – there’s no use denying the truth now. But this… this changes everything. I need to consult with the headmaster and the council immediately.

Raphael nodded faintly, the motion slow, as if it took an effort to lift his head, to meet her gaze. His voice was barely audible, a tired breath more than a sound.

– Yeah… I hope it doesn’t get me into some trouble…

Ms. Ravenwood shook her head, her expression softening, the lines of tension smoothing slightly as a hint of reassurance settled into her features.

– Trouble? No, my dear. Quite the opposite. A student with your potential is a rare and valuable asset to the school. The headmaster will want to ensure you’re given every opportunity to develop and control your powers.

Raphael’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction, though the weight of everything still lingered in the air around him.

– Ok. Thank you very much. Please let me know if you come across any new information about the Originals. I’d like to study this topic deeper.

Ms. Ravenwood inclined her head, a faint spark of approval glinting in her eyes, impressed by his focus despite the storm of uncertainty that had just engulfed them.

– Of course. I’ll delve deeper into the Originals’ lore and share any new findings with you personally. It’s fascinating that you’re so interested in such ancient and powerful beings.

– Thank you.

As Raphael turned to leave, the air seemed to settle into a hushed, heavy stillness once more, as if the room itself were absorbing the echoes of their conversation. Ms. Ravenwood watched him go, her expression thoughtful, the weight of what had just transpired lingering in the furrow of her brow. Her fingers hovered over her phone for a moment, then moved quickly, her message to the headmaster Alexander sent in swift, precise keystrokes: Headmaster, we have an extraordinary situation. Your suspicions were correct. The new student… their powers are unlike anything I’ve seen before.