Minutes before the sky tore apart, the city of Valoria reveled in celebration.
The Festival of Lights was in full swing. The streets overflowed with citizens celebrating the centennial of the First Heroine's victory over the Great Demon. Even the Arcanum Bellator—usually a bastion of solitude and strict military discipline—had thrown its colossal iron gates open to the public.
The vast courtyards and gardens of The Grove were adorned with thousands of Aether Lamps, casting a warm glow in shades of amber and gold.
Cadets strolled proudly among nobles, merchants, and visiting military rangers. Clad in their formal robes and dress jackets, the sea of black and gray was punctuated by the pride of The Five Pillars: red, blue, green, purple, and black sashes and cravats gleaming beneath the magical light.
In the center of the main courtyard, the atmosphere was intoxicating.
Eliana Dawnshield held a crystal glass of spiced apple cider. Her black cloak with sapphire-blue trim draped elegantly over her shoulders. Beside her, Lyla Moonshadow laughed softly at a comment from a Caelum cadet. They were the very picture of the Academy's youth and prestige, utterly oblivious to the nightmare brewing in the west wing.
The only one not celebrating was Rikka.
The wolf-girl of House Umbra crouched on the thick branch of an old oak tree, far from the crowd. She hated festivals. She hated the overwhelming noise, the stench of expensive perfumes mixed with cinnamon and alcohol, and above all, she hated that her Alpha wasn't there. Her ears twitched restlessly back and forth.
"You should come down and try the cider, Rikka!" Lyla called up to her, raising her glass with a smile. "It's sweet!"
Rikka wrinkled her nose and growled under her breath. She was about to reply that sugar was for the weak, when the entire world went silent.
It felt as if the very air had been drawn out of the Academy's courtyards. The orchestra of bards ceased playing abruptly, the strings of their lutes pulling taut and snapping in perfect, eerie unison.
Then came the tremor.
The explosion.
The shockwave slammed into the courtyard with the force of an unseen hurricane. Crystal goblets shattered in the students' hands. Dozens of Aether Lamps extinguished in an instant, raining hot sparks over the crowd. Nobles and commoners alike were thrown to the ground, screaming in sheer terror as the earth violently heaved.
Rikka clung to the branch, her golden pupils dilating completely as she stared westward.
From the tower of Grimshaw's office, a colossal and unnatural beam pierced the night sky. It was a pillar of crimson fire intertwined with absolute, purple darkness.
The beam struck the celestial vault and, with a deafening crack that made several bystanders' ears bleed, reality itself fractured. A black, festering wound tore open in the sky above Arcanum Bellator. Arcs of Void energy began to rain down from the Rift, hammering against the Academy's magical wards, which flickered dangerously under the assault.
Chaos erupted.
The shouts of celebration turned into howls of panic. The civilian crowd stampeded toward the main gates, trampling one another.
"To arms!" roared the magically amplified voice of a Proctor from the battlements.
The instructors and Valorian soldiers drew their weapons. The first and second-year cadets were paralyzed with terror, but the third-years, forged in The Great Crucible, began to react.
Eliana Dawnshield tossed aside her broken glass.
The noble of Aether did not panic. She simply unsheathed her steel sword, its blade glowing with bright blue runes.
"Squad Seven, to me!" Eliana shouted, her commanding voice cutting through the general hysteria. "Terra cadets, form a defensive perimeter around the civilians! Aether, raise kinetic shields against the debris! Do not break formation!"
Lyla rushed to her side, her hands already glowing with green healing magic.
The students began to rally behind Eliana's natural authority. All except one.
Rikka paid no mind to the orders.
From her perch in the tree, the wolf-girl sniffed the wind blowing from the destroyed tower. Through the stench of ozone and scorched stone, she caught a scent that froze her blood. It was molten iron. And it was Phantsin's blood.
The Alpha is hurt.
Rikka didn't think twice. She leapt from the tree, completely ignoring the defensive line Eliana was forming.
"Rikka, return to formation!" Eliana yelled, reaching out a hand to stop her.
"My place is with the Alpha!" snarled the girl of Umbra.
She ducked beneath Eliana's arm and broke into a suicidal sprint against the tide of fleeing civilians, heading straight toward the epicenter of the destruction in the west wing.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Valoria, far from the screams of the Academy, the imposing Seamo Manor shuddered.
In the upper-floor windows, the glass vibrated violently as the magical shockwave swept across the city. The night sky, usually serene, was now illuminated by the macabre violet glare of the Rift.
Ellie, the elven maid, dropped the silver tray she was carrying. The glasses shattered against the marble floor. Her arcane sensitivity nearly made her faint; the wound in the fabric of reality felt like a knife dragging directly across her own mind.
"By the Founders!" Ellie gasped. Gathering her skirts, she stumbled into a frantic run down the long corridor toward the main study.
She threw open the double oak doors without knocking.
Master Seamo stood before the massive window, his hands clasped behind his back. He observed the Rift in the sky with the exact same clinical coldness with which he evaluated a ledger.
"Master," Ellie said, breathless, her amethyst eyes brimming with tears of anguish. "Arcanum Bellator... the resonance is horrifying. It's pure abyssal magic. Young Master Phantsin must be right at the center of it! We have to send help!"
Seamo did not turn immediately. The reflection of the purple lightning danced across his inscrutable dark glasses.
"Calm yourself, Ellianora," Seamo replied, his voice monotone and devoid of urgency. "The boy detonated the valve. It is a tactical disaster of colossal proportions, yes, but it is his disaster."
The Master walked over to his mahogany desk and pressed a green communication crystal.
"Captain of the Guard. Mobilize our contingent of the Dawnblades order. Have them equip runic steel and full plate armor. Tell them to stand by."
Ellie let out a sigh of relief, but her hope was immediately extinguished by Seamo's next command.
"However, keep them in reserve on the royal castle grounds. Protect the castle. No one rides for the Academy."
"What?!" Ellie exclaimed, shedding all decorum. "Master, they'll kill him! Either the demons from the Rift, or the Inquisition for having opened it!"
Seamo looked at her coldly.
"If I send my knights to rescue him now, the Inquisition will permanently label him a heretic protected by my money. The boy must fight this battle to prove he is ready. That he can tame the beast without an external leash. If he dies, it was a bad investment. If he survives, he will be untouchable."
"He is only a child!" the elf sobbed.
"Phantsin is no child."
A voice resonated from the doorway. Flower Dawnfire.
She was twelve years old now, and innocence had long since abandoned her eyes.
She already wore a traveling cloak fastened over her shoulders, and in her right hand, she firmly gripped the Staff of the Green Heart.
Seamo arched an eyebrow, intrigued.
"I am going to find my brother," Flower declared, her voice steady. She wasn't asking for permission; she was stating a fact.
"The city is in chaos, child," Seamo warned, crossing his arms. "If you walk out those doors, you will face things your magic is not yet ready for."
"He faced things he wasn't ready for to protect me," Flower retorted, striking the base of her staff against the wooden floor. "Ellie, tell the stables to prepare my carriage."
The elven maid looked at Seamo, waiting for an order to stop the girl. But Seamo merely smiled—a crooked smile full of predatory fascination. He made a slight gesture with his hand, authorizing it. Ellie nodded quickly and ran after the girl.
Seamo remained alone in the study, turning his attention back to the wound in the sky.