The sky split open again.
Violet lightning danced across the obsidian spires of Vaelith Academy, jagged and unnatural. The survivors of the Reaping collapsed in the cracked Obsidian Plaza, gasping and broken. Some sobbed. Others stared blankly at the hollow space where so many had fallen.
Only one stood still.
Eryndor Vaelith narrowed his crimson eyes as the air thickened. The cold voice returned, no longer mechanical but watching.
[Candidate Eryndor Vaelith: Deviation Level Critical.]
[Initiating Immediate Correction.]
The world froze.
Screams halted mid-breath. Flames stilled into silent sculptures. Mana ceased its chaotic dance. Even the cursed beasts were caught in eerie stillness, frozen in mid-hunt like grotesque statues.
Eryndor exhaled slowly.
So. They had finally come.
The ground beneath his boots dissolved into black mist. The Plaza, the sky, the corpses—all erased into a void of shifting fractal geometry. Eryndor floated alone in an endless expanse of collapsing code.
Then it appeared.
The Arbiter.
A humanoid silhouette wrapped in flowing strands of blinding white-gold data, featureless save for a constantly shifting array of runes where a face should be. Its voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
"Candidate Eryndor Vaelith. You have exceeded acceptable divergence parameters."
Eryndor did not move. His heartbeat stayed calm.
"You've finally shown yourself," he murmured.
"You threaten the structural stability of the Academy timeline. You were meant to die in the Labyrinth of the Lost. You interfered. You deviated. You corrupted multiple sub-narrative threads."
The Arbiter raised a hand. Infinite paths flickered behind it: thousands of potential timelines branching and dying. All collapsed inward toward Eryndor.
"Correction must be applied."
Eryndor's eyes narrowed.
The temperature plummeted.
The pressure of pure System authority crushed toward him. Walls of broken memories assaulted his mind. Alternate versions of himself failing, dying, erased before they ever spoke. Versions that never existed.
The Academy collapsing into fire.
The Lost Ones dying forgotten.
His own body vaporized into nothing.
"You cannot resist. This is the end," the Arbiter intoned.
Eryndor's lips twitched upward faintly.
"I've read this script before."
The pressure intensified.
The void trembled as layer after layer of System reality attempted to crush him into compliance. Eryndor clenched his fists tightly, cold sweat sliding down his temple. His mind wavered on the edge of breaking.
The System whispered promises of peace if he surrendered.
Oblivion. Escape from the pain. Release from the endless struggle.
Eryndor gritted his teeth.
No.
Not again.
Through the storm of collapsing futures, he focused on a single constant: he had never been part of their perfect script. He had walked paths the System never predicted, even before he awoke in this cursed world. Knowledge was his weapon. Defiance his creed.
"You're making a mistake," Eryndor said quietly.
The Arbiter paused.
"Explain."
Eryndor raised his head, crimson eyes gleaming sharp beneath the crushing weight.
"I am too entangled. You eliminate me, and half your threads unravel with me. You know it. That's why you hesitate."
The Arbiter's runes flickered violently.
[System Error: Anomaly too deeply integrated.]
[Deletion Protocol: Failure Imminent.]
[Observation Mode Reinstated.]
[Risk Level: Omega.]
[Subject to continuous monitoring.]
The crushing pressure lifted.
The void splintered.
Reality came back in a violent surge.
The frozen battlefield snapped into motion. Screams returned. Flames roared back to life. The wounded resumed their agonized moans.
No one noticed that Eryndor had vanished for seconds outside of time itself.
Except him.
The System's cold voice echoed one last time in his mind.
[You cannot win, Eryndor Vaelith.]
Eryndor stared up at the broken violet sky as the shadows of the Thrones loomed above.
"We'll see."
The bell tolled. Once. Twice. Three times.
A new message burned crimson in the air above the stunned survivors.
[All candidates. Prepare.]
[First Academy Faction Trial to commence in 24 hours.]
[The Academy's Faction War begins.]
Eryndor's cold smile returned.
Time to gather his Lost Ones.