Chapter 33: Fractured Loyalties
The underbelly of Astra Academy was a place few ever saw. Beneath the gleaming spires and manicured lawns lay a labyrinth of cold stone corridors, lit only by faint luminescent runes etched into the walls centuries ago. The air grew heavier the deeper one descended, thick with the weight of ancient wards and unspoken secrets. At the very heart of this underground maze stood a single vaulted chamber, sealed by a door of obsidian and silver. Behind it rested the Crystal of Elysara—the academy's most sacred relic, a pulsating orb of pure arcane energy said to hold the balance of the world itself.
A shadow moved through the dim light, footsteps echoing softly against the flagstones. The figure paused before the door, cloak whispering against the floor. Moonlight filtering through a narrow grate above caught the edge of pale skin and raven-black hair. Lucia Raventhorn, ranked fifth among the Holy Ones—the elite guardians handpicked by the academy's council—raised a hand. His fingers traced an intricate sigil in the air, glowing faintly with crimson runes. An incantation formed on his lips, low and deliberate, the words ancient and forbidden.
But he was not alone.
From the darkness behind him, another presence materialized like a ghost uncoiling from the shadows. Zeek Voss, Prefect Number 10, stepped forward with measured calm. His uniform was impeccable despite the late hour, silver badges glinting on his collar. His eyes—sharp, unblinking—fixed on Lucia with the intensity of a predator who had finally cornered its prey.
"I've been watching you, Raventhorn," Zeek said, his voice steady but laced with accusation. "For weeks now. The anomalies in the wards, the unexplained breaches in security, the whispers of chaos spreading through the ranks... I knew it traced back to someone high up. Someone trusted. And tonight, you proved me right."
Lucia paused mid-incantation, his hand still hovering in the air. He didn't turn around immediately. Instead, a slow, serene smile curved his lips. He lowered his arm and finally faced Zeek, his expression one of mild amusement, as if greeting an old friend who'd arrived late to a party.
Zeek continued, undeterred. "You think you can play games with the academy's stability? Stirring confusion among the lower ranks, sabotaging the protective barriers, all while wearing that mask of loyalty? The Holy Ones are meant to protect this place, not tear it apart from within. Whatever your endgame is, it ends here. I'll drag you before the council myself and—"
"Are you quite finished?" Lucia interrupted softly, his voice smooth as silk, utterly calm. The smile never left his face. He tilted his head slightly, as if indulging a child mid-tantrum.
Zeek's jaw tightened. "You—"
Lucia gave a subtle nod, almost imperceptible.
The air behind Zeek shifted. A blur of motion, too fast for mortal eyes. Then—a wet, sickening crunch.
A hand burst through Zeek's chest from behind, fingers clenched around his still-beating heart. Blood sprayed across the stone floor in a warm arc. Zeek's eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in a ragged gasp. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head.
Standing there, arm buried to the elbow in his back, was Elijah Kane—Prefect Number 4. His face was split in a lazy, mocking grin, as if he'd just pulled off a harmless prank.
Zeek's lips moved soundlessly, blood bubbling at the corners. His body slumped forward as Elijah withdrew his hand with a casual flick, the heart crumpling lifelessly to the ground.
"You always make me do the dirty work, Lucia," Elijah complained jokingly, wiping his bloodied hand on his sleeve. He kicked Zeek's falling body aside like discarded trash. The prefect hit the floor with a thud, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, life fading in seconds.
Lucia chuckled, a low, genuine sound of amusement. "It suits you, Elijah. That brutish flair of yours."
Elijah shrugged, stepping over the corpse. "Fair enough. But seriously—why not bring Zeek in on this? He's a prefect, after all. Solid fighter, loyal to a fault. Could've been useful."
Lucia's smile faded slightly, turning thoughtful. "Loyalty is overrated when it lacks vision. Zeek... he never lived up to my expectations. Too rigid. Too bound by the old rules. He would have hesitated at the crucial moment."
Elijah nodded, accepting it without further argument. Together, they approached the obsidian door. Lucia completed the sigil he'd begun earlier, and with a resonant hum, the wards unraveled. The door swung open silently, revealing the chamber beyond.
There, on a pedestal of white marble, floated the Crystal of Elysara. It glowed with an ethereal blue light, pulsing like a living heartbeat. Veins of energy danced across its surface, illuminating the room in waves of azure radiance.
"At last," Elijah breathed, eyes gleaming with triumph. "After all the trouble—the plans, the misdirections, the sacrifices—we've made it."
Lucia stepped forward, reaching out toward the crystal. His fingers brushed its surface...
And then froze.
From his fingertips upward, his hand began to petrify—skin turning to gray stone, cracks spiderwebbing across the flesh. Yet Lucia did not panic. His smile returned, wider than before.
"So," he murmured, "you're not dead yet, Zeek."
A groan echoed from the corridor. Zeek—impossibly—pushed himself up from the pool of his own blood. His chest wound gaped horribly, blood soaking his uniform, but his eyes burned with defiance. A faint aura shimmered around him, threads of temporal energy weaving through the air.
Elijah's grin faltered for the first time. "Seems we underestimated him a little."
Lucia examined his stone hand with detached curiosity, then pressed his lips to it in a mock kiss. Dark mist coiled from his breath, seeping into the petrified flesh. The stone crumbled away, restoring his hand to normal. "You forget, Zeek," he said calmly. "My mist devours all illusions—even those woven from time itself."
Zeek straightened, wiping blood from his mouth. A wry smile tugged at his lips despite the pain. "And you two forgot about my magic. I am a Watcher. I control time... and memories."
He snapped his fingers.
The world shattered.
One moment, they stood in the underground chamber. The next, reality warped around them. Stone dissolved into sand. The ceiling vanished into an endless starry sky. They were in a vast desert now—rolling dunes under a merciless sun, heat shimmering in waves. No academy, no crystal. Just endless emptiness.
Elijah laughed, a sharp bark of genuine delight. "Interesting. Just interesting. Zeek, are you really intending to take us both on by yourself?"
Zeek's smile didn't waver. "You'll never understand me."
In the blink of an eye, he vanished.
Lucia spun, mist already coiling around his form like living shadows—but too late. Zeek reappeared behind him, fist empowered by temporal acceleration. The punch connected with Lucia's spine, sending him flying forward into a dune with bone-crushing force. Sand exploded outward.
Elijah reacted instantly, whispering ancient words under his breath. Spectral hands erupted from the ground—ethereal spirits bound to his will, clawing toward Zeek with ghostly wails.
Zeek sidestepped, time slowing around him in a bubble. The spirits' grasps crawled in sluggish motion while he danced between them. He snapped again, rewinding a spirit's attack mid-lunge, forcing it to phase through its own ally.
"You're fast," Elijah admitted, summoning more. Dozens now—wraiths with hollow eyes, chains rattling. "But how long can you keep dodging?"
Zeek didn't answer. He blurred forward, appearing before Elijah and unleashing a barrage of strikes. Each punch accelerated time on impact, aging Elijah's blocking arms prematurely—skin wrinkling, muscles straining as years compressed into seconds.
Elijah grimaced but whispered sharper commands. A massive spirit manifested—a hulking revenant of bone and shadow—slamming down like a meteor. Zeek rolled aside, the impact cratering the sand. He countered by freezing time around the revenant, then shattering it with a memory overwrite: forcing the spirit to "remember" it had never been summoned.
Lucia rose from the dune, brushing sand off his cloak. Mist poured from his sleeves, thickening into a fog that blanketed the desert. Within it, shadows moved—illusions born of dark tracking magic. He locked onto Zeek's aura, tendrils of mist lashing out like whips.
One caught Zeek's leg, corroding flesh with dark energy. Zeek hissed in pain but rewound the injury, time flowing backward to heal the wound. He charged Lucia, fists glowing with temporal distortions.
Their clash was brutal. Lucia parried with mist barriers, each block absorbing impact and redirecting it. Zeek phased through one, landing a kick that sent Lucia skidding back. But Lucia smiled, countering with a burst of mist that enveloped Zeek—disorienting, filled with false memories of defeat.
Zeek shook it off, erasing the implanted recollections. "Pathetic tricks."
Elijah joined the fray from the flank, spirits swarming. Zeek slowed time globally, moving like a phantom while his enemies crawled. He struck Elijah in the ribs—crack—then Lucia across the jaw. Blood flew.
But the strain showed. Blood loss from his earlier wound weakened him; each temporal manipulation drained more life.
Elijah coughed blood but laughed. "You're good, Zeek. Really. But two against one? And we're not holding back anymore."
Lucia nodded. Mist condensed into blades—dozens of shadowy scimitars hovering around him. Elijah's whispers grew louder, summoning a legion: spectral warriors, banshees, even a draconic wraith roaring with necrotic fire.
The assault was relentless.
Zeek dodged, rewound, erased. He aged a swarm of spirits to dust, froze mist blades mid-air and shattered them. He appeared behind Elijah, snapping his neck—only for a spirit to possess Elijah momentarily, healing the break with dark essence.
Lucia tracked every move, mist predicting trajectories. A blade grazed Zeek's shoulder, dark magic seeping in, slowing his time control.
Zeek panted, blood dripping. He erased the corruption, but slower now.
They pressed harder. Elijah's wraiths pinned Zeek's shadows, forcing him to burn energy freeing himself. Lucia's mist formed a dome, trapping them in a arena of swirling darkness.
Zeek broke free with a massive time surge—rewinding the entire dome's formation—but it cost him. His vision blurred, wounds reopening.
"You're tiring," Lucia observed calmly. "How many more rewinds before your heart gives out again?"
Zeek grinned through bloodied teeth. "Enough to make you regret this."
He vanished once more, reappearing above them, fist cocked for a devastating drop. Time accelerated on his descent—impact like a comet.
It connected with Elijah's guard, cratering the sand and launching him backward. But Lucia was there, mist coiling into chains that bound Zeek mid-air.
Spirits swarmed. Claws raked, whispers eroded his mind with forgotten pains.
Zeek shattered the chains, erased the mental assaults. He fought like a demon—punching through wraiths, rewinding fatal blows on himself, overwriting memories to make attacks "never happen."
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The desert was scarred—craters, shattered spirits reforming, mist regenerating endlessly.
Zeek landed blow after blow. He fractured Lucia's arm, aged Elijah's leg to frailty temporarily. But they adapted. Lucia's tracking grew precise; Elijah's summons endless.
A mist blade pierced Zeek's side. He rewound it—but slower.
A wraith's claw tore his back. Erased—but blood loss mounted.
Finally, exhausted, Zeek stood amid the chaos, breathing ragged. "I... won't let you... take it."
Lucia and Elijah circled him, barely winded. Dark aura flared.
"Tough bastard," Elijah muttered respectfully.
Lucia raised a hand. Mist and spirits merged into a singular cataclysm—a vortex of darkness and wailing souls.
Zeek poured everything into one last stand. Time froze around him. He charged.
But they were ready.
As time resumed, the vortex engulfed him. Blades of mist and spectral fangs tore into him from all sides.
Zeek fought through—punching, rewinding, erasing. He reached Lucia, fist connecting one final time.
Lucia staggered.
But Elijah's hand pierced Zeek's chest again—this time for good. Spirits held him in place as dark magic flooded his wounds, preventing any rewind.
Zeek coughed blood, smiling faintly. "You... won't... win forever."
He slumped, life fading.
Lucia straightened, wiping blood from his lip. "Perhaps not. But today... we do."
The desert faded as the illusion shattered. They were back in the chamber, the crystal waiting untouched.
Zeek's body lay still, a final guardian fallen.
But in his dying eyes, a spark lingered—a memory planted, perhaps. A warning for those who would come next.