The Villain Professor's Second Chance

---Two days before Draven's real body returns---

Draven's clone, the one that has been training at the dungeon of necromancy, sat alone in his private study at the Drakhan Mansion, the world outside his heavily curtained windows cloaked in nighttime silence. The flickering light from a solitary candle cast uneven shadows over the richly decorated room. Dark wood paneling stretched to the ceiling, lined with shelves that held rare books, potions, and arcane artifacts. There was a sense of antiquity, a feeling that every corner of the room carried untold secrets. The air was still, almost heavy with magic and mystery.

Draven reclined in an intricately carved mahogany chair, dressed in a simple but elegant set of robes that hinted at his high status without overbearing ornamentation. His expression was stoic, his gaze sharp as it scanned the parchment laid out before him. He frowned slightly, the crease on his forehead deepening in thought as he read the letter's contents for the second time, taking in every word. It was official—sealed with the wax insignia of the Continental Mage Council, the symbol an unmistakable sign of authority and arcane dominance.

The parchment itself glowed faintly, enchanted wards woven into its fibers to keep its contents safe from prying eyes. Draven could sense the magic humming, the delicate threads interlaced to protect what was inside. It was significant—the kind of letter that did not arrive without reason or consequence. He read on, a sense of anticipation settling in the pit of his stomach. The Mage Council did nothing without purpose, and this letter was no exception. Read latest stories on My Virtual Library Empire

Draven tilted his head slightly, his cold eyes narrowing as he moved his gaze to the elegant script written within. He could feel something lurking beneath the formality—a current of hidden intentions that spoke louder than the official tone. He ran his fingers along the edge of the parchment, feeling the subtle tingling where the warding spells lay. The Mage Council had extended an invitation—one that he could not easily refuse, one that required his immediate attention.

A summons, but not just any summons.

[Esteemed Lord Draven of the Drakhan Family,

It is with the highest regard and formality that the Continental Mage Council extends an invitation to you. The purpose of this letter is to request your presence at a critical meeting regarding the upcoming symposium and the pressing matters currently facing the mage realm across the continent. This gathering is not merely about the symposium's academic discussions; it is a convening of the Great Families to address challenges that threaten the arcane order.

Your presence is not only requested but deemed essential for the stability and future of the arcane arts. The Council believes that your insights, as well as the influence of the Drakhan family, will be pivotal in addressing these challenges and ensuring the continued prosperity of our shared magical heritage.

The meeting will also be attended by other esteemed representatives of the Great Families, including Lancefroz of Icevern, among other notable lineages. These individuals hold key roles in shaping the magical landscape of our realm, and their participation alongside yours is viewed as crucial to the Council's objectives.

Furthermore, an invitation has been extended to Queen Aurelia, though we understand her current condition may prevent her attendance. This is acknowledged with utmost discretion, as we are aware of the particular challenges she is currently facing.

The meeting will be held at Aetherion—the renowned underwater fortress, a symbol of mystical prowess and the Council's commitment to the protection and advancement of arcane knowledge. Aetherion's wards are impenetrable, and only those bearing the Celestial Seal shall be permitted entry. Please find enclosed the Celestial Seal that will grant you safe passage.

The urgency of this meeting cannot be understated. We ask that you make your preparations promptly and join us, for the decisions made here will shape the future of magic in profound ways. We trust that you will not let this opportunity to safeguard the arcane order pass by.

In Arcane Unity,

The Continental Mage Council]

"I see,"

The upcoming symposium had already been the talk of many within the mage community. It was meant to showcase the latest research, progress, and discoveries among the best minds in magic. But this was more. The letter went beyond the symposium, inviting him to a private meeting of the great families—the most influential and powerful lineages across the continent. Draven could feel his suspicion growing, a quiet sense of wariness creeping into his thoughts.

He was not naïve. The Mage Council rarely invited the heads of the great families simply to discuss research. No, this was something more—something political, perhaps even dangerous. The phrasing of the letter, the insistence on the attendance of the "heads of families," was clear. "Essential for the stability of the arcane arts," it said, a line that seemed to carry with it a threat rather than a promise. Stability, indeed. They wanted control—leverage over those who held real power.

Draven's eyes moved to the list of those who had been summoned. The names included Lancefroz of Icevern, among others—figures whose presence alone implied a certain tension, a delicate balance that could easily be tipped. Powerful houses, influential names. Draven could already see the maneuvering that would unfold, the careful game of positioning and influence that would take place at the meeting. The Council knew what they were doing, gathering potential adversaries, placing them in the same room, and then watching to see what happened. It was a classic ploy, a way to test alliances and weaken bonds.

And then, there was the mention of Queen Aurelia—another invitation extended, though with a vague excuse about her "illness." Draven's lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. Illness, indeed. The Queen's current situation was not due to frailty of body but a quest of a different nature. She was in the World of Quest, a place beyond ordinary reach, and the Council surely knew it. They were keeping appearances, playing the game of pretenses. It made Draven wonder—just how much did the Council know, and what was their endgame?

His gaze moved down to the location of the meeting—Aetherion, the underwater fortress. He leaned back, considering the implications. The Mage Council had chosen a site that represented arcane prowess, a place both difficult to reach and nearly impossible to infiltrate. Aetherion was shrouded in layers of protective magic, accessible only to those bearing the Celestial Seal—an emblem enchanted to glow when nearing the fortress, allowing safe passage. Without it, intruders would be redirected or even repelled by powerful wards. The choice of Aetherion spoke volumes about the Council's intent—this was a place where only the chosen could enter, where every precaution had been taken to maintain control.

Draven let out a soft breath, folding the parchment and placing it neatly on the desk. The Council's power was undeniable—the ability to gather every major family at short notice, to host such an event at a location like Aetherion, it spoke to their influence. But it also spoke of their intentions. The Council was positioning itself as the ultimate authority, using its influence to create an environment where they held all the cards.

His eyes moved to the small Celestial Seal that had come with the letter, a faint glow emanating from its surface—a key to Aetherion, a token of both invitation and control. Draven picked it up, turning it over in his fingers, feeling the power within it. Aetherion was dangerous—not just for what it represented, but for the trap it could easily become. He had no choice but to attend, but he would do so on his own terms, aware of every angle, every potential threat.

The door to his study creaked open, and Draven turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting Alfred's as his butler entered. Alfred, ever composed, approached with a calm but curious demeanor. The candlelight reflected off his eyes, and Draven could see the unspoken questions there. Alfred had always been perceptive, an observer who understood without needing to ask. His loyalty was unwavering, his insight invaluable.

"How was the letter, my lord?" Alfred inquired, his voice respectful, though there was a trace of curiosity beneath the surface.

Draven regarded him for a moment, his gaze cold and calculating. "An invitation," he replied, his tone almost indifferent. "One that we must respond to promptly." He rose from his chair, his movements smooth, controlled. He took his coat, a heavy garment lined with enchantments—not for warmth, but for protection. The runes etched along the seams glowed faintly, a reminder of the magic woven into the very fabric.

"It arrived hours ago," Draven continued, his eyes meeting Alfred's. "We leave tonight. Leaving at dawn would invite unwanted attention, attempts at sabotage." He spoke matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather rather than the possibility of danger. Alfred nodded, his expression unchanged, though there was a glint of understanding in his eyes.

"Understood, my lord," Alfred said, his voice steady. "I will see to the preparations." He turned to leave, but paused, looking back at Draven. "Do you expect trouble?"

Draven considered the question for a moment, then gave a slight shrug, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Trouble is inevitable, Alfred," he said, his voice almost amused. "But we will be ready for it." Alfred nodded once more, then left the room to make the necessary arrangements.

Draven took one last look at the study before following, his eyes moving over the shelves, the books, the artifacts. This place had been his sanctuary, a space where he could think, plan, and prepare. But now, it was time to step into the game—to see what the Mage Council had planned, and to make sure he was ready for whatever came next.

The mansion was quiet as Draven made his way through the halls, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. The servants were already gathered, lined up along the entrance as he approached. They bowed deeply as he passed, their expressions respectful, their gazes following him with something close to reverence. It was a change from the past—gone were the whispers, the looks of disdain. They knew his power now, understood the authority he wielded. But to Draven, it was inconsequential. Respect was fleeting, and loyalty was something earned through fear or power, never kindness.

Alfred was already waiting at the entrance, a sharp whistle escaping his lips. A majestic black stallion, the Drakhan family's pride and strongest horse, approached from the stables. Its coat gleamed under the moonlight, its eyes intelligent and alert. Draven moved towards the horse, his movements deliberate as he mounted, feeling the power beneath him as the stallion shifted its weight.

"No carriage tonight," Draven said, his voice low as he looked at Alfred, who was mounting his own white horse. "Speed and discretion are what we need. We'll head to the Council's embassy in the capital. The Arcane Carriages will take us the rest of the way."

Alfred nodded, positioning his horse beside Draven's. "The Spectral Drakes," he said, his tone respectful. The drakes were ghostly, dragon-like creatures that moved through the air with ease, their presence otherworldly. They were the only mounts capable of reaching Aetherion, and the Council had the sole authority to command them.

Draven gave a final glance towards the mansion, his eyes cold, his expression unreadable. The servants watched as he rode away, the sound of the stallion's hooves fading into the night. He felt Alfred's presence beside him, a quiet but solid support. There were no allies in this journey, not really—only those who were useful, those who understood the stakes.

They moved through the gates, the cold night air biting at their faces, the city beyond the estate quiet, almost eerily so. The streets were empty, the buildings dark as they made their way towards the capital. Draven kept his gaze forward, his mind already working through the possibilities, the potential dangers that lay ahead. The invitation, the gathering of the great families, the meeting at Aetherion—it was all a game, and he intended to play it well.

The silence between Draven and Alfred was comfortable, both men understanding the gravity of what lay ahead without the need for words. The path they took was deserted, the cobblestones glistening faintly under the moonlight. The journey felt almost surreal, the quiet giving way to the thoughts that swirled in Draven's mind. He was cold, detached, but his intelligence allowed him to see the layers of intrigue—the Council's manipulation, the families' ambitions, and the power struggle that was about to unfold.

He gave Alfred a sidelong glance, the butler's expression calm, his focus on the road ahead. There was a sense of loyalty there that Draven valued, a steadiness that was hard to find. Alfred was more than just a servant—he was a confidant, someone who understood the complexities of Draven's world.

"I hope the journey will be uneventful," Alfred said, his voice breaking the silence, though there was a hint of doubt in his tone.

Draven's lips twitched into a faint smile, his eyes cold. "Hope rarely aligns with reality, Alfred," he replied, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. "But we will see."