The smell of burnt ozone and copper hung heavy in the air of the Grand Courtyard. The "Zero-Protocol" wasn't just a search; it was a harvest."Line them up! Every boy from the third tier down! If they can’t show a clean core, they’re dead weight!"The voice belonged to Grand Inquisitor Maloch. He stood on a raised dais, his armor draped in a blood-red mantle that signified his status as the Alliance’s chief executioner. He wasn't like the Archon or the Headmaster. He didn't care about politics. He only cared about the purity of the Alliance’s rule.I stood in the fifth row of the servant line, my head bowed, my fingers digging into the fabric of my janitor’s tunic. Beside me, Leo—a kid who couldn't have been more than fourteen—was shaking so hard I could hear his teeth chattering."Eyes down, Leo," I whispered. "Don't give them a reason to look at you.""I... I can't, Cassian," he whimpered. "The Inquisitor... he’s looking right at us."Maloch stepped down from the dais, his heavy sab

The sirens of Phoenix Academy didn’t just wail; they screamed like wounded animals. Outside the interrogation wing, the city of Aethelgard was a sea of fire and steel. Martial law had transformed the cobblestone streets into a slaughterhouse. From the balcony of the lower barracks, I watched the Alliance Sentinels dragging families into the light of the mana-flares."Zero-Protocol is in full effect!" a voice boomed from a hovering gunship. "Any citizen found harborant of a Thorne sympathizer will be executed on sight! Return to your dwellings or face the Star-Fire!""They’re killing everyone, Cassian," a voice whispered behind me.I turned. It was Silas, the history professor with the soul-slave brand. Beside him stood a dozen janitors, their faces smudged with soot, their hands clutching mops and rusty kitchen knives. They looked like sheep waiting for the bolt-gun."They aren't just killing sympathizers, Silas," I said, the "Void" in my chest churning like a storm. "They're clearing

The smoke from the burning servant quarters hadn’t even cleared before the brass trumpets of the Alliance rang out across the central plaza. I stood on the edge of the fountain, my hands stained with the soot of the barracks, watching the screen-projectors flicker to life above the Academy’s battlements."They aren't even hiding the bodies," Mallow hissed, standing at my shoulder. He gripped a rusted pipe, his knuckles white. "They're just sweeping us into the gutters.""Quiet," I commanded. "Look at the dais."Archon Vane stepped into the projection’s light. He wasn't wearing his battle robes. He was dressed in ceremonial white, his face a mask of serene, terrifying benevolence. Beside him sat Headmaster Valerius, looking like a man who had already won the war."Citizens of Aethelgard! Students of the Phoenix!" Vane’s voice boomed, amplified by a hundred mana-crystals. "The recent... disturbances... have shown us that there is a cancer within our walls. A shadow that seeks to undo th

The stench of Aethelgard’s sewers was more than rot; it was the smell of the Alliance’s arrogance—thick, sulfurous, and hidden. I stood on a rusted iron walkway, the green toxic sludge of the city’s waste churning beneath my boots. Behind me, three hundred "Dross" servants—the janitors, the cooks, the stable hands—huddled in the gloom. Their eyes were wide, darting between the dripping shadows and the black lightning dancing on my fingertips."This is it?" Mallow asked, his voice echoing off the damp stone arches. He clutched a rusted lead pipe like it was a legendary blade. "The great Thorne training ground is a literal cesspool?""The Alliance built their paradise on top of this," I said, not turning around. "They think this place is beneath them. They think *we* are beneath them. That’s why it’s the only place they can’t see us.""Cassian, the Sentinels are patrolling the manholes every hour," Silas whispered, checking the cracked glass on his mechanical watch. "If they catch a gli

The doors of the Thorne bunker didn't just close; they sealed with a pressurized hiss that cut off the world. The silence inside the vault was heavy, smelling of cold stone and ten years of stagnant power. I stood before the **[OVERLORD’S SHROUD]**, the black crystal armor refracting the torchlight into jagged violet shards. "The air in here... it feels thick," Elara whispered, rubbing her arms. "Like I’m standing at the bottom of the ocean. "That’s the Thorne Resonance," Silas said, his eyes scanning the ancient runes etched into the ceiling. "This isn't just a bunker, Cassian. This is a focal point. Every inch of this stone was soaked in your ancestors' mana. It’s trying to recognize you." "It recognizes a janitor," I said, stepping up to the pedestal. I reached out, my fingers hovering over the empty socket in the chest piece. "The Archon was thorough. He took the Star-Core, the very battery of the Thorne legacy. He left the shell to mock me." "Mockery is a luxury for those wh