The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Amberine stood in front of the magic whiteboard, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and trepidation. The board glowed faintly, its surface filled with intricate scribbles and symbols that seemed to dance with an otherworldly energy. Draven's handwriting was precise, almost mechanical in its neatness, yet the contents of his notes felt far beyond anything she had ever encountered before.

The symbols swirled in complex patterns, looping and connecting in ways that left her both mesmerized and overwhelmed. It was clear that Draven had been pouring his mind into this for some time.

"This… this thing is incredible," she muttered under her breath, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of the board. It wasn't just the magic whiteboard itself that amazed her, but the way it seemed to almost think alongside her. As her thoughts raced, the symbols on the board rearranged, offering her hints and guiding her mind toward possible solutions.

She quickly snapped herself back into focus. This wasn't the time to admire the brilliance of Draven's tools. She had been tasked with figuring out the notes, and she wasn't about to disappoint him. Taking a deep breath, she began scanning the symbols more closely, trying to make sense of the mess of information before her. The notes were clearly tied to something critical, something urgent.

As she deciphered one line after another, her realization deepened—Draven was studying the shadow plague, the mysterious curse affecting villages across the continent.

Her heart raced. The shadow plague wasn't just some rumor—it was a real threat. Entire villages had been wiped out, consumed by darkness, their people swallowed by shadows. And here, right in front of her, were Draven's calculations and hypotheses. He had been working tirelessly to uncover the root of the plague, piecing together fragments of information that no ordinary mage could comprehend.

But despite his brilliance, Amberine struggled to piece it all together. The whiteboard flickered as she muttered to herself, connecting Draven's notes to what she knew of magic. "Shadows… darkness... manipulation of light?" she whispered, her brow furrowing as she trailed her fingers along a line of symbols. "No, that doesn't seem right. What's missing?"

The symbols continued to shift, almost as if the board was responding to her frustration. Amberine bit her lip, her mind racing through the possibilities. She glanced at a symbol in the corner—a flame, flickering and small, surrounded by intricate markings. There was something about it that drew her in, something familiar.

"Fire…?" she muttered, squinting at the flame symbol. "Could it be… related to fire spirits?" Her thoughts drifted to Ifrit, the fire spirit who had been with her for as long as she could remember. He always lurked in the folds of her robe, quiet and watchful, rarely making his presence known. Spirits had their own form of magic, their own understanding of the arcane. Could that be the missing link?

"Spirits…?" she said aloud, the idea taking root. "Could this plague be connected to spirits?"

Before she could dwell on the thought any further, Draven's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade.

"Spirits?" he echoed, his eyes flickering with sudden interest. He had been sitting silently in the corner of the room, watching her work, but now his attention was fully on her. His gaze was intense, calculating. "What did you say about spirits?"

Amberine blinked, startled by his sudden engagement. "I—I was just thinking, maybe… maybe spirits are involved in the plague somehow. The symbols... they look like something related to elemental magic. And fire spirits are sensitive to disturbances in the balance of magic. What if—"

Draven's sharp eyes narrowed. "Ask Ifrit," he said simply, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. "I know he's with you."

Amberine stiffened, her mind flashing back to the royal banquet, where Draven had first shown his uncanny ability to read her—and Ifrit's—presence. She had thought he might have forgotten, or perhaps chosen not to care. But clearly, Draven forgot nothing.

"You still remember that?" Amberine asked, a slight grin tugging at her lips despite the situation.

Draven's lips barely twitched, his expression remaining cold. "I forget nothing. Call him out."

With a resigned sigh, Amberine reached into her robe, her fingers brushing against the warm, familiar presence of Ifrit. She could feel his reluctance, his resistance to being summoned. Ifrit had never been one for direct involvement unless absolutely necessary.

"Ifrit," she murmured softly, her voice laced with a mix of authority and affection. "Come out. We need your help."

A low, fiery grumble echoed from within her robe, and a small spark of flame flickered at her side. Ifrit emerged, his form materializing in a swirl of red and orange embers, his blazing eyes casting an irritated glare at Draven. The fire spirit floated lazily beside Amberine, his flames flickering in agitation.

"Don't like being summoned like this, huh?" Amberine chuckled, but her tone was gentle, understanding.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Ifrit let out a huff of smoke, his molten eyes narrowing. "What do you want?" he growled, his voice crackling like burning wood.

Draven wasted no time. He stepped forward, pointing to the ancient symbols on the whiteboard. "These symbols," he said, his tone brisk, "do they mean anything to you?"

Ifrit's fiery gaze shifted to the symbols. He studied them for a long moment, his flames flickering more violently as recognition dawned on him. "Spirit language," he muttered, his voice heavy with reluctance. "Old. Very old. This is not common magic.

Only the most powerful spirits would know this."

Draven's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, though his expression remained calm. "What do they say?"

Ifrit hesitated, glancing at Amberine as if seeking her permission to speak further. She nodded, silently urging him to continue.

The fire spirit sighed, his flames dimming slightly as he focused on the symbols. "This... this is a binding spell. A contract. The kind used to bind spirits to a mage's will. Whoever wrote this is trying to control something far beyond their power."

Amberine's heart skipped a beat. A binding spell? Was that the cause of the plague?

"Binding a spirit," Draven repeated, his mind already racing ahead, connecting the dots. "But not just any spirit. Something ancient, something powerful."

Ifrit, the fiery elemental bound to him, grumbled in agreement, his voice crackling like embers. "A spirit of darkness, bound to shadows. That's what these symbols are for. Whoever cast this is trying to manipulate a spirit of shadow, twisting its power to spread fear and chaos."

Draven's sharp eyes scanned the arcane symbols sprawled across the dusty floor of the abandoned chamber. They weren't just random marks; they were deliberate, precise, each one placed with a purpose. His thoughts moved quickly, almost too fast for even him to keep up, as he analyzed the nature of the binding spell.

It wasn't something a novice could pull off—this was advanced magic, steeped in ancient rites long forgotten by most modern sorcerers.

"The goal isn't just to control," Draven muttered, more to himself than to Ifrit or Amberine, who stood watching him closely. "It's to corrupt. Whoever's doing this wants the spirit to become a conduit for something darker, more destructive."

Ifrit's eyes flickered with unease. "This is dangerous magic, Draven. Whoever's behind this knows what they're doing."

Draven nodded, his mind working at lightning speed as he turned away from the symbols and back toward the large whiteboard set up in the corner of the room. He grabbed a piece of chalk, his hand moving swiftly across the board as he began sketching out a complex magic circle.

Each line he drew was sharp, precise, his mind calculating the exact measurements needed to counteract the dark magic they were up against.

Amberine watched in awe, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always known Draven was brilliant—cold, calculating, and detached, but brilliant. Yet seeing his mind at work like this, his focus so intense that the rest of the world seemed to blur around him, was something entirely different.

His genius wasn't just in his knowledge of magic, but in the way he pieced together puzzles that no one else could even begin to comprehend.

As the chalk danced across the board, layer after layer of the circle began to form. Each added element deepened its complexity, from the runes etched into the outer ring to the intricate sigils woven into the inner sections. Every stroke was deliberate, every detail finely tuned to the delicate balance of power they needed to achieve.

Draven didn't hesitate. He added another layer to the circle, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "The only way to stop it is to break the contract. But to do that, we'll need to find the spirit and confront it directly. Whoever cast this spell has unleashed something far worse than they intended."

Amberine felt a shiver run down her spine. The shadow plague wasn't just a curse—it was a deliberate attempt to control a powerful, ancient spirit. And now that spirit was wreaking havoc across the land, feeding on fear and darkness.

Draven stepped back, his eyes scanning the completed magic circle. "This is the key," he said quietly. "The plague feeds off fear. The more terrified people are, the stronger it becomes. But the true source of its power lies in the spirit bound to the contract."

Then there, Amberine saw the first time the face of the professor that seem... Worried.

"This is concerning..."