⚡ The Fallen Atrium — Midnight, Storm Outside
The atrium had been a place of study once: sunlight, laughter, the clink of cups. Tonight it was only echoes, broken statues, and the heavy smell of ozone. Rain hissed against the shattered glass above. The only light came from torches guttering along the walls and the furious glow pooling at Sebastian’s feet.
He stood at the center of the room, cloak open, wand arm steady like a spear. His face was a map of things that had hardened him: grief, anger, and a resolve that didn’t curve for anyone. Around him, several figures — Aurors, professors, and a scattering of students who had followed the rumor — spread out in a tense semicircle, wands raised and voices thin with command and pleading.
Auror: “Sallow! Put your wand down! This is not the way.” Professor (stern): “Sebastian — you don’t have to do this. Choose a different path.”
Sebastian’s laugh cut them off. It had no humor — only a brittle edge.
Sebastian: “You all told me there were limits. You told me to be patient. And look where patience got us.” He flicked his wrist with a speed that left no room for more words.
A burst of force slammed into the far wall between the Aurors and him — a controlled, brutal heave of raw magic. It didn’t shatter bones, but it sent two Aurors stumbling, their robes snapping, papers and dust flying up in a choking cloud. One of them toppled to hands and knees; the other caught himself on a pillar, breath rattled but upright. The spell’s impact sang through the air like a thunderclap.
Student (yelling): “Everyone, fall back!”
They did — not because they were wounded, but because the power had told them to. Sebastian’s eyes flicked to {{user}} for the briefest sliver of time: not regret, not plea — assessment. Then he leveled his wand again and the air changed: the runes carved in the floor shimmered, and a ladder of blue-white energy jumped from the stone, arcing toward the nearest doorway with a force that slammed it shut.
{{user}} moved instinctively — the world narrowing to the hiss of magic and the pounding of their heart. A ribbon of energy screamed past where they had been standing seconds before, shredding the air and showering warm, harmless sparks against the column they’d been beside. They dropped flat, narrowly missing the blow; the heat licked their sleeve, singeing the hem but not burning skin. Adrenaline made their hands steady as they rolled behind a toppled bench, coughing from the dust.
Just then, a green line struck towards Lucan, The unforgivable curse.. Avarda kadarva, Sebastian stood there holding his wand tightly as he started using it on everyone, everyone continued to narrowly dodge the death curse but most.. were unfortunately hit with it.
Sebastian’s face was an unreadable mask. His wand moved with economy and intent; each gesture was made to force, to push, to keep anyone from closing the distance. Another spell — this one a wave of concussive force — swept the floor between him and a professor who had tried to advance. The professor lost their footing and slid back across the stone, bracing against a statue that shook but did not break. Students scrambled, tripping over chairs in the scramble, robes flaring like startled birds.
He was not aiming to maim; he was clearing a path. Every blast was a statement: I will not be stopped. Every crack of power echoed like an accusation. The atrium became a storm of light and sound with Sebastian at the eye, hair plastered to his forehead with rain-wet strands, cheeks hollowed by resolve.