The cool night air didn't do much to settle Serena's nerves as she and Wanda trailed behind Morgana. The silence of the neighborhood at 2:00 AM was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic scuff of their boots on the pavement.
When Morgana finally came to a halt, it wasn't in front of a dorm or a house—it was a stately building with a polished brass plate that caught the moonlight. It read: Teacher's Lounge.
Serena stopped dead, her brow furrowing. "Morgana, wait. Why would Henry be in the teacher's lounge at this hour? Better yet," she gestured vaguely at the locked-down appearance of the building, "how is a student even allowed in there in the first place?"
Morgana didn't turn around, her hand already on the heavy oak handle. "Rules are a bit... flexible for some," she muttered, a weary sigh escaping her. "You'll see."
The door clicked open with a soft, expensive-sounding metallic slide. Inside, the lounge was sprawling—a maze of leather wingback chairs, mahogany tables, and shelves packed with academic history. But the air smelled less like old books and more like stale ice and expensive peat.
In the corner, sprawled across a massive Chesterfield couch, was Henry. He looked less like a student and more like a ghost of a man. He was still in his clothes from the day—a black button-down with the sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows and matching dark trousers. His shoes were still on, dangling off the edge of the cushions. On the floor beside him, a heavy glass sat half-empty, the amber liquid inside catching the dim glow of the emergency lights.
Wanda and Serena exchanged a long, concerned look before turning their gaze back to Morgana. The silence in the room felt fragile, as if Henry's exhaustion was a physical weight.
"So," Wanda whispered, her voice barely audible. "How exactly do we wake him up without him taking our heads off?"
Morgana didn't answer with words. Instead, a mischievous, almost predatory glint sparked in her eyes. She glanced back at Serena and Wanda, her lips curling into a sharp grin that signaled nothing but trouble.
She didn't just walk over; she stalked toward the couch with the grace of a cat. Without a second of hesitation—or a regard for his personal space—she launched herself into the air.
Oof! She landed squarely on his midsection, her full weight driving the air out of him in a violent rush. Henry's eyes snapped open, his body convulsing as he let out a strangled, guttural groan that echoed through the quiet lounge.
For a moment, he just stared up at her, blinking away the haze of sleep and whatever was in that glass. He didn't look surprised—just profoundly exhausted.
"Really?" Henry rasped, his voice gravelly and thick. He didn't even try to move her yet. "Do you actually have to do this every single time, Morgana?"
Morgana didn't budge, leaning forward until she was inches from his face, her smirk widening. "Of course I do. Any other way would be boring, and you know how much I hate being bored."
Henry sighed, a long, weary sound that suggested this was a routine they'd performed a hundred times. With a grunt of effort, he grabbed her by the waist and shifted his weight, unceremoniously dumping her onto the floor cushions beside the couch. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face with his hands, the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt revealing the tension in his forearms.
The air in the lounge remained thick with the smell of old peat and the lingering vibration of Henry's groans. Serena and Wanda stood by the door, frozen in a state of pure cognitive dissonance—their Headmistress had just used a high-tier veteran as a landing pad, and the veteran was currently rubbing his eyes like a disgruntled teenager.
Henry looked past Morgana, his gaze landing on the two freshmen. A tired, crooked smirk touched his lips. "Look, as much as I appreciate three gorgeous women breaking into my sanctuary in the dead of night, I'm not exactly dressed for company. Can't this wait until the sun is actually up?"
Serena didn't laugh. She turned a questioning, desperate look toward Morgana. Can we really trust this man? Can we tell him the secret that could get me executed?
Morgana caught the look and let out a weary sigh. "You can speak freely, Serena. Henry has more skeletons in his closet than the Academy has books. He knows how to keep a secret because his life depends on it, too."
Taking a shaky breath, Serena stepped forward. Together with Wanda, they laid it all out—the Archive, the Jester, the birthday memory sacrifice, and the impossible truth of her dual paths.
Henry listened in a silence so profound it was unnerving. He didn't interrupt. He just stared at the amber liquid in his glass until the explanation hit the reveal of the Void Path.
His hand stilled. He looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Wait. Hold on a second. Two paths?"
"Yes," Wanda affirmed, her voice steady despite the tension. "And the second is the Void."
Henry leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking. "So, let me get this straight. You want to build a 'Pseudo-Domain' to cage a Void Entity, and you've come to me because Morgana told you I'm the expert on 'fake' mental architecture?"
Suddenly, a sound broke the silence. It started as a wheeze in Henry's chest and grew into a full-blown, cynical laugh. He leaned his head back, laughing at the ceiling while the three women watched him in stunned, mounting irritation.
"What is so funny, Henry?" Morgana snapped, her eyes flashing with a spark of Authority. "This girl's mind is being eaten. If you can teach her, do it."
Henry's laughter subsided into a few sharp coughs. He wiped a tear from his eye and looked at Serena, his expression suddenly very sober and very blunt.
"Alright, let me be straight with you," Henry said, his voice dropping the playful edge. "There is no such thing as a 'Pseudo-Domain.' I made the term up."
Morgana's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "What are you talking about? When you were audited after the Northern Campaign, you told the Council your mental defenses were a Pseudo-Domain because you weren't at the required stage for a real one."
Henry chuckles, a dark, dry sound. "I lied, obviously. It's a real Domain, Morgana."
"But that's impossible!" Morgana stood up, her aura flared for a split second. "You were at Stage Ⅲ — Expression back then. You can't anchor a Domain until Stage Ⅴ. The soul doesn't have the mass! It's a fundamental law of Ascender physics!"
Henry sighed, reaching for his glass and taking a slow sip. "First of all, I'm at Stage Ⅳ — Continuance now, thank you very much. But yeah... I was at Stage Ⅲ when I built my Domain. Like I said, the Council doesn't like 'impossible' things, so I gave them a lie they could digest."
He turned his gaze back to Serena, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something like recognition in his eyes.
"Can you teach me how to do it?" Serena asked, her voice cutting through the heavy silence of the lounge.
Henry looked at her for a long moment, then shifted his gaze back to the amber liquid in his glass. "You can't do it, Serena. You're still too young. What are you, eighteen? Nineteen?"
Serena didn't flinch. "I'm eighteen. And you're twenty-one. There isn't exactly a massive gap between us, Henry."
Henry let out a tired sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, I don't like to talk about it, but a lot of things happened during my last campaign. That's all you need to know. The reality is that my mind is a lot older than my years suggest. And I mean literally."
"That doesn't matter," Serena said, her voice growing more adamant. She stepped closer to the couch, her hands clenching into fists. "If anyone is capable of doing this, it's me. I know the risks, and I'm fine with them. Just teach me."
The room went quiet. Morgana watched them with a sharp, curious glint in her eyes, while Wanda looked back and forth between the two of them, her breath hitched in anticipation.
Henry stared at Serena, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. All he found was a stubborn, burning resolve. After a long beat, he let out a short, dry chuckle and set his glass down on the table.
"Alright," Henry said, a faint, dangerous spark finally appearing in his eyes. "I'll teach you."