Disappointment struck her with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't just that he had left. It was that he had given her hope. That he had let her believe she had an ally, someone who wouldn't abandon her. And then, the moment she turned her back, he simply vanished.
She slumped onto the curb, right into the dust of the street. People walked around her, some glanced her way, but no one stopped. She was alone. Completely alone again.
It took her perhaps half an hour before she could bring herself to stand. The sun was beating down, but she was shivering with cold. She had nowhere to go. No money. No ID. Her only possession—her backpack—was still upstairs. The Dean was right. He was waiting for her.
With a sigh that sounded more like a broken sob, she slowly stood up. But before she could take a step toward the entrance, black heels appeared on the pavement in front of her. Ema looked up. Mrs. Koutná stood there. In her hand, she held a clean glass of cold water, beaded with condensation. She no longer looked like the arrogant fury from the office. Her expression was cautious, and her posture had lost its strict, bureaucratic rigidity.
"Here, drink this," the secretary said softly, handing her the glass. Ema took it with trembling hands and took a small sip. "I apologize for the situation earlier," Mrs. Koutná continued in a quiet, even voice. "It was unexpected for us, just as it was for you. The Dean asks that you come back upstairs. You will get answers to your questions. You have nothing to fear."
Ema handed back the half-empty glass, swallowed dryly, and nodded in silence.
The walk back into the building weighed her down with every step. When she re-entered the office, Dean Hradil was no longer sitting behind his desk. He was standing by the window, and the moment he heard the door click shut, he turned around. "Please, have a seat," he gestured toward the leather armchair.
Ema sank into it. Her backpack sat untouched on the rug a short distance from the desk. "I apologize for the atmosphere earlier," the Dean began, taking a seat across from her. "But you must understand that the symbol on the envelope... the thorn... is to us something like the embodiment of absolute evil."
Ema's attention sharpened. "What does that mean?" "It's a mark of infection. An infection that originates from a place we call the Void," Hradil explained. His voice was heavy, measured. "A massive number of Architects and ordinary people have already died because of it. The Void devours territory. Places inhabited by the beings of this world have been destroyed, irretrievably lost, and rewritten into a dead zone. And the worst part? No one has figured out a solution yet. We don't know how to stop it, let alone cleanse it."
Ema stared blankly at the Dean. In her mind, the fragments of recent events began interlocking with a chilling click. No one knows how to cleanse it. She recalled that day at her home. The pulsating dark circle in the villa. She remembered touching it and everything beginning to fade. She saw the gray beach, the gigantic thorns. And then Viktor had arrived. She herself hadn't possessed any power in that moment—she was just a terrified, ordinary girl. It was Viktor who stopped the infection. He was the one who cleansed the place.
It hit her with paralyzing clarity. That's why Friedrich's family wanted me. They found out the territory was clean and thought I had done it. She closed her eyes to hide the panic tightening her throat. It was an incredibly dangerous piece of misinformation.
"That sounds horrible," she finally breathed. She tried to keep her voice from trembling.
Hradil studied her closely. "How exactly do you know Viktor, miss?" "He saved my life," Ema answered carefully. "A few times. But... I actually don't know anything about him at all."
The Dean gave a bitter, somewhat tired smile. "We're in the same boat. He helped me too. But who he is, or what exactly he is, I have no idea." He leaned across the desk and lowered his voice. "Miss Ema, for your own good and for the good of others... do not speak to anyone about the symbol of the thorn. Do not speak about what you saw. And absolutely do not speak to anyone about Viktor. Keep it to yourself."
Ema just nodded mutely. She understood this perfectly.
Hradil straightened up and steepled his fingers. "I probably have a good idea why he brought you here." "To get rid of me," Ema lowered her gaze. "Because I'm just a burden to him." "Let me ask you differently," the Dean said, ignoring her remark. "Do you know anything about this university?" "Only that it's old... and in Moravia," Ema shrugged. "I don't know anything else."
"Palacký University is the second oldest in the country," Hradil began his lecture. "But that is only what ordinary people see. Since its founding in the sixteenth century, this institution has served another, hidden purpose. It is neutral ground. Ordinary students and Architects study here side by side. For the young ones from powerful families, it's a place where they can gain perspective outside the influence of their elders. For those without a background, it's a sanctuary. And you, Miss Ema, will be studying here."
Ema laughed. It was a dry, desperate sound. "Study? I don't have an ID. I don't even exist in the system! I didn't even finish high school. I have no money, no clothes, nowhere to sleep, I—"
"Miss Ema," the Dean stopped her, raising a hand gently. He tapped his fingers on the yellowed parchments spread across the desk. "What you have brought me is of incalculable value."
Ema stared in disbelief at the old paper. Viktor hadn't thrown her away. He had bought her a new life.
"To give you an idea of how things work here," the Dean continued in a calmer, academic tone. "The Architects in our department are divided based on their ability to shape reality. We use physics terminology for this. Those who are just discovering their power and create instinctively are Scalars. They have magnitude and immense energy, but no direction. That is what you are right now. Advanced students and teachers are Vectors—they have both magnitude and clear direction. And I, along with a few others, am a Tensor. We hold the entire structure together."
"Stop by my—" he was about to add, but suddenly there was a double, impatient knock. Hradil sighed quietly. He clearly knew exactly who was at the door. "Come in, Miss Strán—" Before the Tensor could even finish her name, the massive office doors flew wide open with a bang.
A whirlwind of energy burst inside, wearing clothes so brightly colored it made the eyes ache. She had blonde hair with shockingly pink tips, cheeks flushed from running, and was dressed in a wild combination of pastel colors that instantly seized all the attention in the room. Looking at her, an absurd but entirely accurate thought flashed through Ema's mind: If a unicorn took human form, it would look exactly like this. An ordinary student would never dare such an intrusion on the Dean, but Ema immediately sensed that among Architects, fully aware of each other's power, a different, more relaxed set of rules apparently applied.
"I'm sorry, Tensor!" the girl blurted out, trying to catch her breath. "I know I'm late, but you seriously couldn't make this up. A secret admirer just decided to confess his love to me."
Ema stared at her, bewildered. "Which would be fine," the girl continued theatrically, throwing her arms wide, "if he hadn't conjured a giant heart on my dorm room desk... made of genuine Olomouc cheese. In this heat! Dean, the stench could knock out an ox! By the time I aired the place out and threw his masterpiece out the window, I almost passed out."
Hradil just gave a tired but indulgent smile. "I'm afraid, Miss Stránská, that if you survive this, you will survive absolutely anything." He turned to Ema. "Miss Ema, this is Beata Stránská. Your classmate, roommate, and guide."
Beata straightened up and grinned from ear to ear. "Hi! I'm Bea," she reached out and shook her hand firmly. "So you're the new girl? Awesome. Love the outfit! That stretched-out flannel is totally a vibe."
Ema couldn't help but offer a faint smile. "Ema. Nice to meet you."
"Come on," Beata commanded, already pulling her toward the door. "I'll show you the dorms and the dining hall. Don't worry, my room is breathable again." "Goodbye, Tensor!" she called over her shoulder.
"Miss Ema!" Hradil's voice stopped them. Ema turned around. The Dean was standing by his desk, holding her backpack. "You forgot this here," he said, handing it to her. "The contents of the envelope now belong to the university. But the backpack... that is yours."
Ema took it. She felt its solid weight. It was the last touch she had left. The last promise Viktor had kept, even if it hurt so much. "Thank you," she whispered.
When the door closed behind the two girls, Dean Hradil sat back down in his heavy armchair. He let out a long, heavy exhale. His gaze fell once more on the black thorn stamped into the wax. "Good luck, Scalar," he whispered to the empty room. "You're going to need a hell of a lot of it."