Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions Chapter 111: • Salveté Corvum—All Hail The Crow

FOLLOWING ISRAFEL'S STINT WITH CORA, warlock practice was postponed by the school board. First Years were still required to put in the biweekly training of course, but no more one-on-one combats. Coach Tanaka was not to happy about this; Rafel had spied her glaring through the silver doors as he passed by the Guild on his way to potions class.

Mage studies had begun in earnest. It was his third week at the institute.

[Potions and Poisons] class was held in a wizardry laboratory at the northernmost edge of the Dark Arts building, on the ground floor, boasting its own underground thriving plant haven, and it was also the closest chamber to the school garden—a very large greenhouse with sliver windows and potted plants in its sills; there wasn't a magical plant in all the continent that couldn't be found there.

The moonflowers. Wolfsbane. Mandrakes. Purple death roses, Lilith's favorites. And the godly wyrd vines than ran up the alabaster walls on creeping white leaves.

Mikhail said it was funny that their [Potions and Poisons] teacher was nad Ivy. Actually, it was Lady Ivoria Sephora Grimm, the valedictorian of the graduants a decade ago. Instead of returning to her fortune and estate which her Baron father, Lord Grimm had left her, Ivoria stayed and studied to beco a Doctor of Poisons.

She kept the title of Lady for Professor, and these days, her students just called her Dr. Ivy.

She always had so flower petal in her hair.

Today, it was the rarest pluck of bloomshade. The indigo tendril sparkled in her dark hair.

She addressed the class once the First Years were all seated on stools, staring at the vases of moss and mistletoe on every space the lab could spare, and fragrance of fresh earth and rain. The wilding fae among, felt right at ho. "Welco, students! Potions and Poisons class is easy enough. You do not need stress your pretty little heads, but for those of you—especially my [Pegasus Arc] friends. .

."

Ivy looked around the jasmine scented lab to those in blue jackets. ". . .who wish to graduate with at least an [Acolyte] badge in my class, you will need to do a lot of cramming. Many of the best Healers in history have stored up hundred of vial and Vine nas in their head, like a chef with a secret recipe.

Phoenixes don't need to go as hard in Poisons class as you Pegasi and Griffins. You are First Years now, but at so point, you will leave Corynthia to other distant lands where you will beco healers in little towns, potion masters and mistresses for hire, or even Gurus in the woods. Either way, your foundation in this course must be solid.

Today, we will be learning about the bios in our mystical continent, Eldoria. Unlike bordering Rocasus and Florence, Eldoria was weaved in magic from its very birth. Druids of Avalon who was once lived here toiled the farm grounds with their superior bean stalks that rose to the skies and enhanced maize seeds that grew corn golden as sunrise and fat as an ankle.

It is necessary to know what magical plants can grow where, and where not.

For instance, wyrd leaves only grow in the north parts of the kingdom, like Castare, Gūndlheim, and Persepolis. In cases where leaves needed for a specific witch's brew are absent, a Caster must learn to summon their substance."

Professor Ivy continued on to separate the class into groups of three; telling them to identify what specins they could of the flowers in vases, green plants under bluish glow lamps, and the more ancient ferns protected in glass cases.

Rafel felt like an explorer who had stumbled on a dragon's lair; in awe of the loot but also concerned he might've discovered too much. Aya and Rosa were in group; Percival, Brunhilda and surprisingly Cora in another. The weaved in and out of each other. Aya studied the plants and Rosamunde held her pencil and scribbled in her jotter. Rafel just watched both pretty girls.

Rosa kept adjusting her round glasses. He remarked that it had been a while since they. . . cohabited.

He would change that—as soon as possible.

"Mind if I jump in?" Cora asked, winding in from her group.

"Sure." Rosa nodded, waving her over.

They switched places under Professor Ivy's eye.

"Hi!" Cora sent a small wave to Rafel who leaned by a cryo tube for microbial death fungus. Rumor was that the microscopic plants in the coolant made zombies out of the unlucky barbarians of the Viking tribes.

Cora turned next to Aya.

"I take it you don't like very much."

Aya didn't look up from the glass vase she was studying. "How do you figure?"

"You've been cutting eyes at , for one. Care to explain?"

Aya sighed and rose to face Cora. She took two steps slowly to et the tomboy's blue eyes. Her violet iris didn't back down. "Israfel seems to think you're soone we once knew—or can be."

"And you don't share that assertion?" Cora fired.

"I don't."

"Are you his girlfriend or sothing?"

"I'm his slave."

Cora narrowed her eyes.

"You wouldn't understand," Aya explained. "See that. . .that judgent in your eyes when I said 'slave' just now? Our Cora would never have looked at that way." Cora moved her lips to speak but Aya held up her hand. "Save it.

This conversation is over."

"Fine." Cora grinded her teeth and walked away.

Rosa drew back with her jotter in hand. "What just happened?"

"It's fine. I handled it," Aya replied. "Now, can we get back to the specins?"

A group of three girls from Pegasus Arc took the win for highest score in the taxonomy. Professor Ivy blessed them with a [Legendary] clamshell pearl each. "We'll call it a day here, folks!" She ended the class. And students were still talking about the gifts, hounding the girls in lovely blue jackets and black school skirts for chance peeks at the ocean pearls.

Rafel was one of the last to leave the plant lab, and paused by the door when he found a folded piece of paper sticking out his text of RARE PLANT SPECIES. He pulled the paper out the book, unfolding it at symtry as Aya and Rosa walked on. "I'll be right behind you," he said. The bells had just rung for lunch. Many were already hitting the breakrooms and canteens in the building.

Rafel waited until the corridor was empty and he could see no one else in sight.

It was only then that he looked down at the paper.

It wasn't any written word; just a map of the Centre for Dark Arts building, an old blueprint by the looks of it; one forgotten to ti; one that held points for secrets stairwells and lofts and attics and closets. Aside the enigmatic ssage, the only other thing on the paper was a symbol.

A tiny, black crow.

And the tiniest words he could make out, in the ancient glyphs of the Druids. In the tongue of Avalon.

Rafel read aloud,

"SALVETE CORVUM!"

He turned the language around in his head, before interpreting aloud with the help of his system;

"ALL HAIL THE CROW!"

Rafel stared at the paper again. There was a tiny red X in the blue lines marking the map. It appeared to be at the end of so tunnel, in what looked like a chamber. He trusted his tracking abilities, and his instincts told him to engage this secret ssage. Soone was bold enough—even after hearing about Olivar, the boy he'd sent to the infirmary—to drop a secret map guide.

Rafel stared at the red X again.

It pulsed like an exposed, throbbing jugular.

"Shit, I'm gonna be late for lunch," said Rafel, starting again in the long corridor, but in the other direction, silently tracing his footsteps to the big, red, curious X.