The Author's Playground
Chapter 52: I said no! Do you want to hear it in spanish? Noh (1)

Chapter 52: I said no! Do you want to hear it in spanish? Noh (1)

The dim candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows across the room as someone’s voice echoed in the entire room.

"No i-chilith lasto i-thirith ú-dirnen,

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Leithio boe aen adel hen,

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Na galad hen a ind nimmid,

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Losto fair, panno nin."

Her slender fingers glided over the deck, shuffling the black cards.

Slowly, she laid out three cards face down on the worn wooden floor.

One by one, she flipped them over.

—The Tower (XVI)

—The Death (XIII)

—The Hanged Man (XII)

Her fingers stilled mid-air, and hesitation flickered across her face.

Something was wrong.

Before she could process further, the door creaked open, breaking the silence.

"Sorry for just walking in. I knocked, but you didn’t answer... You see, everyone was worried ’cause you’ve been locking yourself in for three days straight."

The sudden glow of the overhead light washed over the room, revealing Circe, seemingly shivering behind the door.

Her violet eyes narrowed, taking in the unsettling sight before her—

Calliope, seated in the center of the darkened room, surrounded by melted candle wax and scattered ashes.

The tarot cards lay ominously on the ground, but Circe’s gaze drifted upward, catching sight of the wall behind her.

Her frown deepened.

"Since when..." Calliope asked seemingly annoyed by the sudden interference. "Did I gave you permission to enter?"

"My bad, my bad! It won’t happen again, I promise...— Yikes... I know you’re obsessed with him, but isn’t ’that’ a bit excessive?"

A slow blink.

"Excessive?" Calliope repeated, tilting her head in mock curiosity. "To where? To what?"

Circe gestured sharply to the wall.

To the dozens of photographs pinned up, each one of Elijah—captured in different places, from different angles. Some candid. Some painfully clear.

Each picture was accompanied by scrawled notes—dates, predictions, cryptic phrases connected by thin strands of red thread.

And then—

Calliope’s lips curled into a smile.

Not a grin.

Not amusement.

Not mere satisfaction.

But something unnerving.

A smile too wide, too knowing, too cold.

"Tell me, Circe..." she murmured. "do you believe everything is pre-determined by fate?"

Circe stiffened. Something about the way Calliope spoke, the way her voice lingered in the air, made her skin crawl.

"...No?"

"Hmm." Calliope’s eyes gleamed as though she had expected that answer.

"I do," she continued, almost wistfully. "Ever since I was born, I’ve felt it. That... offness."

A pause.

Then, Calliope picked up another photograph of Elijah, aligning it carefully on the wall.

With a single movement, she drove a nail straight through his face.

Thud.

Circe flinched.

"It’s like we’re all trapped in a certain jar" Calliope mused, eyes dark with something unreadable. "Like fools believing everything is real including that fake sky."

The room felt colder.

A shiver ran down Circe’s spine.

"...What do you mean?"

Calliope’s gaze flickered toward her. Then, just as quickly, she looked away. She didn’t answer Circe’s confusion. Instead, she leaned back, absently picking up a single tarot card between her fingers.

"You don’t understand how happy I felt" Calliope’s smile returned "when... I finally found a clue."

The card reveals... The Fool (0)

"It’s like I was reborn"

*****

The Academy hallways had officially become the hottest tourist destination for students.

Not because of the grand architecture.

Not because of the esteemed history.

But because absolute nonsense kept happening there every other day.

There was the random tornado someone summoned to "efficiently" clear leaves (it ended up launching three students into a tree).

The mysterious explosion turned out to be an "accidental" spell cast by an un-named professor (he still denies it to this day).

And, of course, the perfectly lined-up arrows embedded in the walls, making the entire hallway look like someone had barely survived an assassination attempt.

And today?

Today, there were two students planking in the middle of the hallway, for hours.

A crowd had already gathered.

"Is that... them?"

"The new troublemakers?"

"That other guy isn’t even new."

Meanwhile, Varden, his entire body trembling, gritted his teeth. "H-How long do we have to do this?"

"Until Professor Sean’s anger subsides, probably," Elijah answered flatly, as if this was completely normal.

"Isn’t this a bit much?! My reputation is at stake..."

Elijah snorted. "First time?"

Varden shot him a glare. "This was your fault for starting a fight in the first place."

"Shut up."

"I’m not even interested in your girlfriend... why act so protective..."

Elijah’s eyes darkened. "Didn’t I tell you to delete that from your memory?"

Varden had seen that look before.

Oh no.

"...Don’t make me start another fight," Elijah mumbled.

Varden’s arms were shaking from the plank, sweat dripping from his face, but he still found the strength to scoot an inch away.

His arms were on fire, was questioning all his life choices when—

CLACK. CLACK.

The unmistakable sound of leather shoes echoed down the hall.

A man walked at a calm, unhurried pace. His long coat swayed slightly, and the giant, floppy, wizard-looking hat on his head bounced up and down with every step.

And it belonged to none other than Professor Sean.

He came to a halt before the two exhausted idiots planking almost for eternity.

Peering down at them behind his glasses, he asked in his usual gentle, patient voice:

"Did you two learn your lesson?"

Elijah and Varden nodded so fast that their necks nearly snapped.

Professor Sean let out a sigh— before offering a small smile.

"Good. You can get up now."

Varden collapsed immediately.

Elijah, fueled purely by spite and pettiness, forced himself to stay up for one more second before dramatically dropping to the floor.

It took them several moments (and a few silent regrets) before they could peel themselves off the ground and stumble after Sean.

As they walked, Elijah finally noticed something.

A bouquet of white lilies was tucked neatly in Sean’s arms.

Curiosity itching at him, Elijah leaned toward Varden and whispered,

"Hey... what’s with the flowers?"

Varden barely glanced at him. "Lilies."

"I know they’re lilies. I mean, why is Professor Sean holding them?"

Varden blinked, then made a sound of realization. "Ohhh, right. You don’t know."

He turned to Elijah with a completely neutral expression and said—

"Professor Sean is retiring tomorrow. The flowers are part of a student tradition, given as a sign of respect."

Elijah froze.

His brain blue-screened.

And then—

"NO!"

Varden and Professor Sean stopped walking.

Both turned to look at him confused.

"...Holy hell, man." Varden frowned. "Don’t suddenly yell!"

"NO!!"