In the hidden magical town of Heartwood, nestled beyond the veil between worlds, Heartwood Academy stands as a beacon for young mages seeking to master the ancient arts of spellcraft and potion-making. For centuries, it has trained generations of magic users—until students began vanishing without a trace.
Ember Shadewood, a shy and observant 15-year-old with an unexpected gift for Nature Magic, arrives for her first year unaware that her arrival coincides with the third disappearance of the sem
The Secret of Heartwood Academy - Bubbles and Bookshelves, and Eyes That Cannot Hide——The Appearance of Finn Brightspark
Before the alchemy class began, Ember paused at the classroom entrance.
Alchemy—a technique for combining magical materials to create potions and salves, a required subject for all students at the academy. She'd reviewed her notes the night before, but today would be her first time actually working with her hands.
The classroom was already half full. Six rows of stone workbenches were lined up, each topped with a small cauldron and a basket of materials. Morning light streaming through the windows reflected off glass bottles, casting wavering patterns of light across the ceiling.
(That thing from last night won't leave my head.)
As Ember quietly made her way to a seat in the back, she recalled the sensation that had been nagging at her since yesterday evening. The empty seats at the opening ceremony. The missing person notice that had been torn down. And that something from the forest—something that hadn't quite become words.
But now was class time. She had to focus.
Ember checked the contents of her basket. She'd memorized the material names from the textbook. Veencap Mushroom—a fungus with high compatibility for natural magic, commonly used in introductory alchemy practice. Today's assignment was apparently to create a mild sedative using this mushroom as the primary ingredient.
Ember opened her recipe notes.
"Veencap Mushroom, three slices."
Three slices.
The writing was small. Ember checked again. ...It looked like three slices. Or was it "one slice"? The pressure was light and hard to read.
(It's probably three. Yeah, it's three.)
Ember put three slices of mushroom into the cauldron.
After a while, the color of the contents began to change.
"...Huh?"
From yellow to orange. And then from orange to an unnatural green.
Something began to mix into the steam. A smell that stung the nose—sour, metallic. Acidic vapor. Ember immediately understood what that smell meant—the material's reaction was becoming excessive.
(This is bad, this is bad, what do I do?)
Just as Ember's mind was going blank—
Whoosh.
Something flew from the neighboring seat and was sucked into the cauldron. White powder. In an instant, a massive amount of white foam erupted. The foam spilled over the cauldron, covered the workbench, and mercilessly splattered onto Ember's hands and the face of the boy in the next seat.
Fizz, fizz—the foam settled with small sounds. The acidic smell vanished.
It had been neutralized.
"...It's neutralizing powder. If that vapor had kept spreading, it would've caught the row in front of us too."
The one who said that, covered in foam, was a male student about a head taller than Ember—with vivid crimson short hair streaked with black mesh. A small mole on one corner of his mouth. Golden-tinged eyes, now half-obscured by foam. Yet those eyes were looking directly at Ember. A precise gaze. Not confused, not angry. Just the eyes of someone who had already processed the situation.
Ember froze.
"Oh, um, I'm sorry, I—the amount of material—"
"One slice would've been right. Veencap's reaction speed doubles when it's fresh. Today's batch was probably just harvested, so you should've cut it in half."
He said it all in a rush, then wiped the foam from his face with the back of his hand. Just once. It barely came off.
Then—he turned to face the entire classroom, foam still covering his face, and announced in a loud voice:
"I've invented a new skincare product. Patent pending, so don't copy it."
After a moment of silence, laughter erupted. A wave of it. The girl in front shook with laughter, the boy behind tapped his desk. The tension that had filled the classroom dissolved in an instant.
Ember watched it all in a daze.
(What is this person?)
That was her first impression.
***
In the latter half of class, a Spellweaver—the official title for regular instructors at the academy, requiring a minimum of eight years of magical training and passing three specialized exams—stood before the workbenches and surveyed the room. A bespectacled woman holding a thin measuring device like a thermometer.
"Cauldrons seven and eight. Inadequate gas management. Stay after class."
Her voice was quiet but left no room for argument.
Number seven was Ember, and number eight was the foam-covered boy from the next seat.
After class. As the two of them stood before the instructor, she began her explanation. Negligence in material measurement and freshness verification. How the situation had led to using neutralizing powder. The importance of safety management.
The boy next to her raised his hand smoothly.
"Wait a moment. I was the one who successfully neutralized it, correct? It seems logically inconsistent to treat the hero who resolved the situation as having management failures."
The instructor's glasses gleamed.
The lecture doubled in length.
Ember stood against the hallway wall, counting the patterns in the stone tiles beneath her feet. Taking deep breaths, counting endlessly. The mortar joints were arranged in neat one-centimeter intervals.
The boy standing beside her—the foam was gone now, though white powder residue still clung to his uniform shoulder—showed absolutely no sign of remorse. Rather, he leaned against the wall, gazing at the ceiling as he muttered:
"Actually, wait. I think there wasn't enough foam. If I'd added it a bit earlier, I could've prevented the vapor from forming in the first place."
Ember gave him a sidelong glance.
"Are you actually sorry?"
"Incredibly sorry. Next time I'll do it perfectly."
His face showed no remorse whatsoever.
Ember sighed quietly and returned to counting the tile joints. Yet—a small question remained in her chest.
His timing for adding the neutralizing powder had been nearly perfect. From when the cauldron's color began changing to when the acidic vapor would have spread through the classroom, there couldn't have been more than ten seconds. Within those ten seconds, he'd assessed the situation, pulled the neutralizer from his pouch, and added the right amount. Could someone do that so quickly with just knowledge from a textbook?
(Maybe he's not just a joker.)
That thought lingered in the corner of her mind.
***
After class, Ember walked alone through the academy's east wing.
Deeproot Library—boasting forty-two thousand volumes, the academy's grand library. It consisted of three floors above ground and one below, with the basement containing a restricted archive section with limited access. Ember was heading to the general shelves on the ground floor.
Her goal was past student records.
The five empty seats she'd seen at yesterday's opening ceremony. And the missing person notice that had vanished without a trace by this morning. Someone had deliberately erased the information. That much was certain. If so, there might be something remaining in the official records.
Pushing open the library doors, she caught the scent of book ink and slightly aged wood. Green-gold light from the root-vein lamps descended from the high ceiling. The post-class weekday was quiet, with only two or three people sitting in the back sections.
Librarian-in-Chief Margo Inkwell was checking a ledger at the counter. A woman in her fifties with a precise demeanor. As Ember headed toward the shelves, her gaze flickered in that direction.
Ember gave a subtle bow and proceeded deeper into the stacks.
Past enrollment records should be organized by academic year. Ember checked the shelf labels as she walked. Class records, event records, academic papers... Where would the enrollment records be?
"—If you're looking for that, it's not over there."
A voice came.
From the other side of the shelves.
Through the gap between books, crimson short hair was visible.
"...Huh?"
Ember froze.
"Why are you here?"
Finn Brightspark appeared from the end of the shelf. The foam residue was completely gone. Instead, he held several sheets of memo paper.
"I'm looking into something too. Coincidence."
Ember studied him. Library, after class, near the enrollment records section. Each element was too heavy for the explanation "coincidence."
"...What were you researching?"
Finn looked at her for a second, then gestured with his chin for her to enter the gap between the shelves.
Inside the narrow passage between stacks, Finn spread out his memos. Neat handwriting with several items listed. Ember squinted to read.
Three names were written.
Rowan Weathergrass. Seyla Branchwood. Karen Moorhollow.
Next to each name were numbers and subject titles.
"Natural magic, top of year. Alchemy, top of year. Attack magic, top of year."
Finn's voice was completely different from his tone in the hallway. Low, quiet, matter-of-fact.
"All three were ranked first in their respective specialties. All three disappeared this semester."
Ember stared at the memo.
She remembered the three empty seats at the opening ceremony. The boy in the missing person notice photo she'd seen after the ceremony—that was Rowan Weathergrass. She didn't yet know the names or faces of the other two.
"...Did you research all this yourself?"
"Yeah. Cross-referenced past three years of grade records with missing person notices. There's a list of honor students by semester in the archive here, and the missing records were removed from public view, but some copies of the notices were—"
"Wait, where did you find copies of the missing records?"
"The Root Guard—the specialized unit that patrols and manages the boundary between Silverwood Forest and the town, with twelve members on duty at any time—their patrol records are available for general viewing. Technically, Root Guard records should be managed as internal documents, but apparently some copies were mistakenly filed in the library's resource room. Probably a filing error. I copied everything before it disappears."
Ember paused.
"...Were you supposed to be looking at those documents?"
"They were on the general shelves, so technically it's legal. But yeah, normally they shouldn't be here."
Finn said it casually and returned his attention to the memos.
Something clicked into place in Ember's mind.
The hesitation she'd felt during alchemy class—she'd found its source. He wasn't just a "cheerful, joking classmate." He gathered information. He analyzed situations. And he hid it all cleanly beneath his usual bright tone.
"...So the common factor is top grades?"
"Maybe not just that. But that's all I can confirm so far."
"You don't think it's coincidence?"
Finn paused for a moment.
"Only the excellent ones are disappearing. It's not coincidence."
It was a statement.
Ember looked at his expression. The carefree manner from the hallway, the clowning in class—neither was present. Just quiet, sharp eyes. Golden pupils looking directly at her.
Ember opened her own notebook. The notes she'd written over the course of last night. Empty seats, erased notices, the teachers' gazes, the direction of the forest—she showed it to Finn.
Finn read through each memo slowly. As he read, his eyebrows rose slightly.
"You noticed all this at the opening ceremony?"
"I get curious about things like that. The atmosphere around me."
"Same as me."
Finn returned her notebook gently.
After that, there was a long silence. From beyond the shelves, someone turned a page. The root-vein lamps quietly illuminated the book spines.
"It's better to move together than alone."
Finn said it. Ember was about to nod when she hesitated.
"Why are you investigating this so thoroughly?"
The question hung quietly in the space between the shelves.
Finn didn't answer. Not immediately.
Instead, his gaze shifted.
To the library's southeast window. Beyond the glass, the edge of the academy grounds and the border of Silverwood Forest beyond were visible. The silver-bark trees' trunks glowed faintly in the twilight.
Finn looked at that window for just a moment. One or two seconds. But in that instant, the brightness drained from his face. The laughter, the quips,
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