The wind cut sharper than usual across the Eastern cliffs, where the Fold’s outer perimeter stared down into the yawning chasm known as the Shatterwake. Theodore stood there, his cloak snapping behind him, eyes fixed on the horizon. Mist rose from the ravine like a breath held too long, then released with shuddering force.He hadn’t slept. Not since the Sanctum.Not since he’d felt it—that subtle bending of the Fold’s rhythm.✦Inside the Academy, the hallways buzzed with uneasy purpose. Students trained harder. Messengers hurried in silence. A weight hung in the air, one unspoken but shared.In the map room, Emeria stood hunched over the latest intelligence with Jared beside her. Candles burned low, illuminating the intricate constellation of threats on the board.“We have confirmation,” Jared said grimly. “The Guardians of the Veil are no longer responding. Either they’ve fallen or… they’ve joined Lazarus.”Emeria’s eyes flicked up. “He’s not giving them a choice.”“No,” Jared said.

The light receded like a breath drawn back into the lungs of the world, leaving behind a strange, golden dusk. Theodore blinked rapidly, the afterimage of the shattered seal etched across his vision. Around him, the Veiled Crescent no longer resembled ruins—it had transformed into a cathedral of fractured timelines, its architecture warping between past and present.Lazarus stood in the center, silhouetted by an enormous archway carved with symbols none of them had ever seen. Not even the Codex had recorded such markings. They pulsed like veins, glowing with a rhythm deeper than magic—a heartbeat of something older.“Where are we?” Emeria whispered, sword drawn though her hands trembled.“The Fold’s memory,” Lazarus said without turning. “Before language. Before rules.”Jared stepped cautiously forward. “You’ve been here before.”Lazarus offered a small smile. “Not here. But close enough to dream of it.”✦Theodore stared at the archway. He felt the Tyr God’s Syndrome stir within him,

Snow fell in thin, whispering sheets across the outer sanctum of the Academy—though few remained to witness it. After the incident at the Rift, most of the students had been relocated under the guise of restoration. In truth, Theodore suspected, they were being scattered.Dispersal was always the tactic of those who feared unity.He stood now in the observatory tower, high above the training halls, watching the horizon. Behind him, Emeria stood with arms folded, her gaze following the curl of storm clouds forming in the east. Jared was silent beside the shattered telescope—its lenses broken in the quake weeks ago.A fire smoldered in the hearth, casting their shadows long across the floor."He never planned for peace," Jared said at last, as if concluding a thought no one had voiced aloud. “Lazarus. Even his teachings—‘discipline above emotion,’ ‘obedience as strength.’ They weren’t lessons. They were conditioning.”Theodore didn’t answer. Instead, he walked toward the circular table i

He wore a travel-worn cloak, his face calm, almost kind. “You’ve grown into the mantle well, Theodore.”Theodore stepped back, hand at his blade. “You lied to us.”“I told you what you needed to hear.”“You used us. Used the Fold.”Lazarus’s expression remained unchanged. “The Fold was broken long before I touched it. I only gave it direction.”“To what end?”Lazarus looked skyward, where the storm twisted slowly in unnatural spirals. “The Tyr God’s Syndrome is not a curse. It is inheritance. And like all legacies, it demands sacrifice.”“You killed Koriel.”“I freed him.”Theodore drew his sword. “Then it’s you we fight now.”Lazarus didn’t flinch. “Not yet. You’re not ready. Not strong enough to bear what must be done.”With a flick of his wrist, the world bent.Theodore dropped to one knee, vision swimming — not from pain, but from the sheer weight of power. Lazarus stood over him, hand outstretched. “But you will be. You must be. The Fold needs a successor.”Then he vanished — not

At the Eastern WatchtowerThe ground cracked open.Not from lava or quake — but from resonance.The air shimmered.And then a rift opened.Not wide — just enough for a figure to step through.Barefoot.Radiant.Rotting.Master Lazarus had returned.But he was no longer human.His skin was streaked with light and shadow — split down the middle, as if he wore both the Flame and the Void. His eyes were nothing now — only light. His voice, when it came, was distorted.“Release the spires,” he said, smiling. “Let the sky fall.”Behind him, shadows poured from the Fold like oil given life.His children.The failed ones.But now... reborn.Back in the Sanctum“The Gate’s open,” the Echo said solemnly. “He found the breach between worlds. And now the Fold bleeds.”Theodore clenched his fists. “How do we stop him?”“You can’t,” the Echo said. “Not by fighting him directly. Not now. He’s part of the Fold. He’s become the Tyr God Syndrome itself. You fight him there… he controls the rules.”“Then