The smell of burnt mana filled the air, sharp, metallic, and humiliating. Sparks flickered from Terry Williams’ trembling hands as the shattered remains of a healing crystal lay at his feet.The entire class stood in silence for a heartbeat, then the laughter began. “Did you see that?” someone jeered. “He can’t even stabilize a basic Heal Orb!”Terry didn’t lift his head. His fingers still twitched from the backlash of failed magic. His body ached, but not as much as his pride.Around him, dozens of students in silver academy robes glowed faintly with magical aura, the mark of competence. Terry’s aura was invisible, nonexistent.“Pathetic,” muttered Instructor Vale, striding past him with a cold stare. “Five years at Valoria Academy and not a single advancement. Williams, you’re dismissed from the program.”The words hit harder than any spell. “Wait, please,” Terry said, his voice cracking. “I can do better. I just”Vale turned sharply, eyes glowing faint blue. “You’ve wasted enough o

Terry’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Even hours after the attack, he could still smell the burnt mana and feel the echo of those whispers in his skull.Corvin sat silently across the room, stitching a wound on his arm with a needle glowing faint blue. Every motion was precise, almost ritualistic. “You’re bleeding,” Terry said quietly.Corvin didn’t look up. “Bleeding keeps me honest.”They were back in the underground chamber, the aftermath of battle scattered around them, broken tables, scorched walls, three lifeless bodies shrouded in dark cloaks.Terry couldn’t take his eyes off the symbol carved into one of them: the serpent eating its tail. “The Obsidian Circle,” he murmured.Corvin’s jaw tightened. “What’s left of it.”“You said they were gone.”“I said they fell. There’s a difference. Monsters don’t die; they adapt.”Terry hesitated. “You used to be one of them, didn’t you?”The old man paused mid-stitch. For a long moment, the only sound was the drip of rain through cracks abo

The rain hadn’t stopped in three nights. It fell like ash over the Cathedral District, washing through ancient spires, glowing sigils, and the pale statues of forgotten saints.Terry and Corvin moved through the shadows beneath the great stained-glass towers, cloaks soaked through.Each step echoed softly against cobblestone lined with mana channels pulsing faintly blue. “Keep your head down,” Corvin whispered. “These streets belong to the Circle after dark.”Terry adjusted his hood. “You really think they’re hiding a lab here?”Corvin’s eyes flicked toward a distant cathedral. “Not hiding. Testing. Listen.”From somewhere deep within the cathedral came a faint, rhythmic hum, a heartbeat of machinery and magic. Terry frowned. “That sound”“is a soul reactor,” Corvin said. “They’re using one to anchor the resurrected bodies.”He led the way to a side passage, a narrow stairwell descending beneath the cathedral’s outer wall. The air grew colder with each step, damp stone giving way to t

The rain stopped three days after the Cathedral fell. Valoria lay smoldering beneath a gray sky, streets cracked, towers dim, and silence hanging heavy where music once drifted.Terry stood on the edge of the crater that had swallowed half the district. Corvin’s sword hung across his back, its edge faintly pulsing with blue-black light. Mira approached quietly. “You haven’t slept.”“I can’t,” Terry said. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him falling.”She looked at the burned skyline. “He bought you time. Use it.”He turned to her, voice hard. “To do what? Run? Hide while the Circle tightens its grip?”“To plan,” Mira said. “Corvin wasn’t reckless. Don’t make his death meaningless.”Terry’s hands clenched. The air shimmered with unstable energy. “He said pain means I’m human. Then I’ll turn that pain into something they can’t ignore.”Mira studied him. “Wrath isn’t healing, Terry.”“It will be,” he said quietly. “I’ll heal the world by burning out its disease.”By nightfall, the hidd

The tunnels beneath Valoria trembled like a living thing. Mana currents pulsed faintly through the walls, humming in irregular beats, too sharp, too fast.Terry stood in the heart of the rebellion’s base, a once-abandoned metro chamber now transformed into a command hall. Maps, scrolls, and rune markers glowed faintly on the table before him.Something was wrong. He could feel it, not in the air, but in his pulse. The sword at his side whispered faster now, almost impatiently. “Status report,” Terry said without looking up.Mira, standing at his right, handed him a slate. “Convoy raids successful in sectors seven through nine. We’ve secured enough mana cores to keep our healers running for a week.”“And losses?”“Three injured. One missing.”Terry frowned. “Who?”“Lyra. She was on the northern flank.”He froze. Lyra, the courier who’d carried every major message between their cells. Quiet, reliable, loyal.“She wouldn’t vanish,” he muttered.Mira’s expression tightened. “Unless someon