Caster entered Glassview through a service tunnel beneath the eastern scaffolds.The tunnel mouth hid behind layered ward plates and caution sigils. Construction crews passed above it without looking down. Their boots shook dust loose from the ceiling. It fell in thin sheets and settled on his shoulders.Caster walked straight through the inactive ward ring. The illusion sigil bent the light around him just enough to blur his face. His coat shifted to match the muted gray worn by junior academics and courier aides. A thin badge appeared at his collar, etched with a low-tier research crest. No one stopped him.The tunnel opened into a sublevel corridor beneath the old academic district. Glassview’s lower circles were still intact.The halls were narrow and reinforced with layered stone. Mana lines ran along the walls in exposed channels, patched in places where the Rift Event had torn through. Some glowed steady. Others flickered.Caster slowed his steps. Voices carried from ahead. “U

Caster moved through the crowded market district of Glassview before dawn. The streets smelled of damp stone and frying grain, and low-hanging lanterns flickered in the mist rising from the canals. Most stalls were closed, shutters down or patched with cloth, but some traders were already setting out rare items, mana conduits, broken foci, old research instruments.He walked lightly, coat collar raised, illusion sigil active. His steps were quiet on cobblestone and damp metal grates. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look up. Every few paces, he paused to scan shadows for movement, listening for whispers, the slightest unusual sound.A faint pulse drew his attention, subtle but distinct. Skell energy, muted, deliberately concealed, but alive. The signature matched the fragment he had taken from the auction.He ducked into a narrow side alley and slipped between two half-open shutters. Behind them, the faint glow of mana lanterns illuminated rows of shelves filled with miscellaneous relics,

The Lime Division intake hall smelled of dust, ink, and old stone. Caster stood at the end of a short line, shoulders squared, hands folded behind his back. His coat was clean but plain. His hair was tied back. His face carried the careful adjustments of his illusion sigil, older lines at the eyes, a narrower jaw, and a faint scar along the left cheek.Dr. Alven Cray. The name rested lightly on his tongue. A brass placard hung above the counter: LOWER ACADEMIC REINSTATEMENT, SPECTRAL LIME DIVISION (PROVISIONAL)The word provisional had been etched deeper than the rest. A clerk behind the counter flipped through paper forms with slow, deliberate movements. She did not look up. “Next,” she said.Caster stepped forward. She slid a form across the counter without meeting his eyes. “Name.”“Dr. Alven Cray,” he said.She paused, then finally looked at him. Her gaze lingered a fraction too long. “Division?” she asked.“Applied Skell Containment,” Caster replied.Her brow twitched. “That di

The door sealed without sound. Stone slid into stone. Dust fell in a thin line across the floor. The last lantern above the stairwell dimmed and went dark.Caster stood still until the echo died. The underground library lay beneath the old academy, forgotten by decree and neglect. Rows of shelves cut through the chamber like ribs. Most were empty. Some held warped books wrapped in chain wire. Sigils burned low along the floor, not for light, but for silence.A figure waited at the long table near the center. Solon did not rise. He sat with his hands flat on the wood, fingers spread, as if feeling for tremors. His hair had thinned. Gray traced the edges. His robe hung looser than it once had. The academy ring still circled his finger, dulled from years without polish.Behind him stood Sikoa. Her mask was gone. Her hair was tied back. She wore a trader’s coat, patched and reinforced. One hand rested near her belt. The other hovered near Solon’s shoulder without touching him.Caster st

The air in the underground lab was thick with residual mana. Lanterns flickered, suspended from iron beams, their light uneven and wavering. Dust motes moved slowly through the shafts of illumination, but the shadows felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were absorbing sound.Caster crouched over the workbench, hands steady despite the tension threading through his veins. Several vials of Skell Dust sat in front of him, each labeled with careful precision. He had refined the measurements, controlled the doses. Each particle was deadly, but necessary.He inhaled sharply, traced the first line of a containment sigil over the largest vial, and whispered the calibration sequence. The dust pulsed inside the glass. Fine motes lifted, swirled, and shimmered like microstars, responding to his aura.Caster tipped the vial slightly, allowing a tiny fraction of the dust to fall onto the palm of his hand. The particles hovered, suspended by his Skell-tuned aura. A faint shimmer traced the