Lucien Cross woke to silence.Not the heavy, oppressive silence of unconsciousness, but a clean one — orderly, sterile, almost comforting. The pain he expected never came. No splitting headache. No shrieking echoes. No clashing cognitive lattices tearing at his thoughts.The Ravencore… was quiet.He lay still for several seconds, eyes open, staring at the dim ceiling of the medical shelter. White light crystals hummed softly above him. The smell of antiseptic and scorched fabric lingered in the air.He blinked once.Then sat up.A medic nearby flinched. “You— you should not move yet. Your mental channels—”“They’re stable,” Lucien said calmly.The medic froze. “…what?”Lucien tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something internal. He extended his perception inward — not cautiously, not nervously, but methodically.Fragment I: active.Fragment III: aligned.Cognitive lattice: complete loop achieved.There was no missing bridge.Not because Fragment II had appeared.But because

Night settled heavily over Thalara.The city lights below shimmered like a field of distant stars, but inside a secluded upper chamber of a private estate, the atmosphere was anything but tranquil. Benedric Sable stood alone by the tall window, hands clasped behind his back, his reflection faintly visible on the reinforced glass.House Sable was dying.That truth no longer frightened him.What frightened him was irrelevance.Behind him, the doors slid open without announcement.The presence that entered did not need one.Lord Margrave Halderion Viremont stepped into the chamber with measured calm, his broad frame wrapped in dark ceremonial attire threaded with subtle sigils of authority. His aura was restrained but unmistakable. Rank after Rank layered with discipline, experience, and the confidence of a man who had never fallen from power.Patriarch of House Viremont.A rival that House Crowne had contended with for generations.Benedric turned and inclined his head respectfully. “My

The military transport lifted off from the Frontier outpost in silence.No cheers followed its departure. No relief either.Only tension—thick, unresolved, lingering in the hull like static.This was not the vessel meant for students.It was a shift-rotation carrier, a mid-range military transport assigned to rotate frontline personnel and equipment between operational zones. Its hull was reinforced, its engines calibrated for sustained warp travel rather than speed, and its defensive grid was designed to repel mid-rank interstellar threats.Ronan Crowne was the only civilian aboard.And even that status was questionable.He stood alone inside a detachable containment module, a reinforced compartment mounted along the vessel’s midsection. From the outside, it resembled an escape pod, except far larger, far sturdier, and far more deliberate in its design.This module was not meant to save him.It was meant to be released.If a high-rank beast attack occurred mid-transit, protocol was c

The first alarm did not come from Ronan’s vessel.It came from the student transport.Across the tactical displays of the military escort, warning sigils flared violently—scarlet rings expanding outward as predictive trajectories recalculated again and again.“Rank Eight beast confirmed!”“Target lock—student transport Delta-Seven!”“Distance collapsing—twenty seconds to intercept range!”Inside the command deck, every officer froze.The student ship had already disengaged from the Outer Frontier perimeter, its engines straining at maximum output. But it wasn’t enough. The massive silhouette tearing through the void behind it moved with terrifying certainty, its predatory vector locked, unshaken by evasive maneuvers.“They won’t outrun it,” someone whispered.On the student transport, panic erupted.Stabilizers screamed. Passengers were thrown against restraints as emergency fields activated. Cadets clutched armrests, eyes wide as the external feed projected the approaching monster—va

The corridor outside the archive wing was silent.Too silent.Aveline Westmere slowed her steps, senses spread outward as she walked. The Academy was never truly quiet, not even at night. There were always wards humming, custodial constructs moving, distant echoes of students training past midnight. Yet here, the air felt… sealed. As though the world itself had drawn a breath and refused to exhale.She did not like that.The incident from days ago still lingered in her mind—not as fear, but as irritation. Precision like that was not accidental. Whoever had struck from the shadows had done so with intent, with control, and with an understanding of space that rivaled her own.And then vanished.No residue. No traceable aura. No fracture in the wards.Only that faint resonance.Ravencore.The realization unsettled her more than she cared to admit.Aveline entered her private study and sealed the door behind her. The room brightened as runic lights activated, illuminating shelves of scrol