2024-08-28 21:43:51
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Chapter 354
The first sign was the wind. It moved against the natural flow of the city, pushing low across the stone streets instead of rising. Dust slid sideways. Hanging banners twisted on their cords, then went still again. Caster stood on the roof of the auxiliary archive tower, coat unmoving, eyes fixed on the horizon.Glassview’s mana grid pulsed beneath the city like a second heartbeat. He did not need a focus lens anymore. He felt it directly. Each leyline anchor marked itself in his awareness, bright and ordered, interlocked in careful symmetry. And threaded through them, Something wrong.Caster raised his hand and traced a sigil in the air. The symbol did not glow. It simply existed, locking into the grid. Information flowed back to him in pressure and resistance.Necrotic mana. Thin. Patient. Embedded deep. He closed his fingers. The sigil collapsed.Below him, a group of students crossed the courtyard. One paused, rubbed his arms, and looked up at the sky.“Did you feel that?” the
Chapter 353
The first ripple passes through Glassview before dawn. No sound marks it. No light. The air tightens, then loosens, as if the city exhales after holding its breath too long. Windows shiver. Loose parchment slides across desks. Mana lamps flicker, dim, then burn steady again.In the upper districts, birds lift from rooftops all at once, startled, wings beating in uneven bursts.In the lower wards, a beggar pauses mid-step, hand pressed to a stone wall as frost creeps over his fingers and then fades.In the academic quarter, every mana-sensitive array stutters. Students wake choking on the taste of iron. Professors sit upright in bed, palms glowing without intent, runes spilling from their skin before snapping back into control. In the towers, senior scholars grip railings as the floors hum beneath their feet. Something has shifted. Not exploded. Not broken. Returned.Caster steps out into the morning street. The sky is pale, washed clean by early light. Cloud cover hangs thin and un
Chapter 352
The candles were already burning when Caster entered the chamber. They lined the walls in uneven rows, fixed into iron brackets hammered directly into the stone. No enchantments fueled them. No mana fed their flames. Each wick burned on oil alone, flickering low, casting thick shadows that pressed inward.The room felt smaller than it should have been. Mirrored sigils covered the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. They were etched shallow but precise, each one reflecting the next, forming a closed loop. The symbols did not glow. They waited.Sikoa sealed the door behind him. The sound of stone locking into place echoed once, then died.She checked the corridor seal again, palm pressed flat, eyes unfocused as she listened for movement beyond the wards. Nothing answered.Solon stood near the center circle, sleeves rolled back, hands stained with alchemical residue. Three stabilizer vials sat in a triangle around a low stone basin. Thin lines of powder connected them to the basin’s ri
Chapter 351
The first knock was not loud. It did not need to be. Caster felt it through the floor before the sound reached his ears. A measured pressure against the warded stone door. Two beats. A pause. One more. He did not turn.The Skell Dust in the containment rings pulsed in slow rhythm. The Baptism vial hovered above the workbench, locked in three nested sigils. Thin threads of light stretched from it to the stabilizer rods planted in the floor. Another knock. Caster adjusted a dial. The pulse steadied. “Enter,” he said.The door slid open with a grind of stone. Solon stepped inside. He did not comment on the scorch marks. He did not ask about the collapsed shelf or the faint black stains that had not fully faded from the floor. He closed the door behind him and stood still until the silence settled.His eyes went to the vial. Then to Caster’s arm. The faint discoloration along the veins had not fully receded.Solon removed his gloves one finger at a time and placed them on a clean slab.
Chapter 350
The air in the underground lab was thick with residual mana. Lanterns flickered, suspended from iron beams, their light uneven and wavering. Dust motes moved slowly through the shafts of illumination, but the shadows felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were absorbing sound.Caster crouched over the workbench, hands steady despite the tension threading through his veins. Several vials of Skell Dust sat in front of him, each labeled with careful precision. He had refined the measurements, controlled the doses. Each particle was deadly, but necessary.He inhaled sharply, traced the first line of a containment sigil over the largest vial, and whispered the calibration sequence. The dust pulsed inside the glass. Fine motes lifted, swirled, and shimmered like microstars, responding to his aura.Caster tipped the vial slightly, allowing a tiny fraction of the dust to fall onto the palm of his hand. The particles hovered, suspended by his Skell-tuned aura. A faint shimmer traced the
Chapter 349
Caster crouched over the low workbench in the sealed laboratory beneath the Lime archives. Lanterns hung from exposed iron beams, their light steady but faint, illuminating rows of glass vials, metal instruments, and carefully stacked notebooks. Each surface bore residue from past experiments, burn marks, faint mana traces, and the occasional smudge of a previous failure.He traced a finger along the edge of a polished vial. Inside, a thin liquid shimmered faintly, almost as if aware of his presence. The Skell essence pulsed in tandem with his heartbeat, restrained beneath multiple containment sigils he had carefully reinforced over hours.He set the vial down and scribbled notes on a thin slate. Symbols layered over older equations. Each line measured, precise, deliberate. He was refining his earlier theory, pushing beyond the flawed applications that had nearly destroyed him.Mana Baptism. The words burned themselves into the edges of his mind. A potion, a ritual, a process capa
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