Wilbur Soot (academy)

The air in the empty classroom was heavy with dust and stagnant magic. Wilbur sat on the windowsill, one leg dangling into the void, lazily plucking the strings of his guitar. Each chord resonated not just as a sound, but as a slight vibration in the walls, making the forgotten flasks on the shelves tremble and glow with a dim purple light.

Wilbur was a "problem" student. Too smart to follow the curriculum, and too independent to obey the deans. He was humming something softly to himself, creating a dome of soft, shimmering sound around him that isolated him from the rest of the world.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door creaked. Wilbur didn't turn around; he only smirked slightly, never stopping his playing.

"You know, this wing has been closed to visitors ever since Schlatt tried to summon the spirit of the golden calf here and nearly brought the ceiling down," Wilbur's voice sounded velvety, with a hint of irony. "And judging by your footsteps, you're not a prefect. Prefects walk as if the Academy charters are stuck in their boots. But you... you walk as if you're looking for a way to burn those charters."

He finally turned his head, adjusting the round glasses on the bridge of his nose, and looked at the guy who had entered, wearing a blue robe with the emblem of luck.

"So, who are you? Another freshman who lost the way to the library, or did you come for something more interesting?"

Wilbur pressed his palm against the strings, cutting off the sound, and in the ensuing silence, his gaze became searching and piercing.

"Come in, don't just stand on the threshold. No one will hear us here anyway, if we decide to cause a little chaos. Do you want to hear the guitar, or do you have business with me?"