The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Sharon sat within the arcane carriage, her gaze shifting periodically between the various passengers and the figure of Draven, who sat across from her, seemingly lost in the pages of an old book. There was something almost maddening about the calm that seemed to surround him—it was as if the entire world could be set ablaze, and Draven would continue reading, unaffected by the flames. The same composed indifference that had made him infamous across the kingdom now permeated the enclosed space of the carriage.

She adjusted her seat, the leather creaking under her weight as she tried to ease the unease gnawing at her insides. The letter she had received from the main Blackthorn family had been explicit. Draven, it had warned, was planning something. The alleged infiltration of the Devil Coffin—a dangerous organization notorious for its twisted use of dark magic—was the kind of rumor that would send shockwaves through any council. Sharon's eyes narrowed as she studied him from beneath her hood. If he really intended to do something so drastic, why was he alone? No allies, no entourage. Not even his butler, Alfred, had been allowed to accompany him inside the carriage.

Draven's presence was almost unnervingly solitary, a sharp contrast to his alleged plans of conspiracy. He looked perfectly at ease, with not a trace of the dangerous scheming mastermind the letter had described. His hand, pale and long-fingered, turned the pages of his book in a manner so casual that it felt absurd to imagine him as the leader of any dark plot. He might have been a scholar on his way to lecture. Sharon found herself scowling, her confusion turning to frustration.

Her fingers clenched around the hilt of her dagger, hidden beneath her cloak. She couldn't afford to be careless—she wouldn't underestimate him. There was a chill in the air, a coldness that seemed to seep from Draven's very presence, spreading across the length of the carriage, the temperature dipping lower with each passing minute. Sharon rubbed her hands together for warmth, her eyes narrowing further as she glared at Draven. It was as if his very existence drained the heat from the air—as if the cold, aloof mask he wore extended to the space around him, chilling everyone who dared draw too close.

"If he's hiding something..." Sharon muttered to herself, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll find out." She kept her eyes trained on him, her mind working through every scenario, every possibility.

The carriage gave a sudden jolt, the Spectral Drakes that pulled it lifting them into the sky with an effortless grace. Sharon tore her gaze from Draven, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the scene outside. The city of Regaria stretched out below, bathed in a wash of golden light from the street lanterns. The buildings, the winding streets, the towers that rose into the sky like the spires of an ancient temple—all of it slowly fell away, replaced by the dark, star-strewn expanse of the heavens.

The arcane carriage was a masterpiece of magic and craftsmanship—the runes etched into its frame glowed with a soft blue luminescence, guiding the drakes as they ascended higher into the sky. The ethereal creatures moved with a smoothness that felt almost otherworldly, their ghostly forms gliding through the air as if the laws of physics meant nothing to them. The magic enveloping them shimmered, creating a barrier that shielded the passengers from the biting cold of the upper atmosphere.

Sharon found herself leaning forward, her breath catching as she watched the world below fall away, replaced by the endless sky. The city lights seemed to twinkle like stars, merging with the real ones that dotted the night sky above. It was beautiful—a moment of wonder that made her forget, for a brief second, about Draven, about her mission, about everything. The carriage floated above the clouds, the air taking on a surreal, dreamlike quality. It was as if they were traveling through another world, a place far removed from the mundane worries of the kingdom below.

The stars above seemed closer now, the sky a canvas of deep indigo dotted with a thousand points of light. Sharon let out a slow breath, her eyes tracing the outlines of constellations, her mind momentarily drifting. She could almost feel her worries fading into the background, lost in the wonder of the journey, in the beauty of the sky. It was easy to forget her mission in a place like this—easy to let herself be carried away by the magic of it all.

But then, reality came crashing back in.

Sharon snapped herself out of her reverie, her eyes narrowing as she turned her gaze back to Draven. She scolded herself inwardly for getting distracted. She had a job to do. Draven was her target—he was the reason she was here, the reason she had put herself in such a dangerous position. She couldn't afford to lose focus, not even for a moment.

She shifted in her seat, her eyes scanning the rest of the carriage. It was surprisingly spacious, with twenty seats arranged in a circle. Sharon took a deep breath, deciding that before she focused solely on Draven, it would be wise to get a read on the other passengers. There were knights, their armor glinting in the dim light, their faces expressionless. A hooded figure sat near the back, their face hidden, their posture relaxed but guarded. There were a few mages, their robes adorned with various sigils, their eyes darting around nervously.

Sharon's gaze moved from one face to another, her mind taking mental notes of every individual. She focused on those who seemed out of place—those whose expressions were too guarded, whose movements were too calculated. The hooded figure, in particular, caught her attention. They were too still, their presence almost deliberately unobtrusive. Sharon's instincts told her that there was something off, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Who are you people..." Sharon wondered silently, her eyes narrowing. She knew that the journey to Aetherion was important—that only those with influence, power, or an invitation could be here. But the tension in the carriage felt unnatural, as if there was something more at play than just a simple journey. She could feel it—a sense of unease that seemed to hang in the air, a feeling that danger was lurking just out of sight.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a voice beside her.

"Quite the journey, isn't it?"

Sharon turned, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at the knight sitting beside her. He was young, with a broad smile and eyes that held a hint of mischief. He wore the colors of the Magical Republic of Andria, his armor polished to a shine that spoke of either pride or vanity. Sharon wasn't sure which.

"Name's Marcus," the knight said, extending a hand. "From Andria. First time to Aetherion?"

Sharon hesitated, then took his hand, shaking it briefly before letting go. "Sharon," she replied, keeping her voice neutral. She had no interest in making friends here, especially not with a knight who seemed more interested in boasting than anything else.

Marcus grinned, oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm. "It's going to be quite the experience, let me tell you. I've heard stories about Aetherion—the underwater fortress, the magic that holds it together, the council chambers. It's supposed to be a sight to behold." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And of course, there's the symposium. Quite an honor to be invited, wouldn't you say?"

Sharon nodded absently, her attention already drifting. Marcus was talking, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes were on Draven, on the way he seemed completely at ease, his focus entirely on his book. She could feel the cold radiating from him, the chill that seemed to seep into her bones. It was unsettling, a reminder that Draven was not someone to be underestimated.

"And then there's the magic, you know? The kind that only the top mages can perform—"

Marcus's voice droned on, but Sharon barely heard him. Her gaze moved to the other passengers, to the hooded figure, to the mages who seemed to be casting furtive glances at Draven. There was something wrong here, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She needed to stay alert, needed to be ready for whatever might happen.

Suddenly, the carriage gave a violent jolt, the glow of the runes flickering as the entire structure shook. Sharon's eyes widened in surprise, her hands reaching out to steady herself, but it was too late. The carriage lurched again, and she was thrown forward, her body flung through the air towards Draven.

Time seemed to slow, the world around her a blur as she felt herself hurtling towards him. She braced herself for impact, her heart pounding in her chest—but the collision never came. Instead, she felt a sudden, invisible force catch her, suspending her in mid-air. Draven's psychokinesis.

Draven didn't even look up from his book, his hand held lazily in the air, controlling her descent. Sharon felt her body slowly lowering, the invisible force holding her steady as she was placed gently back on her feet. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him.

Draven finally closed his book slightly, his sharp eyes flicking upwards, scanning the ceiling of the carriage, then shifting to the outside. The entire carriage grew silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The other passengers watched, their eyes wide, their breaths held as they waited for his reaction. With a mere flick of his wrist, the turbulence ceased, the carriage returning to its smooth, steady travel.

"It was nothing," Draven said, his voice calm, carrying an authoritative weight that seemed to leave no room for doubt. "A fluctuation of magical energy, most likely. Given the nature of the Spectral Drakes, these things happen. Consider it a stroke of bad luck." He spoke as if addressing a class, his tone almost bored, as if the entire incident had been a minor inconvenience.

He glanced at Sharon, his gaze indifferent as he slowly lowered her back into her seat. His expression held no recognition, no acknowledgment of who she was. It was as if she were just another passenger—a stranger who had caused a brief interruption to his reading. Sharon's heart pounded in her chest, her mind reeling. He knows me, doesn't he? There was no way he didn't recognize her. He was pretending. He had to be.

She huffed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. Without thinking, she moved to the seat beside him, her eyes locking onto his as she sat down, her jaw set in a silent challenge. Draven glanced at her, his brows furrowing slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. But he said nothing, his gaze returning to his book, his expression returning to its usual calm indifference. He ignored her, as if she were nothing more than a minor annoyance.

Sharon clenched her teeth, her gaze never leaving him. She could feel the eyes of the other passengers on her, their curiosity palpable. They were wondering why she had moved, why she was sitting beside Draven. She could feel their stares, their unspoken questions. But she didn't care. She was here to observe him, to find out what he was planning. She wasn't about to back down now.

As the silence stretched on, Sharon's attention was drawn to something else—a subtle movement among the other passengers. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the hooded figure, their hands shifting beneath their cloak. The mages, too, seemed to be moving, their fingers twitching, their eyes darting around nervously. Sharon's instincts flared, her senses telling her that something was wrong. She shifted in her seat, her hand moving to the hilt of her dagger, her gaze fixed on the suspicious figures.

Without looking up from his book, Draven spoke, his voice calm but commanding. "Stop whatever you are doing."

Sharon blinked, her eyes flicking to him, confusion clear on her face. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Draven finally looked up, his gaze cold, his eyes flicking to the suspicious figures. "Because you won't stand a chance against them," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if stating an undeniable truth.