CHAPTER 87: FROM THE BRINK OF OBLIVION

Osiris’ eyes flicked to the official recall order laying on his desk, its words burning in his mind like a brand.

Someone was backing the rat?

He’d agreed to release Noah. He had no choice. To resist the Academy now would have been folly.

But that did not mean he had lost.

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes glittering with something darker than satisfaction. Maybe this was even better.

He tapped his fingers against the edge of his desk, thinking, turning the problem over in his mind.

If Noah returned to the Academy under the illusion of safety, his guard would lower. He would feel saved, even protected. But protection would be a lie.

Osiris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and whispered to himself, "What is a cage worth if the beast willingly leads you to its den?"

The thought crystallized like most condensing into drops of water. He didn’t need to hold Noah forever. He only needed to set the right predator upon him. Someone with nothing left to lose. Someone who would tear into him at the first opportunity.

Lord Rowe.

The noble’s grief was a raw wound, festering into fury with every passing day. He had threatened Osiris before, spitting rage in his face, promising destruction for anyone who failed to bring Juniper home. The man would leap at the chance to wrap his hands around the throat of the one blamed for her death.

Osiris chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. Yes. Let the grieving father hunt. And when Noah was cornered, when blood and desperation painted the boy’s face, he would not suffer alone.

Instead, he would drag others down with him. He would call for his companions. The people that had turned Juniper Rowe while he had been stuck in the cells. And to cap it all off, he might even confess the truths Osiris had not yet forced out of him.

The boy would become his own leash.

Osiris rose from his chair and called out.

A moment later, his assistant entered, bowing deeply. "Yes, my lord?"

Osiris’ smile widened. "Prepare a message. Deliver it to Lord Rowe with all haste."

The assistant dipped his quill, parchment already ready. "What shall I write?"

Osiris turned toward the window, gazing out over the capital, the sun bleeding red against the horizon. His voice was calm, almost casual.

"Tell him that Noah Webb, the summoned hero last seen with his daughter, is being released from our custody. That he is to be returned to the Academy by tomorrow morning."

The assistant blinked, hesitant. "Do you... wish me to include any instructions for his behavior, my lord?"

Osiris shook his head slowly, a predator’s grin tugging at his lips. "No. None at all. Let grief and rage do the work for us. Men like Rowe cannot resist such bait. They are too blinded by their pain."

The assistant bowed again and quickly left to carry out the order.

Osiris stood in the dim light of his office, his hands clasped behind his back. He could almost picture it now.

Noah, stumbling out of the Authority, thinking himself saved. Then the ambush, the noble’s wrath crashing down upon him. The boy forced into desperation, into action. His little circle of conspirators drawn out, one by one.

All Osiris would need to do was watch.

And when the storm ended, when Noah Webb had exposed everything and everyone he was protecting, then Osiris would collect him again. Broken, used, and utterly beyond hope.

Osiris’ laughter echoed in the empty room.

"Run, little hero." He whispered to himself. "Run straight into the teeth I’ve set upon you."

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Noah laid on the damp floor of his cell, his body getting colder and colder, as if the last threads of his soul were unraveling into the darkness.

The silence of the deep cell surrounded him like a suffocating blanket, every breath feeling like more weight had been added to it.

His chest rose shallowly, barely catching enough air to keep him tethered to life. He could feel it now. The thinning of his existence, the final call of Oblivion.

His heart thudded weakly, slow, uneven.

Thump... thump... thump...

He knew what it meant. His body was too weak to recover. His magic was sealed, his muscles hollow, and his mind frayed.

Death had been stalking him for weeks, inch by inch, and now it crouched at the very edge of his sight, waiting for him to fall into its arms.

’If I close my eyes now... I’ll never open them again.’

The thought was not laced with fear. Only grim acceptance.

A sound disturbed the silence. Faint. Almost imagined. A long, low creak, like iron dragged against stone. His breath hitched. His ears strained. The noise grew closer, echoing through the corridor.

Creak... creak...

The sound of metal bending against its will.

His eyelids fluttered. Too heavy. He couldn’t lift them anymore. His body was too far gone. The sound swelled, filling the cell, and then, there were hands. Gentle, trembling, but strong enough to lift his ruined body out of the damp and filth of the floor. He wanted to resist, to question, but his strength was already gone.

He was drifting, slipping into the void.

Then... light.

It poured into him. His veins burned, not with fire or rot, but with radiance. Pure, warm vitality flooded through his chest, pumping his heart into a stronger rhythm.

His lungs opened wide as if they were being filled for the very first time. His body convulsed weakly, sucking air greedily, as though it had been starved for eternity.

He gasped. The sound was pitiful, broken, but it was life. His eyes cracked open, vision hazy, and the world swam into focus.

A face hovered above his. Brown hair framed golden eyes that glimmered with a mix of anger and relief. Her voice broke through the haze, low and soft, trembling as though she had been waiting for this moment longer than he could imagine.

"Noah..."

He tried to form words, but only a whisper escaped, cracked and raw. "Professor..."

Cecilia’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes glistened with emotion. She leaned closer, pressing his head gently against her chest as if to shield him from the weight of the world.

"It’s okay now," she whispered, as if the words themselves could stitch him back together.

Her arms cradled him, strong yet tender, pulling him out of the darkness and into her warmth. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to hold onto those words, to believe that all the torment, the endless nights of fire burning through his soul, the cruel laughter of Osiris, were finally over.

But his body was too tired. His eyelids sank despite the light still flowing through him. He clung to her voice, the last anchor in the sea of nothingness.

"It’s okay now."

With that, Noah let himself slip into unconsciousness, this time not with fear of never waking, but with the faintest thread of hope.

He’d made it. He’d survived all that Osiris had thrown at him. He’d finally be getting out of this tunnel.

And there was light at the end of it.