When Ema slowly opened her eyes, a sharp smell of ozone, wet dust, and copper hit her lungs. The scent of spilled blood hung in the cold air of the underground like a heavy, suffocating blanket.
Her vision focused with difficulty on the gray, cracked ceiling of the Department. She was lying on the hard, freezing concrete. She jerked, intending to sit up immediately, but her head spun so violently that her stomach lurched. Suddenly, she felt hands on her shoulders, pushing her gently but firmly back to the ground.
"Slowly, Ema. Breathe," Tomáš's quiet voice said. He was kneeling right next to her, his hair dusty from crushed concrete. On the other side, Beata was securing her. The blonde with pink tips was no longer smiling; there were dried smears of someone else's blood on her face and hands, and a deep, paralyzing fatigue in her eyes.
Ema's mind snapped to full consciousness with a painful jolt. Memories of that massive, toxic surge of hatred and the ice woman who came to life hit her with full force. She quickly turned her head.
A short distance away, the boy sat leaning against a ruined wall. Around him lay only a pile of steel shards and dust – all that remained of his dwarven golem, which had leaped in front of him at the last moment to sacrifice itself. The boy was as pale as a sheet, his uniform on his leg and side torn and soaked with dark red blood. He stared at Ema with pure, unadulterated terror. He looked at her as if she were a live grenade that could explode again at any second.
Ema felt her throat tighten painfully. "I..." she choked out, hot tears immediately flooding her eyes. "I didn't mean to," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I swear I didn't mean to. I just wanted... I don't know how it works. I don't know what I'm doing! I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
She buried her face in her dirty palms, her shoulders shaking with quiet, desperate sobs. The boy against the wall flinched slightly at her sob. His tightly clenched shoulders, however, slowly dropped. The wariness didn't disappear completely from his face, but the primal terror vanished. He saw Ema before him, weeping and confused, and he understood. She wasn't a cold-blooded killer. He nodded briefly, exhausted, even though Ema couldn't see it through the palms on her face.
Šimr's heavy footsteps stopped near them. Ema froze. She expected shouting, punishment, or being expelled and sent away immediately. But the teacher didn't look at her at all. His cold, stern gaze pierced the injured boy.
"You were lucky to survive, Vojtěch," Šimr said icily. "And only because your golem showed more instinct for self-preservation than you did. You threw yourself into an unstable field without thought, without cover, and without a plan. You didn't help Miss Volná at all; on the contrary, you immediately became a burden that tied up three healers and almost cost us further losses."
The boy dejectedly lowered his gaze to the ground. "The House of Pernštejn has great expectations of you," Šimr continued relentlessly, his voice resonating through the silent hall. "Architects decide the fate of this world. With such responsibility, there is no room for unnecessary martyrs here. Mark my words."
Then Šimr turned his head to Ema. His expression softened slightly, and a flash of pure, undisguised respect flickered in his eyes. "As for you, Volná... you surprised me. I haven't broken a sweat like that during teaching in a long time. You have immense potential."
Ema wiped her tears on her sleeve and stared at him in disbelief. She didn't understand this pragmatic, merciless world at all.
Libor stepped out of the crowd of onlookers. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stopped a short distance from her. "Nothing personal, Ema," he said calmly, referring to his crushing sonic attack that could have easily crippled her under the falling ice and concrete. "We had to shatter that vessel at any cost and as quickly as possible."
Ema nodded slowly. It dawned on her that this wasn't an ordinary school. It was an academy for gods, where a mistake was punished by death.
Šimr adjusted the cuffs of his black shirt and surveyed the ruined stadium, the melted concrete, and the puddles of blood. "We are finished for today," he commanded in a firm voice. "Clean yourselves up. I look forward to tomorrow's class."
Half an hour later, in the main corridor of the old Konvikt, right next to the coffee machine and a red fire extinguisher, the air shimmered gently, like hot asphalt over a summer road.
Reality wavered. The peeling wall disappeared for a second, and from the void emerged massive, antique elevator doors with a heavy brass grate and a floor indicator. Instead of common numbers, unknown symbols glowed on it. The brass grate slid open with a quiet, metallic hiss, and Ema stepped out into the normal world. As soon as she took a step forward, the illusion behind her snapped back into place with a click, and the elevator transformed back into an ordinary, bare wall.
She was already changed into her civilian, oversized clothes, her hair still wet from the showers, and her whole body ached as if a truck had run her over. Tomáš and Beata walked by her side with a few other students. They talked in hushed tones, the tension from the underground slowly dissipating, but Ema still felt shaken.
Before she could take another step into the corridor, an elegant figure blocked her path. It was Mrs. Koutná. The secretary stood with her hands folded in front of her, her face an unreadable mask of professionalism. "Miss Volná," she said quietly, but clearly enough for Ema to hear. "The Dean is expecting you in his office."
Ema's stomach did an unpleasant somersault. This is it, flashed through her mind. Šimr hadn't kicked her out in the underground, but Dean Hradil obviously had a different opinion. She had almost killed a student. This had to be the end.
Tomáš noticed Ema freeze. He stopped and looked at her with his usual, calm gaze. "Go. I'll wait here for you until you settle this." Beata threw her bag over her shoulder and smiled encouragingly. "See ya, Ema. We'll meet in the room later."
Ema took a deep breath, nodded, and followed the secretary with a pounding heart. When she reached the heavy oak doors of the Dean's office, Mrs. Koutná just gestured with her hand and went to her desk. Ema knocked twice, briefly. "Please, come in," a muffled but authoritative voice called from inside.
She took the handle and entered. Tenzor Hradil sat behind his massive desk covered with old parchments and files. When he saw her, he set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. "Sit down, Miss Ema," he pointed to the empty seat opposite him.
Ema sank into the leather, her fingers tightly interlaced in her lap. "So," the Dean began, examining her through his joined fingertips. "How do you like it here at the university so far?"
The question caught her off guard. She expected an immediate barrage of reproaches. "I... I'd like to say I feel good," she replied cautiously, her voice a bit uncertain. "That after a long time, I finally feel like I belong somewhere. But after what happened today downstairs... I'm not sure at all."
Hradil's expression softened slightly, though he maintained his academic aloofness. "If fear or guilt over that incident is gnawing at you, put it out of your mind immediately," he said calmly. "The study of Architects has nothing in common with regular teaching. Our goal is not to guide you safely through textbooks. Our goal is to prepare you for real, deadly dangers outside."
He leaned forward slightly. "If an Architect didn't get used to extreme stress and pressure here, in a controlled environment, they wouldn't survive out there. In a real threat, they would succumb to their emotions, lose control of their power, and cause far more harm than good. Vojtěch learned a hard but valuable lesson about his own safety. And you, about your strength. So, chin up."
Ema felt a boulder lift from her chest that she didn't even know was there. She was relieved. "Thank you, Tenzor."
"But that's not why I called you here," Hradil continued, the tone of his voice taking on a more formal, serious note. "I've been following the reports of your resonance. You have immense, albeit currently untamed, potential. If you grasp it correctly, you could become a Vector in a relatively short time. And given what I saw... in those few fragments of your memories..."
Hradil paused for a second. He didn't say the word Void or Viktor, but they both knew exactly what he was referring to. That silent agreement of confidentiality still held between them. "...given that, you simply need firmer guidance," he finished the thought. "I've decided to take you on personally. I offer you a series of irregular private lessons."
Ema stared at him, wide-eyed. The Dean was a Tenzor. One of the most powerful Architects at the university. And he was offering individual lessons to a girl who, until recently, didn't know power existed. "It... it would be a huge honor for me," she breathed sincerely.
Hradil smiled only very slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I am an extremely busy man, Miss Ema. Our time will depend purely on my schedule. For a start, we will meet this Sunday at eight in the evening, here in my office." "I understand. Thank you so much." "I look forward to our first lesson. You may go now."
When Ema walked out of the office and went down the wide staircase to the ground floor of the Konvikt, she felt a bit lighter. The fear of expulsion was gone, replaced by a new, unexpected respect.