The world did not cheer right away. After the Envoy fell, there was no sudden joy, no wild relief. There was only silence. Smoke drifted over broken land. The desert of Arcanum lay still, its glassy surface cracked like a mirror struck too many times. The sky above it was clear again, but the light felt cautious, as if the sun itself was unsure whether it was safe to shine fully. Weeks passed before the world began to breathe again.Reconstruction ships filled the skies. Traveler engineers raised barrier pylons where ruins still smoldered. Cities patched themselves together with metal, stone, and magic, building not beauty, but safety first. Everywhere, people worked with quiet focus, aware that rest was a luxury they could not afford.Above Meridian, the Traveler Citadel rose again.It was no longer only a school or a fortress. It became something new. Wide rings of barrier light circled the city like guardian halos. Defensive obelisks stood at every horizon point, humming with s

Morning light moved slowly over the rebuilt arena. It touched stone and steel like water rising over a shore. The stands filled early. People came in waves. Some spoke in low voices. Some laughed too loud. Some sat in silence, hands locked together.Banners hung high and moved with the air. Their colors shone under the pale sky seal above the arena. The seal curved like glass, hiding the true world beyond.Today was not a lesson. Today was the combat phase. Today, the System would not ask what they knew.It would ask what they could face. It would ask who could stand when fear pressed close and the body wanted to fall.Oliver Beckett stood at the edge of the arena floor. He did not stand with the other candidates. He stood alone.At the center of the arena, a wide circular platform rose from the ground. It was smooth and white. Thin lines crossed its surface. Those lines pulsed with a soft light, slow and steady, like a quiet heartbeat.The standard-bearer platform. When Oliver stepp

Morning came to Meridian with a strange calm. The city had survived war, rifts, fire, and fear, yet today the streets were clean. Banners hung from towers rebuilt with fresh stone and shining metal. The air hummed softly with barrier fields, steady and patient, like a held breath.People gathered early. They filled plazas, rooftops, and wide bridges that crossed the inner canals. Some wore guild colors. Some wore patched coats and carried memories instead of medals. Children sat on shoulders. Elders leaned on rails. All of them looked toward the citadel.The Hall of Accord stood at its heart, wide and circular, open to the sky. Golden light traced the floor in slow moving patterns, each line shaped like a promise that could not be taken back.Oliver Beckett stood at the edge of the hall with the other survivors. There were fewer than thirty.Once, hundreds had entered the exams. Now, only these remained. Oliver felt the weight of that truth press against his ribs.Iris stood beside hi

The city did not sleep after the pulse. Meridian stayed awake through the long night. Lights burned brighter than usual, white and harsh. Patrol drones moved in slow circles above the streets. Guards stood at corners with hands on weapons. People stayed in doorways and windows, watching the sky, waiting for something to happen again.The citadel felt different now. It was not broken. It felt watched.Deep inside the citadel, Oliver stood alone in a narrow strategy room. The walls were plain steel. The floor hummed softly with hidden power lines. A single table stood in the center, empty and cold.The door opened. Commander Rhoen stepped inside and closed it himself. He raised one hand and pressed it against the wall. A private ward sealed the room with a low tone. The hum beneath the floor faded, as if whatever listened outside no longer cared.Rhoen did not sit. He walked to the table and placed a small data crystal on its surface. The crystal glowed faintly, pale blue. He pushed i

Meridian did not sleep that night. The storm faded, but the city stayed awake, lit by fires, emergency lights, and the dull red glow of warning beacons. Smoke drifted through broken streets. Sirens cried until their batteries died. Far out at sea, the water still churned, as if it remembered the shape of the Rift and refused to forget.Oliver stood at the highest balcony of the war spire and looked down at it all. From here, the city looked small. Too small for the weight pressing on his chest.Behind him, the command chamber buzzed with voices. Officers argued over maps and projections. Holograms showed coastlines scarred with black marks where Rifts had opened. Casualty numbers updated every few seconds, each change another quiet wound.Someone called his name. “Field Captain.”He turned. Every conversation softened as he stepped inside. Not silence. Something heavier. Expectation.Veteran commanders twice his age stood straighter when he passed. Some nodded in respect. Others watc