The morning sun barely pierced through the heavy mist shrouding the Academy. Its once-bright spires looked pale and distant, as though the light itself feared to touch them. Beneath the calm surface of daily routine, an invisible pressure seemed to thrum in every stone, every ward, every breath.
Keran stood on the edge of the southern courtyard, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The faint vibrations beneath his boots were no longer subtle. The ground was alive — resonating with a pulse that matched his own heartbeat.
Flora joined him quietly. "It's stronger today," she murmured.
He nodded, not taking his eyes off the horizon. "It's spreading. Whatever it is, it's moving under us."
From the nearby colonnade, Brittany approached, her expression tight. "Maria confirmed it. The ley channels under the Academy have shifted again. The runes around the eastern foundations are responding to an external rhythm."
"Like a heart," Flora said softly.
Brittany's gaze darkened. "Or like something trying to wake up."
A silence followed — heavy, electric.
Keran turned toward the eastern tower, where faint traces of light flickered beneath the marble tiles. His orb, hanging from his belt, pulsed faintly in sync. Every beat drew him closer, every flicker whispered the same word from deep inside his soul.
Ethan.
He clenched his fist. The name was both a key and a curse now.
---
The Distortion Chamber
They descended later that day into the restricted sector beneath the Academy — the Distortion Chamber, a sealed area used to stabilize ley ruptures. Normally guarded by three instructors, the chamber now stood empty. The protective seals had been half-erased, as though something inside had fed on their mana.
The air shimmered faintly, and each breath carried the metallic taste of distortion.
Maria was already there, kneeling beside a cluster of sigils burned into the floor. Her eyes glowed faintly as she traced their lines with trembling fingers.
"These aren't containment sigils," she whispered. "They're anchors. Someone — or something — is drawing mana inward, not pushing it away."
Keran crouched beside her. "Meaning?"
She looked up, her voice barely audible. "Meaning the Academy's foundation is being rewritten."
Flora frowned. "By who?"
A voice echoed from the far end of the chamber.
"By what."
All turned. Headmaster Roran emerged from the shadows, his staff glowing faintly. His usual composure was strained; deep lines marked his face. "This… anomaly has been growing since the Rift event. But last night, its rhythm changed — it began synchronizing with one of our students."
His eyes met Keran's.
The room tensed. Brittany's hand hovered over her dagger rune; Flora's aura flared protectively.
Keran stood still, jaw tightening. "You think it's me."
"I don't think," Roran said grimly. "I know."
He struck the ground with his staff. The floor beneath Keran flared with blue light, revealing a network of sigils previously hidden — all pulsing in sync with his heartbeat.
Maria gasped. "It's true. The Void Marker… it's resonating with him."
Keran's aura erupted instinctively, the air around him distorting. "I didn't cause this," he growled. "But something inside me remembers this pattern."
Roran's eyes narrowed. "Then you've seen it before — in another life, perhaps."
The word hit him like a blade.
Another life. Ethan.
Flora stepped between them. "Enough. If he's linked to it, that doesn't mean he's its cause. It could mean he's the key to stopping it."
Roran hesitated, then lowered his staff slightly. "Perhaps. But the pulse grows stronger by the hour. If it continues, the Academy's core will collapse."
Keran met his gaze, eyes burning. "Then seal me in with it."
"What?" Flora gasped.
"If this is connected to me," he said, voice steady, "then I'll face it directly."
---
The Descent
That night, Keran stood alone at the edge of the descent gate — a spiral staircase leading deep below the Academy's structure, where the ley conduits converged. The walls were covered with pulsating runes, bleeding faint streams of light. The air was heavy, humming with raw mana.
Flora and Brittany joined him, cloaked and armed. Maria followed last, carrying her illusion crystal.
"You shouldn't do this alone," Flora said quietly.
Keran smirked faintly. "You'd follow me anyway."
They began the descent.
With every step, the temperature dropped. The air shimmered with whispers — distant voices murmuring in languages long forgotten. Shadows seemed to bend unnaturally, and time itself felt stretched thin.
At the base, they reached a vast circular hall — the true heart of the Academy. In the center stood a massive sigil carved into obsidian stone, radiating the same spiral-eye symbol that had haunted Keran's dreams. Its rhythm pulsed like a living creature.
"It's awake," Maria whispered.
Then the pulse stopped.
For a single, dreadful second, there was silence.
And then — a deep, resonant thud shook the hall, as if the world itself had drawn breath.
Cracks split across the sigil. Light erupted from within, flooding the chamber in crimson and violet tones. The air screamed, twisting into a vortex.
Brittany's barrier flared; Flora's mana locked around Keran to shield him. Yet even through the chaos, Keran could hear it — a voice woven into the storm.
"Ethan… come home."
The vortex expanded violently, forming a rift that split open the ground. Through it, faint silhouettes emerged — figures clad in spectral armor, their faces lost to shadow. Behind them, a vast form began to rise — an ancient construct of mana and decay.
Keran's eyes widened. He remembered this.
The night of the village. The sigil. The voice.
The same creature.
His pulse synced with the ground's tremor. His orb floated from his belt, glowing fiercely, its core splitting open to reveal the fragment of an ancient crystal.
Flora shouted over the roar, "Keran! What's happening?!"
He barely heard her. His vision blurred as memories collided — the screams, the fire, the girl's cry. Lira.
He raised his hand toward the vortex. "I've seen this before… I ended it once. I can end it again."
The air crackled. The sigil responded, its light bending toward him as if recognizing its master.
Roran's voice echoed faintly from the communication rune. "Keran, don't engage—"
Too late.
Keran's aura exploded, merging with the pulse. The entire chamber ignited in blue fire.
And from the heart of the rift, a voice — ancient and mournful — whispered:
"You cannot end what you once began."
---
Dawn After Shock
When the light finally faded, the hall was silent.
The rift had collapsed — for now. The sigil lay dormant once again, its glow subdued. But at the center of the hall, Keran knelt, unconscious, his orb shattered beside him. The others surrounded him in horror and disbelief.
Flora pressed a hand against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, but his aura was… different. Not darker — divided.
Half of it was Keran's — the boy she knew.
The other half was something else. Something ancient.
Maria whispered, "The convergence has begun."
And as the torches reignited along the stone walls, a faint tremor rolled through the earth — deeper, fainter, like the echo of a buried heart beginning to stir once more.