RAVENNA

Part 15 A

Meanwhile, in a shadowed chamber deep within the museum's west wing, beneath flickering torchlight and arcane wards humming low against the stone, Ash stood like a statue carved from shadow.Dressed in slate-gray robes lined with jagged black runes, the assistant to Right hand Moana looked calm — too calm. His gaze was like cold iron: unreadable, unblinking, and untouched by conscience. A scar sliced from the corner of his lip to his ear, like a reminder that he had never learned regret — or never cared to.

Across from him, lounging arrogantly near the enchanted hearth, stood Muriel Sia, glass in hand, breath thick with alcohol and stale pride. His long black hair hung loose around his face, eyes glittering with a satisfaction too cruel to hide.

Ash broke the silence. His voice was smooth, clinical. "Where exactly was the Voltheris crystal implanted?"

Muriel smirked. "Do you ask because you fear they'll find it?" 

"I ask," Ash replied flatly, "because if they do find it, your usefulness ends. Permanently."

Muriel chuckled, clearly unbothered. "Oh, please," he said, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Not even the brightest fool in this place will spot it. I hid it where they'd never question it." He stepped closer, his voice lowering with smug delight.

"Right in plain sight. On display. Admired by half the village."

Ash's gaze sharpened. "The clock?" Muriel gave a slow, satisfied nod.
"The ancient timekeeper, imperial star clock," he drawled. "Elegant casing. Hollow base. Arcane shielding. 

" They don't even know it's unstable — not until they're standing beside it when it ignites. When it goes off, the blast will tear through the central wing. Maybe thirty dead, maybe fifty. Depends how many are stupid enough to lean in. Either way, I'll enjoy the screams from right here."

Ash remained motionless. Cold. Calculating. Then he stepped forward just slightly, the air around him tightening like a snare.

"If this goes south," Ash said, his tone icy, "if even one piece of that plan slips—do not expect Moana to protect you."

Ash leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "You'll vanish, Muriel. Not magically. Not cleanly. Just... completely. No trace. No echo. No name left behind."

The flames in the hearth crackled louder in the silence that followed.

Muriel's grin twitched — not fading entirely, but uncertain now. But what he did not realized — was that the clock Muriel had so proudly rigged with a Voltheris crystal core... had already been moved as it had been broken hours earlier.

Shattered — not deliberately, but by pure accident: by a student — Nieve Winston. And museum staff, in their quiet efficiency, had replaced the artifact immediately with another identical piece

Muriel's Voltheris core — powerful, unstable, enchanted to detonate under specific magical triggers — was now sitting in an empty storeroom, untouched, unnoticed in the WEST WING.

NIEVE POV

The cold didn't register at first.

Just silence — endless, white, suffocating silence. I lay there, half-buried in snow, and for a long moment, I didn't move. I wasn't sure I could. My fingers felt numb. My body ached like I'd been thrown from the sky and scraped across the ground like an afterthought.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Everything was... white.

Sky, ground, horizon — all of it blending into one vast, shapeless cold. No buildings. No mountains. No ruins of the museum. Just snow, stretching so far it made my eyes ache. I groaned and pushed myself upright. My cloak was shredded at the hem, soaked and scorched. My face felt tight — soot clinging to my skin. Every muscle complained, especially my shoulder. But my sling bag was still with me, hanging diagonally across my chest like a lifeline. No blood. No broken bones. Just shaken. Alive.