The night Glassview burned, the sky did not scream. It only glowed. A deep orange light rose behind the towers, slow at first, then faster, like a wound opening in the dark. Smoke curled upward in thick coils, carrying the sharp scent of burning ink, old paper, and mana residue. The Spectral Lime headquarters was on fire. Caster felt it before he saw it.A sudden pull struck his chest, as if a hook had sunk into his heart and yanked. His steps faltered. The ground beneath his boots trembled, faint but real.Sikoa grabbed his arm. “You feel it too.”“Yes,” Caster said. His voice was tight. “They have struck.”They stood at the edge of a narrow street, half-hidden by shadow. From here, they could see the great lime-green spire of the Spectral Lime Chamber, once proud, now cracked with lines of glowing red light. Flames poured from shattered windows high above. Mana flared wildly around the building, unstable and furious. “That is not an accident,” Sikoa said.“No,” Caster replied. “T

The rain over Glassview fell in thin lines, cold and steady. It slid across stone towers and metal bridges, washing ash from the air but never the fear. The city moved in whispers now. Doors closed faster. Lights dimmed earlier.Spectral Lime stood at the city’s heart like a wounded giant. Its spires were still tall, but dark metal bands wrapped around them, stamped with the twin crescent mark of the Consortium. Mana lights flickered wrong inside, too pale, too slow, like a sick pulse.Caster watched from the roof of a nearby archive hall. His cloak lay flat against his back, heavy with rain. His face was calm, but his fingers moved, tracing small shapes in the air. Each motion left a faint ripple, like heat over stone.Sikoa crouched beside him. Her mask was off tonight. Rain soaked her dark hair, but her eyes stayed sharp.“Sentinels changed rotation,” she said. “Twin Moons doubled them after the debate.”Caster nodded once. His gaze stayed on the main gate. Three armored sentinels s

The first scream came from the east quarter of Glassview. It cut through the night like torn cloth.Caster felt it before he heard it. The mana anchor inside his chest pulsed hard, then cold. He stopped walking. Rain slid down his face. The street around him froze. Stone cracked.A lamp post bent, then collapsed, rust spreading across it in seconds like mold. People ran.Their footsteps echoed wrong, stretched and warped, as if the ground could not decide where sound belonged.Sikoa reached his side. Her hand hovered near her blade. “It has started,” she said.Caster looked up. The sky was no longer gray. It was split. Silver clouds rolled across black space. Light bled from the gaps, thin and sharp, like cuts in skin. Gravity shifted. Loose paper lifted, then slammed back down.Far across the city, a tower darkened. Its mana beacon flickered, then died. Caster closed his eyes once. “Lyra,” he said.The ground shook again. Buildings aged in seconds. Walls peeled. Iron rails bent and

The first thing that breaks is the light. The sigil in Lyra’s chest fractures with a sharp crack, like glass under pressure. White lines crawl across it. The glow dims, flickers, then collapses inward. The floating towers around Glassview shudder as if something underneath them has gone hollow.Caster does not move. Lyra’s body jerks once. Her back arches. A sound forces its way out of her throat—not a scream, not a word. Just breath tearing free. Then she goes still.The spectral colossus behind her freezes mid-motion. Its massive arms lock in place. Mana drains from its form in visible streams, bleeding into the air like smoke pulled into a vacuum.Caster lowers his staff by a fraction. Ash drifts down from above. The sky, once torn open by spellfire and constructs, begins to seal itself. Clouds crawl back into place. Broken towers hang in silence, suspended by fading enchantments.Lyra’s eyes are open. They do not focus. Her lips part slightly. No sound follows.Caster steps forw

The sky tears without warning. There is no sound. No flash. No heat. Just pressure.It feels like the world pulls in a sharp breath and forgets to let it out. Caster freezes mid-step.The piece of chalk in his fingers snaps with a dry crack. The broken halves fall from his hand. White dust spills across the circular array carved into the observation floor. The lines he was drawing lose their shape. Mana threads ripple and bend, their neat paths twisting as if disturbed by unseen fingers.Every lamp in the chamber flickers once. Then they steady. No one speaks. Caster does not move.Above him, the reinforced crystal dome darkens. The clouds beyond it slow, then slide sideways. They do not drift with the wind. They are dragged, as if something large is pulling them from behind the sky itself.Sikoa looks up from the control dais. Her hand tightens on the metal rail. “You felt that,” she says.Her voice is steady, but she does not look away from the dome. Caster slowly straightens. “Yes