Saffron orbs scanned the lines of ancient, nefarious text inscribed upon the pages of the black book to ensure that all measures of the upcoming trial were accomplished. The task he sought to undertake needed to be meticulously engineered, and if even the slightest calculation was misrepresented it could lead to unparalleled disaster.

Beyond the podium in which he studied were a ring of figures ? six in total ? all dressed in robes of black and bound by cords of gold; their hoods drawn to conceal their faces. They were the select few who had endured the tribunals of ascension within his fold, transcending along the binds of morality to achieve a greater power and knowledge rewarded only through mastery of the dark arts.

They were his pupils.

They were his Disciplars.

They were not the subject of his ploy, however; simply the host of it. Within their wreath of bodies was another, one of great authority and might. Secured by chains at the wrists and ankles, the prisoner was suspended off the floor by a duel tension that kept him elevated upright though taut and contained.

Hexius, the Archangel.

Arkon had hunted the Celestial avenger for several decades and had just recently come into possession of him. In that time he had surmised hundreds of baleful exercises he wished to conduct upon Hexius to test the threshold of angelic valor and now that he had him he would not allow a single assessment to go unanswered.

A presence, however, stole his focus.

Reaching into the folds of his magi robes, Arkon produced a sphere of flat sable. Though it looked as if it weighed a considerable amount, gnarled fingers tipped by dreaded talons held the object with little effort as the wealth of his attention diverted to its abyssal depths. Magic engulfed the orb, sending the oblivion within swirling about as though violent clouds of darkness. Finally that darkness parted to reveal the scene of his office at the Institute, and the newly arrived letter upon his desk.

He read the paper thoroughly, recognizing the arcane residue that wafted off the parchment. He made sure that he was constantly aware of those who practiced the arts inside and around the city ? so much so that he could normally identify the caster of a spell just by seeing the results. In this case, he could see that it truly was from those associated with the Grangers, looking beyond the mundane forging of the letter?s signature to validate its authenticity.

Through the precepts of Divination he had seen this occurrence, his response set into motion the day before.

**********************************************

Precisely at the moment in which the letter was sent, a knock was awarded to Caroline Granger?s door. It came in measures of three, rhythmically paced apart to be assertive, but not obnoxious.

It mattered not whether it was a member of the guildhall, a servant of the Grangers, or one of the many relatives who possessed that long-reaching name, the courier revealed the answering letter for Caroline Granger to her and her alone.

If allowed to present the response, the robed messenger would do so quickly, producing an ancient parchment wrapped in cobalt satin. When unrolled, a potent sense of energy would cause the fingertips to tingle and become almost numb, and as the words were read a sense of enlightenment would coerce the brain; alleviating mental stress and bestowing a sense of clarity. Housed within the folds of the parchment was a heavy trinket; a badge of the school. Caroline Granger,

You are formally invited within the walls of my Institute to discuss those matters you seek answers to. Carry with you the item enclosed and you shall be disqualified from the punishment of the wards who answer the call of trespassers. You may come at any time.

Arkon Daraul

Once the entirety of the missive was explored the parchment broke apart as though composed wholly of ash, as did the one who brought it.

The Vaden were certainly interesting, to say the least. A small, furry, monkey-like creature with eyes too large for its head and a cigarette tucked between its fat fingers. It should have been comical, and yet somehow the creature managed to exude an aura of lethality that could not be denied. It had this look about it, a cynical acknowledgment; as though it were leading her into something extremely dangerous and couldn't wait to see how it turned out.

Her movement through the Institute did not go unnoticed, though luckily the halls were scarcely occupied due to most classes being in session.

Still, those few students who traversed the vaulted corridors found their attention lingering upon one so recognizable and famous. The Grangers were not unknown to them, or any within Rhy'din; their bloodline even reaching the enrollment of the IAP. Perhaps what was most unnerving may have been that with every step she took the click of her heels was deeper, louder, than it should have been, as though betraying her stride and beckoning the attention. Every attempt to quiet the sound was ineffective, only amplifying it more so.

Her wait within that solitary chamber was lengthy, giving her ample time to examine all of the dour and haunting decorations that lined the walls and filled the shelves. An assortment of demonic and draconic skulls found their home there, all of which were cast into skeletal looks of menace. Along the walls were portraits illustrating scenes of battles and magic, with the largest one dominating the entire north facade. It was a landscape scene forged from a bird's eye view, showing in meticulous detail a metropolis of jagged obelisks and twisting spires. Barud Das, the City of Towers.

And then the door opened.

The monstrous barrier seeped open with only a mild scrape along the floor, just enough to conjure a sound that made the hairs on the backs of arms and necks stand up, and with laborious steps he entered. Completely enveloped by robes of black and amethyst that were artfully marred by sigils of power, the Dark Mage offered only the view of his hand to onlookers, extended from the consumption of his wide sleeve to grip the twisted length of his ancient staff. Fingers were thin and long, tipped by vicious looking talons, with knuckles that were not rounded but sharp and edged. Upon each tortile phalange was a thick ring of silver that all belonged to the same set.

He took his time crossing the room, each step heralding the residual effluence of power that seeped from his every pore, and once he arrived at the chair across from the one she claimed he slowly lowered to take his seat.

Caroline was met by the abyssal darkness that filled his fully drawn hood, though with the occasional flicker of light from the fire there were hints of a color wading through the oblivion. Saffron. Ailing yellow.

"Miss Granger." The voice that emerged from that dreadful obscurity contrasted the grim demeanor, holding tones of antiquated refinement and crystalline clarity. "Welcome. How may I assist you?"

Terrible echoes were birthed from her voice as she began; her words distilled in a dozen different ways with haunting inflections as though repeated by specters and fiends.

There was no immediate response to her inquiry; rather a stoic regard that seemed unbreakable in its intensity. Those eyes, pulsating in and out of existence with the flicker of the flame between them, offered a gaze that seemed to pierce flesh and bone, observing her on a more spiritual level, looking beyond the tangible.

"Perhaps."

A single word, lacking definitiveness and yet somehow complete and inclusive. It was the weight of the word, the way in which it was spoken, that gave no solid confirmation and yet possessed an absolute answer.

And he continued, "It is not the question as to whether or not I could produce such a safeguard that concerns me but whether you and those you represent would be willing to let me do so. I would need access to all the portals throughout the city made available to myself and those appointed in charge of this endeavor. Magic is a fickle thing and demands thorough calculation in order to assemble the most successful outcome."

He paused, allowing her to absorb the meaning of his explanation. He had indeed been monitoring the pestilence that had spread throughout the city, careful in his assertion of wards surrounding the Institute to ensure none of his students were infected. The Mistmarks, Mistress Evahlys, and Master Ariaith, had been assembled and tasked with finding a cure after a student, Kish Phomaih, had 'accidently' been led into one of the city's worst hotbeds of outbreaks and caught the endemic. After several attempts they found triumph over the wicked affliction, which was the foundation for the defense Arkon planned to use if he and Miss Granger were able to come to an agreement.

Her trepidation within his presence was silently acknowledged, though he did nothing to ease her fear.

"...an outcome that I can supply."