The key turned with the sound of a bone snapping.
Deep beneath the Argent Academy's alchemy wing, where the torchlight guttered like dying men's breath, the gear-shaped key slid into the scholar's chest cavity with terrifying ease. Brass teeth meshed with flesh-grown cogs, and the dead man's ribs parted like cathedral doors.
Edward gagged. "That's... significantly more anatomical than I—"
The corpse sat up.
Its glassy eyes reflected nothing as the clockwork heart whirred to life, each rotation pumping thick, black oil through repurposed veins. The jaw unhinged with a wet pop, and from its throat crawled a voice like grinding gears:
"The vessel must be emptied before it can be refilled."
Sam's forensic mind raced:
- The oil wasn't decomposition fluid—too viscous, too deliberately placed
- The vocal cords vibrated at precise 60-cycle intervals (mechanical, not biological)
- Most horrifying: the corpse was still learning to use its stolen face*
A scream echoed from somewhere above. Then another. The academy's great bell began to toll—one, two, three—the same cadence that had marked every murder.
The Blood Lesson
They found the first victim in the astronomy tower.
Second-year cadet Elspeth hung suspended from the orrery, her skin peeled back to reveal muscle fibers threaded with silver wire. Her still-dripping blood traced precise alchemical symbols across the floorboards—a language Sam recognized from Lord Gregor's torn sleeve.
Edward pressed two fingers to her wrist. "Pulse is... wait." His face drained of color. "That's not possible."
The wire thrummed.
Elspeth's eyes snapped open, pupil-less and chrome. Her mouth moved around words that weren't hers: "The eclipse comes. The Crowning begins."
Then the screaming started in earnest.
The Truth in the Tower
The servant girl awaited them atop the bell tower, her modern glasses fogged with bloodmist. Below, the academy burned in orderly sections—flames following the exact pattern of a summoning circle.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said. Not an accusation. A lament.
Sam advanced, his stolen sword glinting. "Who built the heart chamber?"
"The same people who built him." She nodded at Edward. "The original died years ago. You're just the thirteenth iteration."
Edward laughed, sharp and broken. "Bullshit. I remember—"
"Do you?" She removed her glasses. The eyes beneath were identical to his. "Or did they make you remember?"
The tower door burst open.
Headmaster Orlan entered with six clockwork cadets, their chests unseamed to reveal identical whirring hearts. His smile stretched too wide. "Welcome to your graduation, Justicars."
As the first gear-toothed students lunged, Edward did the impossible—he moved faster than humanly possible. His sword flashed silver, and for half a heartbeat, Sam saw the crow-feather mantle flicker around his shoulders.