The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 424: Inside The Professor’s Room

Draven stood before Amberine, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room, his expression as unreadable as ever. His dark eyes bore into her, unwavering, as if waiting for her to justify her very existence. He remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice cold and demanding, slicing through the tension like a blade.

"Why are you here?"

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Amberine swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts, her pulse racing under the intensity of his gaze. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. The events of the last few hours had drained her – the spectres, the constant chase, the panic of being lost in a place that seemed alive with malevolent magic – it all weighed down on her. Her mouth felt dry, her voice failing her, and she could only stand there, blinking up at Draven as if hoping he’d understand without explanation.

Draven watched her struggle, his expression unwavering. His eyes narrowed slightly, his impatience evident, but he gave her no help, no hint of leniency. He wanted an answer, and he wouldn’t settle for anything less. Amberine could feel her face flush in shame, her lips trembling as she tried again to speak, but all that came out was a faint whisper. Her mind felt like it was underwater, her thoughts muddled, and she simply didn’t have the strength to piece together a coherent explanation.

After what felt like an eternity, Draven finally let out a faint sigh. The noise was barely audible, but it spoke volumes. He straightened, his eyes shifting away from her as if dismissing her entirely, and began to speak, his tone that of a teacher lecturing an inattentive student.

"Do you know where you are? Do you know the history of this place you’ve stumbled into like a fool?"

Amberine blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Draven’s voice was calm, his words precise, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath the surface. He glanced at her, then turned his gaze away, as if the sight of her was an irritation he had to endure.

"This fortress, Aetherion, was once a grand castle. A relic of a forgotten kingdom, one that was buried beneath the ocean during an event now known as the Great Collapse," Draven said, his voice carrying through the room, each word crisp and deliberate. "Centuries ago, this kingdom was swallowed whole by a magical anomaly – an event so catastrophic that it caused a ripple in the fabric of magic itself. The fortress was lost for centuries, hidden beneath the sea, until explorers, scholars, those who sought answers beyond the mundane, discovered its existence." He paused, his gaze flicking to Amberine, his eyes narrowing.

"Aetherion exists as a medium between realms. It is a place where the living, the dead, and even visitors from other planes of existence come to linger," he continued. "This is why the fortress has such strict rules, why there are guidelines that must be followed. Those who do not understand, who do not respect the forces at work here, will find themselves caught between worlds, prey to things they do not understand."

Amberine felt her throat tighten, her heart pounding as Draven’s words sank in. She had known Aetherion was special, but hearing Draven speak of its history, its significance, made her realize just how little she understood about where she was. The fortress was more than just a building; it was a convergence of forces far beyond her comprehension. She shivered, her eyes dropping to the floor as the weight of it all pressed down on her.

Draven’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and demanding.

"So, what happened?"

His tone had softened slightly, but only just. It was enough to make Amberine look up, her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments before she quickly looked away. She took a deep breath, her hands clenching at her sides as she tried to steady herself. She had to answer him – she had to give him something.

"I... I made a mistake," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She took another breath, forcing herself to continue. "I was using the teleportation portals, and I... I slipped up. I must have said the incantation wrong, or I picked the wrong gate, and I ended up in... in that place. With the spectres." Her voice faltered, her gaze dropping to the floor as shame washed over her. She had made such a foolish mistake, and now she was standing here, facing Draven’s judgment.

Draven remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. He closed his eyes briefly, then let out a deep sigh, the sound filled with something akin to resignation, as if he had expected such incompetence. He turned away from her, his gaze shifting to the book in his hands, his fingers brushing over the worn cover.

"The teleportation system in Aetherion is precise," he said, his voice calm, his attention focused on the book as he spoke. "This fortress is structured as a network – a complex web of magical pathways that allow for quick transportation between different parts of the structure. It relies on exact incantations, precise wording, and a clear understanding of your destination. Any deviation, even the slightest mistake, can lead to unpredictable consequences." He paused, his eyes still on the book, his expression indifferent.

"That is why you ended up where you did. A slip of the tongue, an incorrect incantation, and you found yourself in one of the many forgotten corners of this place," Draven continued. "The magic here does not forgive carelessness. It demands respect, understanding, and precision. Without those, you will find yourself at the mercy of forces you cannot hope to control."

Amberine listened, her eyes wide, her mind racing to keep up with his words. Despite the coldness in his tone, despite the way he refused to even look at her, she found herself understanding the concepts he was explaining. She could see it in her mind – the network of portals, the way the magic flowed through the fortress, connecting each part of Aetherion like veins in a living organism. It was complex, intricate, and yet, as Draven spoke, it all seemed to make sense.

She tried to nod, tried to show that she understood, but her body was betraying her. Exhaustion was pulling at her, her eyelids growing heavy, her legs feeling weak beneath her. She swayed slightly, her vision blurring as the room seemed to spin around her. Draven’s voice continued, calm and steady, but she could barely focus on his words. The adrenaline that had kept her going was fading, and all she could feel now was the overwhelming need to rest.

Draven’s gaze flicked to her, his eyes narrowing as he noticed her swaying. He paused, his expression unreadable as he observed her, then spoke, his tone almost casual. "The spirits of the dead have likely drained your life energy," he said, as if discussing the weather. "They take what they need to stay longer in this realm. Your exhaustion is a result of that."

Amberine blinked, her vision blurring as she tried to focus on his words. She barely had time to process what he had said before she felt an unseen force lift her off the ground. She gasped, her body tensing as she was lifted into the air, her eyes widening in shock. Draven’s expression remained indifferent, his eyes still on his book as he used psychokinesis to move her. He set her down gently on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress, her eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion overwhelmed her.

"You can rest for now," Draven said, his voice cold, almost dismissive. It was as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience, something to be dealt with and then forgotten. Amberine barely heard him, her mind already drifting, her body giving in to the exhaustion that had been pulling at her for so long.

____

When Amberine awoke, she felt lighter, her body no longer weighed down by fatigue. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room. She was still in Draven’s quarters, the unfamiliar surroundings making her heart skip a beat. She pushed herself up on her elbows, her eyes scanning the room until she spotted Draven at his desk, his back to her.

Ifrit was sitting on the table in front of him, his bare salamander form – small, with no flames – looking oddly vulnerable. Draven was inspecting him, his fingers brushing against Ifrit’s belly, a large magic circle glowing beneath the spirit. Amberine’s heart skipped a beat, alarm surging through her.

"W-what are you doing to Ifrit?!" she stammered, her voice filled with panic. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide as she took a step towards them.

Ifrit looked up, his eyes rolling as he let out an exasperated sigh. "Calm down, girl," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He’s just looking at something I’m born with – a birthmark of sorts for a spirit. He’s not molesting me or anything."

Amberine flushed, her face heating up as she realized she might have overreacted. Draven’s eyes narrowed, his gaze finally shifting to her, and the coldness in his eyes made her stomach twist in embarrassment. He looked entirely unimpressed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned his attention back to Ifrit.

"You seem to have had a very deep sleep," Draven said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. He gestured towards a clock on the wall, and Amberine’s eyes widened as she saw the time. Four hours. She had been asleep for four hours straight. Her heart skipped a beat, her hands flying to her hair, her fingers running through the tangled mess as she tried to make herself look somewhat presentable. She felt a sticky spot at the corner of her mouth and quickly wiped it away, her face flushing with embarrassment.

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Draven, however, appeared entirely uninterested in her disheveled state. He set Ifrit down on the table and turned towards her, his eyes cold as ever. "Fetch me your identification pass and room key," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Amberine nodded quickly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the items. With a flick of his wrist, Draven used psychokinesis to take them from her, the items floating across the room to him. He examined them briefly, his eyes scanning the identification pass, then sent them floating back to her. He picked up a piece of parchment, and with the same unseen force, his pen began drawing something upon it, the ink flowing in precise, deliberate strokes.

The paper crumpled itself up once the drawing was complete, flying across the room and landing in the fireplace. There was a sudden whoosh, the green flames turning blue, growing in size until they formed a doorway. Draven nodded towards the door, his voice cold, commanding.

"Enter it. That’s your room."

Amberine stared at the door of flames, her heart pounding in her chest. She stood, her feet hesitant to move. She wanted to say something, to thank him for what he had done, for helping her when he had no reason to. She opened her mouth, trying to muster the courage to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

Draven’s brow furrowed, his impatience clear. He let out a sharp sigh, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "Go back to your room already," he said, his voice cold, dismissive. Before Amberine could react, she felt an unseen force push against her, her body propelled towards the doorway of flames. She let out a startled yelp, stumbling forward as she was launched towards the door.

Ifrit let out an indignant squawk, his small body lifted from the table and thrown after her, tumbling through the air. Amberine barely had time to brace herself before she was through the door, the blue flames surrounding her, the world shifting once more. She landed roughly on the floor of her room, the breath knocked from her lungs, her body aching from the impact.

"Ouch..." she groaned, her voice filled with pain and annoyance. She pushed herself up, glaring at the doorway as it flickered, the flames shrinking until they disappeared completely. "Do you have to be so rough...?"