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Chapter 375
The warning bells did not ring. That alone told Caster this was not a raid. Morning mist clung to the outer platforms of Glassview as three figures crossed the bridge from open air. Their boots struck stone in clean, even steps. No haste. No hesitation. Cloud Tower envoys always walked like they owned the ground beneath them, even when they did not.Caster stood at the edge of the upper concourse, hands at his sides, coat unfastened. Two Wardens flanked him, silent, eyes tracking every movement. Mana wards shimmered faintly under the stone, tuned tight but dormant.The lead envoy stopped ten paces away. Ardis Valen looked thinner than before. Not weaker. Sharper. His gray cloak bore the sigil of Cloud Tower stitched in subdued thread, the kind meant to catch light only at certain angles. His right hand rested near his belt, close to a sealed focus rod. His left sleeve hung longer than fashion required.Caster did not step forward. Ardis inclined his head once. Not a bow. Not quite
Chapter 374
The archive doors seal behind him with a muted thud. Caster does not turn.The sound tells him enough. The locking sigils are old. Spectral Lime originals. No Consortium overrides. No silent alarms. Just layered wards and heavy stone.The lamps inside the restricted wing burn low. Their light is pale and uneven, trapped inside glass cylinders etched with age-worn runes. Shadows stretch across shelves that rise to the ceiling, packed tight with sealed volumes, crystal slates, and memory coils. Dust hangs in the air. Caster steps forward. Each footfall echoes once, then dies. The floor is slate, cracked in places, repaired in others. Old chalk lines still cling to the seams, half scrubbed, half forgotten.He lifts a hand. Mana flows out in thin filaments, brushing the air, tasting it. The wards recognize him. Not his face. Not his name. His pattern.The shelves nearest him hum softly, then fall silent again. He moves deeper.This wing predates Glassview’s expansion. Before Twin Moons.
Chapter 373
The first sign is silence. Not the quiet of night, but the kind that presses against the ears. The festival below Glassview has ended. Lanterns dim along the streets. Smoke from fireworks drifts and thins. Towers settle back into their slow hover cycles.Caster stands alone on the upper observatory of Spectral Lime. The stone beneath his boots is cracked from earlier damage. Chalk marks still stain the floor where emergency sigils were drawn days ago. Wind moves through the open arches, cold and steady.He tilts his head upward. Above the clouds, something pulls. He does not close his eyes at first. He raises one hand and traces a thin line of mana in the air. The line bends. It does not drift with the wind. It leans upward, like a compass needle.Sikoa stands near the stairwell, arms crossed, watching him. “You feel it too,” she says.Caster nods once. He steps to the center of the observatory. The floor circle there is old, pre-Consortium. Lime sigils ring it, cracked but intact
Chapter 372
The streets of Glassview pulsed with light, laughter, and the clatter of celebration. Stalls were draped in banners of azure and silver, crowds pressing shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with roasted meats, sweet incense, and the acrid tang of fireworks sparks. Lanterns bobbed above the thoroughfares like floating stars, casting shifting glows across cobblestones scarred from months of reconstruction.Caster Spellbound moved through it all almost invisibly, a shadow among the living. He walked with the grace of a man used to command, though his eyes constantly flicked upward, scanning, measuring, reading the currents of mana that hummed invisibly above the city. The festival was meant to honor heroes, him, Sikoa, Solon, the brave few who had risked everything, but in the back of his mind, a dozen other faces haunted him. The students, archivists, and low-tier assistants who had perished in the inferno of the burning library. The necrotic storms. The invisible toll exacted by th
Chapter 371
Night had already swallowed Glassview when Sikoa stepped onto the first ridge of the city’s fractured rooftops. Her cloak, black as the void between stars, fluttered briefly in the wind, catching just enough moonlight to reveal the faint silver embroidery, a sigil she had traced herself, one of concealment and passage.The air carried the tang of smoke and ozone from the necrotic storms that had raged only days before. The city was still scarred, buildings leaning like broken teeth, mana wells flickering with residual corruption.She paused at a vantage point above what remained of the Lower Lime Quarter, surveying the streets below. The quiet was deceptive. Shadows moved in the alleys, some natural, some artificial, shaped by lingering Twin Moons wards that had survived the purge. Sikoa adjusted her gauntlet, fingertips brushing the engraved runes that hummed softly with protective magic. Every step tonight was deliberate, measured, calculated. No orphan, no hidden agent, no lin
Chapter 370
The council chamber of Glassview rose above the city, a patchwork of shattered architecture and hastily repaired towers. Cranes leaned against broken walls, scaffolding lined with banners flapping in the wind, but the chamber itself had been reinforced with layers of Skell energy, warded against collapse and intrusion.Caster Spellbound entered first, flanked by Sikoa. His robes, dark and unassuming, brushed against the stone floor. His aura was subtle but unmistakable: threads of Skell essence interlaced with mortal mana, radiating calm authority. The chamber’s energy grid hummed in recognition, every line of reinforced mana tuning to him.Across the room, representatives from Cloud Tower, Thorn Academy, and Iron Peak waited. Each was an imposing figure, marked by their own sigils and protective wards. Their eyes flicked toward him, weighing, judging, calculating. The air between them crackled with tension, as if the city itself held its breath.Caster did not rush. He paused at
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