With an almost imperceptible movement of my fingers, the thousands of threads filling the room tightened to the point of breaking—and in an instant, vanished.
The silence that followed was absolute.
But it was a silence heavy with death.
By morning, the world would awaken to an unprecedented upheaval. Hundreds of people—from high-ranking imperial officials and senior clergy to mere merchants and beggars—would collapse dead simultaneously.
There would be no wounds. No poison. No trace of elemental magic.
They would simply fall, as if something had torn away their very will to live, leaving behind empty shells of what they once were.
"It's done," I said, letting the dagger fall onto the desk.
Elena remained on her knees, staring blankly at the space where the web of fate had vibrated moments before. She was pale, trembling in a way her seventh circle could not suppress.
She had just witnessed a selective genocide carried out as easily as extinguishing a candle.
"If I'm not mistaken, it'll be the only thing anyone talks about tomorrow, Elena. There shouldn't be anyone from that cult left alive on this planet."
I walked toward the door, pausing for a moment before leaving. The air in her office was still thick with ozone—and that primordial essence my threads had left behind.
"Compose yourself," I ordered without turning. "Tomorrow, when the Empire descends into panic and the Vitalis clergy start screaming about divine punishment, you'll be the only one who remains calm."
Elena nodded mechanically, her gray eyes still fixed on the inert dagger. She had gotten what she wanted—but the price was understanding that the young man before her was not an ally.
He was a force of nature.
And he operated under his own rules.
I stepped into the Academy's corridor. The sun was beginning to set, painting the stained glass windows crimson. I crossed the campus at a steady pace, ignoring the students still whispering about my "luck."
When I reached my room, Adela was waiting.
Her bond with me was deep enough that she had felt the disturbance in fate. Her eyes shimmered with a mix of excitement and fear.
"Master… the air feels… empty," she murmured, kneeling the moment I entered.
"I did some cleaning, Adela," I said, dropping into the armchair. "Tomorrow will be noisy. Make sure Margery doesn't leave the Academy under any circumstances. The chaos that's coming won't distinguish between guilty and innocent."
At dawn, the Capital of Demor did not awaken to the usual market bustle—but to a deathly silence that soon turned into a collective scream of panic.
From my window, I watched as the bells of the Vitalis cathedral rang frantically, announcing the tragedy.
The news spread like wildfire: hundreds of clergy, high-ranking nobles, and elite knights had been found dead in their beds. No signs of violence. No poison. Not a drop of blood.
Their souls had simply… vanished.
"What chaos, Master," Adela whispered, appearing at my side. Her sixth-circle eyes gleamed with restrained excitement. "The Emperor has declared a state of emergency. They say it's a curse from the Sect of the Damned—or worse, divine punishment for the Clergy's sins."
"Let them speculate," I replied, watching funeral incense rise across the city.
Yet I felt something… off.
When I pulled the threads from Elena's dagger, I hadn't just erased lives—I had torn a hole in this planet's causality. By removing so many pillars that upheld the Empire's rotten balance, something older… hungrier… lurking at the edges of reality, had begun to notice the void.
If I had known the consequences this would bring upon this world…
Perhaps I would never have agreed to help Elena.
A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts.
Not the gentle tap of a servant—but the rhythmic strike of a sword pommel against wood.
"Cassian Varkas, open up. By order of the Imperial Guard and the Astaford Duchy, all high-profile students are to be escorted to the Great Hall for security questioning."
"Seems they need a culprit quickly before the people start burning churches," I said, as Adela helped me into my uniform jacket with calm precision.
"Pathetic, Master. They'll pick some unfortunate soul without connections, hang him in the square, and call it 'justice.'"
I opened the door. An Astaford knight stood before me, hand resting on his sword, urgency written across his face. Seeing my relaxed expression, his frown deepened.
"Varkas, move. The Great Hall is under lockdown. No one enters or leaves until the Vitalis clergy finish tracing forbidden magic."
I walked through the Academy halls, escorted by the metallic rhythm of armor. The atmosphere was pure terror. Nobles who once carried themselves with arrogance now walked with lowered gazes, fearing the "invisible death" might claim them next.
When we reached the Great Hall, hundreds of students were gathered by house. Several Vitalis Inquisitors moved among them, passing glowing staves over their heads—searching for traces they would never find.
In one corner, separated from the royal entourage, Princess Elara was the image of collapse.
Her hands trembled so violently she had to hide them within her dress.
She was utterly terrified.
To others, her pallor was natural for a princess facing national tragedy—but she knew better. Every chant, every flash of the inquisitors' staves was a death sentence waiting to fall.
She bore the mark of forbidden rites in her own flesh.
And seeing hundreds of those tied to the occult die in a single night made her feel that the next thread to snap would be her own.
At the center, surrounded by guards, stood an exchange student from a minor kingdom—a pale boy trembling like a leaf.
The perfect scapegoat.
"Confess!" one of the clerics roared. "Your shadow magic is what claimed our brothers' lives!"
"I didn't do anything!" the boy sobbed, as murmurs of accusation spread.
From above, Valeria Astaford watched with arms crossed. Her gaze wasn't on the boy—but scanning the entrance, searching for me.
When our eyes met, she didn't move—but I knew she wasn't buying the Clergy's performance.
Elara gasped softly, stepping back. She knew that if those staves reached her, her secret would ignite like a spark in a powder keg.
Her eyes found mine—pleading.
"Look at her, Master," Adela whispered behind me, a smile of pure contempt on her lips. "Royal blood melting in fear. She knows the Vitalis staff would expose the rot you smelled long ago."
I remained unmoved.
Elara was one step away from breaking.