The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Sharon arrived at the Continental Mage Council's embassy late in the evening, the sky above painted in deep shades of indigo, with the first stars twinkling faintly overhead. Despite the hour, the embassy grounds were bustling with activity. Nobles, mages, knights, and various attendants moved about, their voices mingling in a chaotic symphony of excitement, urgency, and nervous chatter. The embassy itself loomed large, an imposing structure glowing with enchantments that shimmered along its walls like the flicker of trapped lightning. Runes etched into the stone glowed softly, giving the whole building an ethereal presence. It was no wonder that only the most distinguished individuals in the mage world dared approach the embassy with confidence.

Sharon couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety as she approached. "I shouldn't be here, not with people like this," she thought to herself, pulling her hood lower over her face. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. "Just stay calm, Sharon. No one is looking at you. Blend in, and find Draven."

The crowd was filled with an eclectic mix—men and women in elaborate robes adorned with sigils and charms, knights in armor that gleamed in the magical glow, their weapons sheathed but ever ready. It seemed like everyone who had any standing in the arcane community was here, and all of them were preparing for the journey to Aetherion. Sharon kept her hood low, trying to blend into the crowd, avoiding eye contact. Her heart raced; this was not a place where she could afford to draw attention. Not yet. She made her way through the throng of people, weaving between groups of nobles in animated discussion and attendants rushing with scrolls and supplies.

"I hate this," she muttered under her breath, her eyes darting around. "All these people, all this power, and here I am, sneaking around like a thief. But it's for Lady Sophie. For her, I'll do anything."

The air was thick with anticipation. The journey to Aetherion was not just a simple excursion—it was a call that had gathered the great houses, the prominent scholars, and those few who wielded significant influence in the mage world. Sharon's eyes darted around, her senses on high alert. She needed to confirm Draven's presence, to know whether he was here and when he was leaving. As she neared the registration desk, her pulse quickened. A group of mages was clustered around the desk, their conversation low but tense. She hung back for a moment, watching, waiting for her opportunity to approach.

"Come on, Sharon. You can do this. Just act like you belong," she whispered to herself, her fingers brushing against the edge of her cloak. "Just need to see his name. That's it."

The registration desk itself was a marvel, enchanted to manage the influx of information from those who registered. Runes floated above the desk, glowing softly, shifting as names were entered and verified. Sharon took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the area, noting the heightened security. Guards, their armor shimmering with enchantments, stood at every corner, their eyes sweeping the crowd. She had to be careful—one wrong move, one sign that she didn't belong here, and it would all be over before it even began.

The line in front of the desk was slowly dwindling, and Sharon made her move, stepping up behind a group of robed figures. She kept her head down, her hood hiding her face as she edged closer, her eyes fixed on the list that hovered above the registration desk. The names glowed, shifting as each person registered. Sharon's gaze moved quickly, scanning for Draven's name, but the list was long, and the script was ornate. She squinted, her heart pounding as she tried to make out the names.

"Come on, come on… where is it?" she thought, her frustration growing. "I can't miss it. I can't afford to miss it."

Suddenly, she saw it—or at least she thought she did. Her breath caught, and she stepped back, her eyes widening. But as she blinked, she realized her mistake. It wasn't Draven. It was someone else, a name that only vaguely resembled his. Sharon cursed under her breath, her face heating in embarrassment. She had been too hasty, too eager. She couldn't afford mistakes like this. Not now. She moved away from the desk, her hands trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists.

"Idiot," she scolded herself silently. "Get it together, Sharon. Lady Sophie is counting on you. You can't mess this up. Not now."

She needed to be patient, to wait. Draven would show up. He had to.

Sharon moved to the side, blending into the crowd, her eyes fixed on the registration desk. She watched as more people stepped forward, each one more distinguished than the last. Her frustration grew with every passing moment, her anxiety gnawing at her insides. She couldn't miss him. She couldn't let him slip past her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm, to think clearly. She would wait, as long as it took. Draven would show up. He had to.

Sharon moved to the side, blending into the crowd, her eyes fixed on the registration desk. She watched as more people stepped forward, each one more distinguished than the last. Her frustration grew with every passing moment, her anxiety gnawing at her insides. She couldn't miss him. She couldn't let him slip past her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm, to think clearly. She would wait, as long as it took.

Then it happened. A sudden shift in the atmosphere. The temperature seemed to drop, a chill settling over the embassy that made Sharon shiver. The hum of conversation around her faltered, a hush falling over the crowd. She looked up, her eyes narrowing. People were turning, their gazes directed towards the entrance, their expressions filled with a mix of awe and unease.

Sharon didn't need to ask why. She knew. Draven had arrived.

He walked into the embassy with an aura that commanded attention. His presence was like a blade—sharp, cold, and undeniable. His dark hair framed his face, his expression one of indifference, his eyes like chips of ice as they swept over the room. His robes were dark, lined with silver, the insignia of the Drakhan family embroidered on his chest. Beside him, Alfred, his butler, followed with his usual composed demeanor. The crowd seemed to part for them, people stepping back, their whispers dying on their lips as Draven approached the registration desk. His very presence seemed to drain the warmth from the air, leaving only a cold, tense silence in its place.

Sharon's heart pounded as she watched him, her eyes narrowing in determination. She slipped into the crowd, following at a distance, careful to keep herself hidden. She watched as Draven approached the desk, his movements smooth, efficient. He didn't need to speak; his presence alone was enough to command attention. The registrar looked up, their eyes widening slightly before they quickly began processing his information. Draven's gaze was fixed ahead, his expression unreadable as he waited. It was as if the entire room held its breath, waiting for him to speak, to move.

"Lord Draven of the Drakhan family," the registrar announced, their voice trembling slightly as they handed him a small emblem—the Celestial Seal. Draven took it without a word, his eyes flicking over the desk, then moving away, his steps measured as he turned and walked towards the departure area.

Sharon watched him go, her heart still pounding in her chest. She had to follow him. She couldn't let him out of her sight. She waited for a moment, letting the crowd fill in the space between them, then moved forward, her eyes still on Draven's retreating form. She stepped up to the registration desk, her voice calm as she gave her name, her credentials. The registrar looked up, their eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned her face, then nodded, entering her information.

"The carriage for Aetherion," Sharon said, her voice steady. "I need to be on it."

The registrar hesitated, their eyes flicking to the list. "Lord Draven has already booked the entire remaining seats of the carriage," they said, their tone apologetic. "I'm afraid there are no more seats available."

Sharon felt her frustration rise, her hands clenching at her sides. She couldn't afford to wait for the next carriage. She needed to be close to Draven, to watch him, to ensure that he didn't have the chance to slip away. But she couldn't let her emotions show. She forced herself to relax, her voice calm as she spoke.

"When is the next carriage?"

The registrar glanced at the list, their eyes flicking back to Sharon. "It will be some time, I'm afraid. The next arcane carriage is not scheduled to depart until later tonight."

Sharon nodded, her mind racing. She couldn't wait. She had to find a way onto that carriage, had to be there when Draven left for Aetherion. She stepped away from the desk, her eyes scanning the room, looking for another way. She moved quickly, her heart pounding as she made her way towards the departure area. Draven was already there, his butler by his side, the carriage waiting, its dark wood gleaming in the moonlight.

Sharon approached one of the council attendants, her voice low, urgent. "I need to be on that carriage," she said, her eyes locked on the attendant's. "It's imperative."

The attendant hesitated, their eyes flicking to the carriage, then back to Sharon. "The carriage is at capacity," they said, their voice uncertain. "I'm not sure—"

"Please," Sharon insisted, her voice firm. "There must be a way."

The attendant looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "There may be one seat," they said, their voice low. "Lord Draven's butler will not be accompanying him. If you are quick, you may be able to take the seat."

Sharon nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she moved towards the carriage. The council messenger was speaking with Draven, their voice trembling as they explained the change. Sharon watched, her breath catching as Draven turned his cold gaze to the messenger, his eyes narrowing. The tension in the air was palpable, the messenger visibly shrinking under Draven's stare, as if his very soul was being weighed. For a moment, Sharon thought Draven would refuse, that he would demand his butler's presence and send her away.

But then, to her surprise, Draven simply nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice calm, almost indifferent. He turned away, moving towards the carriage without another word. The crowd seemed to collectively exhale, the tension dissipating slightly as Draven moved.

Sharon followed, her heart still pounding as she approached the carriage. It was a magnificent sight—crafted from dark wood, its surface etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly in the moonlight. The Spectral Drakes that pulled it were ghostly, their forms shimmering, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The council attendant stepped forward, their voice clear as they gave instructions.

"There are rules for the arcane carriage," the attendant said, their eyes moving over the group. "No offensive magic is to be used during the journey. No communication with the Spectral Drakes. All passengers must remain seated throughout the journey. These rules are for your safety, and the safety of the creatures that pull the carriage."

Sharon nodded, her eyes moving to Draven. He was already seated, his expression unreadable as he opened a book, his gaze fixed on the pages. The other passengers—a group of knights, an unknown figure in a hood, and a couple of mages—shifted uneasily, their eyes darting to Draven and then away. There was a tension in the air, an unspoken understanding that they were in the presence of someone dangerous, someone they didn't want to cross.

Sharon took her seat, her eyes moving to the Spectral Drakes, their ghostly forms flickering as they moved. The carriage began to move, the air around them shimmering as the magic took hold, lifting them from the ground. Sharon took a deep breath, her hands resting on her knees, her eyes flicking to Draven. He was focused on his book, his expression calm, indifferent. It was as if the tension, the whispers, the unease of the others meant nothing to him.

She let out a soft sigh, her eyes moving to the window, the landscape below slowly fading into darkness as they ascended. The air in the carriage was thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable. Sharon leaned back, her gaze shifting to the other passengers. The knights were silent, their eyes forward, their hands resting on their weapons. The hooded figure was motionless, their face hidden, their presence almost ghostly. And the mages—they kept stealing glances at Draven, their curiosity clear, though none of them dared to speak.

Sharon let out a soft breath, her voice barely a whisper as she muttered under her breath. "This is so awkward and stupid."