The sound of laughter echoed through the Sun Tower's grand hall.
Nola sat cross-legged on the floor, breathless with giggles, as Maika slammed her palm onto the glowing sigil board between them.
"I invoke Scorch Rune!" Maika shouted. "Prepare to burn, peasant!"
"Oh no you don't-!"
Too late.
A red glyph lit beneath Nola's hand and sparked with a zap that made her jerk backward.
"Ah! Maika!"
Maika grinned, wicked and victorious. "You knew the stakes. Don't challenge a sigil queen."
"That's not even a real title," Nola groaned, shaking out her fingers. "You just made that up."
"And yet here I am, undefeated."
The board game of Sigil Clash was banned in at least three towers due to minor injuries and excessive yelling. Which, in Maika's opinion, made it better.
For the first time in days, Nola felt light. Normal.
No shadows in the halls. No burning golden orbs. No monsters. Just a day free of classes, two cups of coffee from the refectory, and an illegal board game glowing between them on the floor.
Taveer was still in class, Advanced Defensive Spellcraft, because of course he was in. He took school like it was a battlefield. When she teased him about it earlier, he just gave her that long-suffering stare and handed her half his toast.
Typical Taveer. Stoic affection in edible form.
Brielle had finally been discharged from the infirmary. The healers said she was clear of lingering trauma threads, but Nola could see the residue.
Brielle's smile didn't sit right. Her eyes moved too fast, always scanning corners. The orb hadn't broken her but it had left something behind.
Still, she was standing. That was something.
That was enough.
Later, Nola stood on the tower balcony, the coffee still warm in her hands. The wind lifted her hair as she leaned into the stone railing.
Below, the academy grounds were blanketed in layered security glyphs, binding rings, mana suppressors, light-channel tracers. Officers from the four Legions patrolled in formation, their armor glinting in the dusk.
Even outside Sun Tower alone, she counted six guards. Eclipse, Void and Sun uniforms mingled like a patchwork of power.
And for once, that sight didn't make her nervous.
It made her feel seen.
Safe.
They hadn't forgotten. They were taking the orb incidents seriously. For the first time since the Comet Tower, Nola allowed herself to believe that maybe someone would stop this.
Maybe the nightmare was ending.
She let her eyes drift toward the Central Tower, its spire piercing the clouds like a blade.
It stood still and quiet. Too quiet.
She frowned.
And then forced herself to look away.
Far below the surface, behind layers of silence wards and buried corridors, Soren Vale knelt on stone.
The chamber was low and dim, lined with forged glyphs still hot from use. His hands rested on his thighs, blackened with soot and shimmer dust.
Beside him, Elian knelt in the same posture. Her robes were scorched at the hem. Her braid had come loose, but she hadn't bothered fixing it.
They were both exhausted.
But it was done.
Thirty-two golden orbs. Forged. Stabilized. Sealed.
And now the Mediator stood in front of them.
A veil over his mask.
A strip of black cloth shimmered across his face like oil-slick silk, hiding everything and nothing. Light bent wrong around him. Even standing still, he moved.
His voice cut the quiet.
"You have done well."
Neither of them looked up.
The only sound was the steady hum of controlled mana, clinging to the edges of the room like fog.
"Thirty-two artifacts," the Mediator said. "All activated. All stable. And yet, no wards triggered. No suspicion. The school remains blind."
He took a step closer.
Soren's stomach twisted.
"You will take them," the Mediator said. "All of them. To the Central Tower."
That word.
That location.
Soren blinked once. His fingers tensed against his thighs.
"There, they will resonate. They will awaken. And I will take care of the rest."
Something in those words made the air colder.
Soren lifted his head slightly.
"With respect," he asked, carefully, "what happens to the orbs once they resonate?"
The veil shimmered as the Mediator turned to him. The pressure in the room doubled.
"You were told to obey," the Mediator said. "Not to question."
Soren lowered his eyes again.
"Yes, Mediator."
But his chest felt tight.
And the fear wasn't fading.
Back in the corridor, long after the Mediator vanished in smoke and silence, Soren leaned against the cold wall, arms crossed tightly.
Elian paced.
Her steps echoed.
"It doesn't make sense," she muttered. "We were going to map the leyline surges first. Seed the outer towers. Start slow."
"One orb. One reaction. One gate."
She stopped, facing him.
"Now he wants all thirty-two in the heart of the campus?"
Soren said nothing.
She laughed once, a bitter, cracked laugh.
"He's not preparing anymore. He's detonating."
Soren pressed a hand to his chest, where one of the prototype orbs still pulsed against his shirt.
"He doesn't care if we survive," Elian whispered.
"No," Soren said. "He doesn't."
Her voice shook. "Then why are we still doing this?"
He looked up at her.
Tired. Raw.
"Because we don't know what happens if we stop."
Elian's face twisted.
"So we're just tools now?"
"We've always been tools," Soren said. "We just didn't realize how sharp."
She turned away, fists clenched.
"I'm not letting him use my father as leverage anymore," she said. "I don't care what happens. If he tries to-"
"Then what?" Soren asked quietly. "We tell the Legions? Tell the Headmasters we helped create living rift bombs?"
She said nothing.
The weight between them was too heavy.
"You still want to save him?" Soren asked.
"Of course I do."
"Then we finish this," he said. "We finish it our way. Not his."
She turned back slowly. "What are you saying?"
Soren looked past her. Toward the sealed vault. Toward the orbs.
"We take them to the Central Tower," he said. "But we don't follow his plan."
Elian's breath caught.
"We make our own."