Adam opened his eyes to a world of pain and ringing silence. He lay on his back, staring up at the smoke-filled ceiling of the Portal Hall, his ears filled with a high-pitched whine that drowned out all other sound. The explosion had thrown him hard against a broken piece of machinery, and for a long moment he could only breathe, feeling the ache in his ribs with each shallow inhale.
Slowly, the world came back into focus. The ringing began to fade, replaced by the distant crackle of dying flames and the groans of stressed stone. He pushed himself up on one elbow, coughing as smoke curled into his lungs.
Around him, the others stirred.
Raven was the first to rise, pushing himself off the floor with a grunt. A deep gash above his eyebrow bled freely down his face, but his eyes were already scanning, assessing, calculating. He moved to Wren, who was curled against the wall, and placed a glowing hand on his brother's shoulder. The golden light pulsed, and Wren's pained expression eased.
Lira was already on her feet, swaying slightly but upright. Her reinforced gauntlet was cracked down the middle, the metal plates hanging loose, but she flexed her fingers and nodded to herself. She was still functional.
Cain picked himself up from behind a chunk of rubble, his chakram held loosely in one hand. He spat blood onto the stone and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. Chris sat nearby, leaning against Caspian, who looked dazed but unhurt. The big man with the greatsword blinked slowly, then shook his head like a dog coming out of water.
The Portal Hall was a wreck. The shattered accumulator smoked in its crater, its crystal face completely gone, leaving only a blackened, glowing scar in the stone. Above it, the portal was dead. The swirling vortex of purple and black had collapsed into nothing, leaving only a dark, empty arch where horrors had poured through moments before. The oppressive hum that had vibrated in their teeth for what felt like hours was gone, replaced by a silence that felt almost louder.
Through the main doors, movement caught Adam's eye. Instructors and academy guards were flooding into the hall, their abilities flaring as they engaged the remaining beasts. The stronger creatures that had pinned them earlier were falling, overwhelmed now that the endless tide had stopped. A crystalline lizard roared and collapsed under a barrage of coordinated attacks. A pack of flyers scattered, only to be picked off one by one by ranged fighters.
A senior instructor spotted them, his face streaked with soot and blood. "You students! Infirmary! Now! That's an order!"
Adam nodded automatically, but his feet did not move toward the door. He looked back at his team. Lira met his gaze and gave a short, tired nod. Raven's expression was grim but determined. Wren pushed himself off the wall, his face pale but set.
They walked past the instructor, ignoring his shouts, and stepped out of the Portal Hall into the courtyard.
The scene outside was one of aftermath. The frantic battle had given way to the grim work of cleanup. Bodies of beasts littered the flagstones in heaps. Students and instructors moved among them, checking for survivors, administering aid. The sounds of combat were replaced by the moans of the wounded and the sharp commands of those organizing the response.
Adam did not stop. He walked with purpose toward the Administration building, his boots leaving prints in the blood-slicked stone. Behind him, his team followed without question. Lira's heavy steps. Raven's measured pace. Wren's lighter footfalls. And behind them, Cain, Chris, and Caspian, who had fought alongside them and now would see it through to the end.
They entered the administrative wing. The contrast was stark. Here, there were no bodies of beasts, no signs of the larger battle. But the hallways told their own story. Blood smeared the walls in places. A toppled statue lay broken across the floor. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and iron.
They walked for several minutes, following the trail of destruction. The sounds of the outside world faded behind them, replaced by the hollow echo of their own footsteps. Finally, they turned a corner and found him.
Instructor Garrick sat propped against the wall near his ruined office. His eyes were closed, his massive frame slumped in exhaustion. His armor was a ruin. Deep dents covered the chest plate. Long cracks spiderwebbed across the pauldrons. Blood had dried in dark streaks down his arms and legs, painting a grim picture of the battle he had fought. But the worst wounds were closed, sealed by the healing potion whose empty vial lay on its side nearby. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths.
He looked like a man who had fought a war and barely survived.
The group approached slowly, their footsteps echoing in the quiet hall. Garrick's eyes fluttered open at the sound. For a moment, they were unfocused, lost in pain and exhaustion. Then they found Adam's face, and recognition flickered in their depths. He opened his mouth as if to speak, to warn them, to tell them something important.
Then his eyes closed again, and his head lolled to the side. Unconscious.
Raven was already moving forward, his hands glowing with the soft gold of his healing ability. He knelt beside the instructor, checking his pulse, his breathing, the state of his wounds. "He's stable. But he needs proper care. We can't leave him here."
Together, they lifted the massive instructor. It took all of them. Caspian took the heaviest portion, his great strength straining under the weight. Adam and Raven supported the shoulders. Lira and Cain took the legs. Wren and Chris cleared the path ahead, moving fallen debris out of the way.
They carried him back through the halls, retracing their steps to the infirmary. The journey was slow, laborious, each step a reminder of their own exhaustion. But they did not stop. They laid him on a cot, and Raven stayed long enough to ensure the healers took over before turning away.
The walk back to the administrative building was silent. No one spoke. There was nothing to say. They all knew what waited below.
Down the spiraling stairs they went, into the cold, damp air of the basement levels. The crystal lights embedded in the walls cast a pale blue glow over the ancient stone, creating long, dancing shadows that seemed to move with them. The temperature dropped with each step. The air grew heavy, pressing against their ears.
They followed the corridor to its end. The passage opened into a wider chamber, and there, looming before them, was the vault door. Massive, circular, made of reinforced bluesteel etched with protective runes that still flickered with residual magic. It stood slightly ajar.
And on the floor before it lay two bodies.
They wore fitted combat armor in forest green, edged with black and gold piping. Reviver agents. One was a huge man, a mountain of muscle even in death. His throat had been opened by a wound so deep and clean that it spoke of a blade wielded with terrible precision. He lay on his back, his massive shield beside him, his eyes staring at nothing.
The second was smaller, leaner. His body was twisted, one arm bent at an unnatural angle. A pool of blood had spread beneath him, dark and thick, now beginning to congeal. His eyes were still open, frozen in an expression of surprise and fear.
Wren's face went pale. He looked away, his jaw tight. Lira stared, her expression unreadable but her hands clenched into fists. Adam felt something cold settle in his stomach, a weight that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
They stepped over the bodies and through the open doors.
The chamber beyond was vast, far larger than the corridor suggested. It stretched back into darkness, lined with shelves and pedestals that had once held who knew what. Ancient relics. Forbidden artifacts. The things the Revivers had come to steal.
At its center, five figures stood near a glowing device that hummed with power. The machine was complex, a web of cables and crystals connected to a large, sealed container that pulsed with a soft, internal light. Four of the figures were Reviver agents, their green armor unmistakable. They worked quickly, efficiently, dismantling wards and disconnecting cables with practiced ease.
The fifth was Kael.
He stood apart from them, facing a man Adam recognized instantly. The instructor from the hallway. The one who had smirked when he bumped into Kael. Tobey.
Kael was a wreck. His face was swollen, one eye nearly closed. His lip was split and bloody, dripping onto his torn shirt. Shallow cuts covered his arms and torso, some still seeping red. He held his daggers low, his stance wavering with exhaustion. He had been fighting, and losing, for a long time.
Tobey noticed them first. He had been toying with Kael, feinting and dodging, drawing out the fight like a cat with a wounded mouse. But now he stopped, his head turning toward the newcomers. A wide, cruel smile spread across his face.
"Well, well," Tobey said, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. It was calm, amused, the tone of a man who held all the cards. "I was just thinking of a way to keep my promise to you, Kael. But now the promise has delivered itself to me."
He laughed, a cold, grating sound that bounced off the stone walls.
"How convenient. Wait just a moment. Let me complete it."
Kael's face, already pale, went white. The color drained completely, leaving him looking like a ghost. His eyes widened, not with fear for himself, but with a deeper, more terrible dread. He understood something the others didn't. He knew what Tobey's promise meant.
With a desperate cry, Kael lunged forward. His dagger aimed for Tobey's throat, a final, hopeless attack born of pure desperation.
The blade passed through empty air.
Tobey's form dissolved. It did not fade or step away. It crumbled, collapsing into dark dust that scattered on