Days passed.
Then weeks.
And before anyone could properly mark when it happened, The Lunarium stopped being new. It stopped being shocking. It stopped being heretical.
It simply… became part of Nocturne.
At the edge of the district, the Lunarium's front stood tall.
Amethyst-lined. Gold-laced. A structure that once drew whispers, fear, and outrage had now drawn nothing more than passing glances.
Witches walked past it on their way to errands. Supernaturals lingered outside, discussing enrollment as if it were any other institution. Even the markets nearby had adapted—vendors selling charms, tools, and items specifically tailored for students attending the Lunarium.
It has integrated itself into the daily lives of the citizens of Nocturne. Seamlessly I dare say.
Naturally.
And that—
Was what made it dangerous.
Because not everyone had accepted it. Some simply stopped resisting. Others, they started planning.
Circe Welsch, Aurora's grandmother, walked past the Lunarium as she did every morning.
Same path. Same pace. Same expression.
As usual, she gazes towards it cold and unmoving.
Her sharp eyes lingered on the structure just a second longer than usual.
"What an eyesore," she muttered under her breath.
She couldn't for the life of her believe that the same people who had treated this Heretical Witch with such disdain, are now treating her with admiration for everything she's doing.
That—
Irritated her more than open defiance ever could.
She continued her walk in silence before returning home.
The Welsch estate stood unchanged. Still elegant, composed, untouched by the shifting tides outside.
Inside, everything was where it should be.
Stable. Controlled. Predictable.
Just as it had always been. She removed her coat and placed it neatly on the rack by the entrance.
"Mother." Her daughter, Aurora's mother, stood at the hallway entrance.
"They're here."
Circe didn't ask who. She already knew.
The guest room was prepared. Tea already served. Three figures sat waiting.
One could see they were not ordinary witches. But of course, they were not at the level of the Senate. Nor did they carry the overwhelming presence of the Panthera or Raven families.
They were something else—
Old power like that of the Welsh. They had influence, but not enough.
Fidelia Valemont. Rowena Delyth. Lorelei Aurelion. Each one carried the weight of centuries. Each one carried the quiet resentment of being left behind.
Fidelia Valemont sat with her usual composed looks, her silver-threaded robes layered perfectly, not a crease out of place. Her gaze was calm, calculating. As if every word spoken in this room was already being recorded, categorized, and archived somewhere in the endless libraries her family governed.
Rowena Delyth remained still. Too still. Her dark garments bore faint, worn sigils, marks of rituals long abandoned by modern witches. Her eyes were distant, unreadable, as if she existed slightly out of phase with the present.
Lorelei Aurelion leaned back slightly, her golden features sharp and immaculate, chin raised just enough to make it clear that she did not consider anyone here her equal. Not even Circe.
Circe took her seat. Tea in hand. No greetings. No pleasantries.
Lorelei spoke first.
"Now that you're here," she began, her tone smooth but edged, "This… fallacy should stop." She took a slow sip of her tea. "If it weren't for your granddaughter, none of this would have happened."
Circe didn't respond. She neither argue nor defended it. She simply drank cause deep inside, she knew it. If she had kept those notes from Aurora's reach, all of this wouldn't have escalated this far.
The room filled with voices.
Overlapping. Layered. Sharp.
"The Senate has gone soft."
"They've allowed her to redefine structure."
"Witches and supernaturals in the same classroom? Absurd! We're not even equals!"
"She's producing more and more chaos."
"She's producing power."
"That's the problem."
Names were spoken. Charlotte Sweeiz. The Heretical Witch. The one who refused structure. The one who refused tradition.
The one who—
was winning.
Circe remained silent through most of it.
She mostly listened. Letting them speak.
Until the conversation shifted.
"What if," one of them muttered, "we simply… remind Nocturne why she's dangerous?"
Silence.
That line—
That suggestion—
Changed the room.
Eyes turned and their interest sharpened.
"A demonstration," Lorelei said slowly.
"An incident," Fidelia added.
At first—
There was hesitation.
"How?" Circe finally spoke.
The room quieted.
Then—
Their gazes shifted.
Toward Rowena. The Delyth.
The Delyth were known for their Ritualizations. On top of that, they were known for another, the pioneers in research of Magical creatures.
"Rowena," Circe said, setting her teacup down with a soft click. "Hasn't your family been… experimenting with magical creatures?"
A pause. A faint smirk.
"If I were to say, I'd say you and your family caused that magical beast to grow unexpectedly in the north, no?"
Lorelei and Fidelia stilled.
Not a surprise to be fair. They had suspected such. They simply hadn't said it aloud.
Rowena didn't react immediately.
She lifted her teacup. Took a slow sip. Then placed it down.
"I see," she said quietly. "Is it already known?"
Circe shook her head slightly.
"No." A small pause. "…But it would be if you don't admit it."
Circe knew she had no evidence. Nothing concrete. Nothing she could present without it collapsing under scrutiny the moment it left her lips. But that was never the point.
Not here. Not in a room like this.
She let her gaze settle evenly across the table, observing each of them in turn.
Fidelia's composed silence, Lorelei's sharp amusement, Rowena's unreadable stillness.
All of them understood the same thing.
Truth wasn't always required. Only agreement. And Circe… had just forced the shape of one.
So she didn't push further. Didn't explain. Didn't justify. Instead, she simply leaned back in her seat and let the implication sit between them. Unfinished, unchallenged, and deliberately left to rot in the space she had created.
Because whether it was true or not—
they had already started considering what it would mean if it was.
Silence.
Then—
Rowena smiled. Faint. Unsettling.
"We did," she said plainly. "We caused it."
No denial. No deflection.
It was just the truth.
"The surge in magical beast activity in the north," she continued, as if discussing the weather, "was part of an experiment."
A glance. Then continues to sip at her tea as if what she's saying was nothing but an old wives tale.
"It just so happened to coincide with the Raven expedition."
No one spoke. Because they all understood what that meant.
Deaths. Losses. Calculated.
"And you chose that timing intentionally," Fidelia said.
Rowena nodded.
"They were due to respond," she replied. "It was efficient."
Silence.
Then—
A shift.
Not outrage. Not disgust. But approval. The room was subtle. Words left unspoken but present. Because they all shared something.
They hated the Ravens.
Especially Persephone.
And if this—
If this—
Had weakened them even slightly—
Then it was acceptable.
Fidelia leaned forward slightly. Her voice, calm and measured.
"…Then we can use that."
Circe's eyes narrowed.
"…Use it how?"
Fidelia's lips curved faintly.
"The Lunarium."
That word alone—
changed everything.
"…We don't attack Charlotte directly," she continued. "We don't oppose the Senate openly."
A pause.
"…We just let her system fail."
For a brief moment, no one spoke. Not because they didn't understand. But because they immediately did.
And that was the problem.
Fidelia Valemont set her teacup down a little slower than before.
"…What I'm saying, a little chaos will be enough to get people on our side," she said.
Her voice was calm. The kind of calm that came right before something became serious.
Rowena Delyth's gaze lowered slightly, already tracing outcomes no one had spoken aloud yet.
Lorelei Aurelion clicked her tongue softly, though her eyes had already sharpened.
"…Our heirs are there," she said flatly.
That alone shifted the air.
Not fear, yet. But attention.
Circe didn't respond immediately. She let that settle. Let them feel it properly. Because they all knew. This wasn't just a school. It wasn't just Charlotte's experiment anymore. It was their children inside it.
Fidelia exhaled through her nose.
"…Valemont has two enrolled," she said quietly.
Then, after a beat—
"…One already placed in Intermediate."
Rowena tapped her finger once against the table.
"…Delyth has four," she said. "All in Beginner."
Her eyes didn't lift.
"…If something happens, they won't be on the edge of it."
A pause. "…They'll be inside it."
Lorelei's expression tightened slightly.
"Aurelion has three," she added.
Silence followed.
Because now it wasn't theoretical anymore. It wasn't about Charlotte. It wasn't even about Lunarium. It was about where their blood had already been placed.
"I can propose something," Rowena said slowly.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that made the room quiet in a different way. As if the air itself was waiting to see what kind of sin she was about to suggest.
"I can formulate a compound. A drug that forces the beasts into a mindless rage response… but suppresses their instinct to target anything related to our bloodlines." She tapped a finger lightly against her teacup, as if discussing a minor adjustment in a research paper rather than something big.
"All I need is their blood. Enough samples. I can rush the synthesis."
A pause followed.
Then, almost casually—
"I'll make it happen quickly."
Now—
They were listening.
"…And how do you propose we put these beasts in there?" Fidelia's gaze sharpened.
"The Rift cards. We can make our descendants release it inside"
Silence.
Because everyone in that room— Had one.
Charlotte's invention. A storage system. Efficient. Revolutionary.
"She stated it herself," Fidelia continued. "Living beings cannot be stored."
A faint smile.
"…Because they don't remain intact."'
They knew how it worked. The Senate introduced it when the Heretic sold it en masse. If the Rift cards stores items individually, a person with a body, mind, and soul (mana) would get stored individually.
Rowena's eyes flickered. Just waiting for them to ask.
"…You tested it," Lorelei said quietly.
Rowena didn't deny it.
"That we did," she replied.
She reached into her sleeve.
She pulled her own Rift Card and activated it. A projection formed, showcasing the interface for the inside. What was in it was a body.
Something that resembled life—
But wasn't.
That. That shocked them. The Delyth have done it. They're becoming heretics. Experimenting with the living, they had discovered the result.
Putting in a Bareblood they had kidnapped, they got results. She shared her family's research results. They saw it. A husk of a person. Like the zombies raised by those who practice with Necromancy. Despite having a zombie-like intelligence, it attacks anything that it considers a threat. Basically, anyone or anything.
A murmur spread through the room.
"…And magical beasts?" Circe asked.
Rowena's smile deepened slightly.
"Same results."
Silence.
Because now—
They understood something. This was a weapon they could potentially use.
Fidelia exhaled softly.
"…Then it's simple." She placed her teacup down. "We place them inside."
Circe frowned slightly.
"…Inside the Lunarium? How? Security is strict in the entrance if you aren't a student"
Fidelia nodded.
"Through the Rift cards."
A pause.
"…We release them with the help of our descendants with the help of Rowena's drug. With it, they can safely release them."
Another pause.
"…And we let the Heretical Witch's perfect system—" Her smile sharpened. "—collapse in front of everyone."
Then—
Agreement. Slow. Measured. But inevitable.
Even Circe didn't argue. Not because she fully agreed. But because it made sense.
And more importantly—
It would work.
"Keep it controlled. Only a few magical beasts to lessen the deaths," Lorelei added. "We're not trying to destroy Nocturne. Just her reputation," Lorelei continued.
Rowena leaned back.
"…And if it escalates?"
A pause.
Circe answered.
"Then it proves our point."
Silence settled once more.
The decision had been made. No contracts. No formal declarations. Just understanding. They would act.
And the Lunarium—
Would be their stage.
Outside—
Nocturne moved as it always did. Students entered the Lunarium.
Laughing. Talking. Learning.
Unaware of what's about to come.
The Senate remained confident. Believing control was maintained. Believing structure would hold.
Inside the Lunarium—
Aurora trained, Theodore learned, Valeria adapted, Selene refined, and everyone was learning.
Everything Charlotte had built was working.
Too well.
And that—
Was exactly why it needed to be stopped.
Far above—
Unseen and unnoticed by everyone. The first piece had already begun moving.
And when it fell—
It wouldn't just test the Lunarium.
It would test—
Whether heresy could truly survive—
When the old blood decided to fight back.