At the time it happened, Dunling slept as usual, cradled by the Tem River. A lantern-bearing watchman wandered the empty streets on his dull patrol.
The old town had not yet shed its strict religious rules and traditions, and with almost nowhere offering nighttime services, few people were willing to venture out. Damp cold swept through the colonnades, soaking clothes and beading on the surfaces of buildings and exposed skin.
So when he passed the white stone building, the watchman did not immediately realize what was happening. He only noticed a red glow overhead, and felt its heat radiating from far away.
But in the brief moment it took for the question to cross his mind, the red blaze had grown impossible to ignore.
He looked up. A distorted, shifting light illuminated the dome that should have blended into the night. Jagged scarlet tongues of flame burst from an open window, devouring the pages and ashes that billowed through the rising heat. Roaring flames and toppling heavy objects made it seem as though the scorching maw of hell were swallowing and grinding everything inside.
A page with a glowing ember on one corner was carried by the hot wind to his feet. At last, the poor man on routine duty understood what was happening and tried to rouse someone to help control the fire.
But there were hardly any people left at the Academy at night. Though the building stood right by the river, the fire was not brought under control until dawn. It was hard to say whether the few barrels of water had helped, or whether the flames had simply died down after consuming everything combustible.
By the time Green received the news the next day and hurried to the scene, events had already unfolded in a way