Out in the main hall, the children waited in absolute silence.
Julian Hawke tapped his polished boot against the stone floor. He was getting impatient. It had been nearly three minutes since the heavy oak doors had closed behind Silas Crane.
Normally, the reaction was instantaneous. A boom or a crash, and then Vance's loud announcement.
But nothing happened. There was no sound at all from the chamber.
Julian let out a loud, echoing laugh. The sound startled the other children.
"He's blank," Julian announced to the room. He pointed a thick finger at the oak doors. "Do you hear that? Nothing. He probably doesn't even have an affinity. He must be the first noble ever not to have one."
A few of the other children snickered nervously.
"I told you," Julian said, his voice full of satisfaction. "He's a pathetic loser. The Count will probably send him straight to the stables to shovel manure for the rest of his life."
The children murmured in agreement. They stood in the hall, gossiping, completely unaware of the events unfolding on the other side of the doors.
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Inside the chamber, the pure, blinding light in the silver bowl suddenly changed.
The colorless mana violently darkened. It shifted into a deep, terrifying oceanic blue. The vibration in the air stopped.
Then, an immense, crushing pressure descended upon the entire room.
It was not a physical weight. It was a terrifying, incomprehensible amount of mana.
Silas was instantly paralyzed. His knees locked in place. The air was violently forced out of his lungs. He could not even blink. He felt like he was buried under a thousand tons of solid ocean water.
Commander Vance dropped to one knee. He gasped for air, his face turning pale.
Above them, the observation balcony descended into absolute chaos. The lesser nobles collapsed to the floor, completely pinned by the pressure. Viscount Hawke gripped the railing with both hands, his arms shaking violently as he tried to keep himself upright. Even the Count of Orestes, a Rank five Archon, was forced to bend his back. He groaned through gritted teeth, sweat pouring down his face.
A shadow began to rise from the silver bowl.
It started as a dark liquid. It defied gravity, crawling upward and coalescing in the air above the pedestal. The liquid shifted and shaped itself until it formed the upper torso of a massive man. The figure had no distinct features, just glowing pits of deep blue mana for eyes. The air around the shadow warped heavily from the sheer output of power.
The Count of Orestes pressed his face against the iron railing. His arrogance was completely gone. "It's the Duke of the West," he whimpered. "He's projecting his consciousness through the water he infused."
The shadowy figure ignored the Count completely. It did not care about the nobles. It stared directly down at Silas.
"An anomaly," the Duke's shadow rumbled. "My water couldn't measure your affinity. Boy, you're coming with me."
The shadowy figure reached a massive, liquid hand toward Silas.
Silas could not scream. He could not run. His mind was screaming in pure, primal terror, but his body was completely useless. The massive blue hand was inches from his face. He could feel the terrifying cold radiating from it.
A blur of dark gray movement dropped from the isolated balcony above.
The hooded man landed perfectly silently between Silas and the iron pedestal. He did not draw a weapon. He didn't even speak. He simply raised a single, gloved hand.
A violent, invisible force slammed directly into the Duke's aura.
The oppressive, crushing pressure in the room shattered instantly. The sound was like a massive pane of glass breaking inside Silas's mind. Silas collapsed to the cold stone floor, gasping violently for air. His lungs burned.
The Duke's shadow recoiled. The glowing blue eyes narrowed in absolute fury.
"You are no Archon," the Duke snarled. His voice shook the black walls of the pit. "Who are you, interfering with my prey?"
The hooded man did not speak a single word. He simply closed his raised fist.
The space around the iron pedestal seemed to fold inward upon itself. The blinding mana, the silver bowl, and the Duke's massive projecting shadow were instantly crushed down into a microscopic point of light.
Then, it exploded.
A deafening crack echoed through the chamber. The Duke's projection was erased from existence. The silver bowl was completely vaporized.
The hooded man turned. He grabbed Silas by the back of his wrinkled collar.
Silas felt the entire world lurch violently sideways. The black granite pit smeared into a dizzying, sickening streak of gray. His stomach inverted completely. There was no sound. There was no light. There was only the terrifying sensation of being ripped through space.
In a fraction of a second, the testing chamber, Commander Vance, and his terrified father were entirely gone.
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A thousand miles away, in the heart of the capital city, the King sat on a massive throne carved from pure obsidian.
The throne room was completely silent. The King rested his scarred chin on his heavy fist. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face.
He felt it. He felt the exact moment the temporal anchor snapped in the western territory. It's mana signature had flared like a beacon in the dark.
"So. You got him, huh," the King whispered to the empty air.
He slowly turned his head. One of his Archons stood rigidly at the base of the dais. The elite warrior was clad entirely in heavy, interlocking iron plates. He carried a massive halberd.
"My King?" the Archon asked. His voice was muffled and metallic beneath his thick visor.
"The time has come," the King said. He tapped a single, heavy finger against the obsidian armrest of his throne. "The exact vessel I need is finally on the board. A perfect anomaly. But there is a minor complication. A little rat stole him away before the Duke of the West could secure him."
The King stood up. He did not flare his mana. He did not exert any pressure. But his sheer physical presence alone made the solid stone floor of the throne room crack beneath his heavy boots.
"We cannot have the local nobility gossiping about this," the King said casually. "They saw the reaction. They felt the Duke manifest. If word spreads that an anomaly exists, the other kingdoms will start hunting for him. It would disrupt the entire machinery of my kingdom. I need that vessel intact."
"Your orders, My King?" the Archon asked. He bowed his head slightly.
The King smiled again. It was a cold, utterly lifeless expression.
"Get rid of them all," said the King, casually.
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Back in the black granite testing chamber of Orestes, absolute chaos had erupted.
Commander Vance drew his sword, spinning in a circle, shouting frantic orders to guards that were not even in the room. On the balcony above, the Count of Orestes was screaming for the fortress perimeter to be locked down.
Baron Crane gripped the iron railing. He stared with wide, horrified eyes at the empty space where his son had just been standing. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs. Silas was gone. He did not understand the blinding light. He did not understand the Duke. He only knew his son had been taken.
Then, the Baron felt a violent, unnatural twitch deep inside his chest.
It was not his heart. It was his mana core. The internal furnace that powered his Earth affinity suddenly spiked in temperature. It completely ignored his mental commands. It began to spin backward.
He looked to his left. Viscount Hawke dropped heavily to his knees. The broad shouldered man clutched his chest, his eyes wide with absolute terror.
"No," Hawke screamed. Blood spilled from his lips, staining his silver crest. He looked up at the ceiling, pleading with a god that was not there. "Your Majesty, please. We exist to serve you. We are loyal to the crown."
The Count of Orestes grabbed his own throat. His polished steel chest plate began to dent and warp from the internal gravity.
"Silence," a voice echoed clearly in all of their minds.
It was not spoken in the room. It was not a sound. It was a command enforced directly upon their blood.
Baron Crane opened his mouth. He wanted to scream for Silas. He wanted to call out for his son one last time.
He never made a sound.
In total, perfect unison, every single noble on the observation balcony violently imploded.
Their internal mana cores collapsed. The crushing, reversing pressure pulverized their internal organs, shattered their bones, and compressed their flesh. For a fraction of a second, they were nothing but dense points of light.
Then, they instantly expanded outward.
There was no blood. There was no gore. They simply erupted into thick clouds of fine, gray ash.
Down in the pit, Commander Vance froze. He felt the exact same violent twitch in his own chest. He dropped his sword to look up at the falling ash. He didn't even have time to scream.
Vance imploded, turning into a cloud of dust that settled softly against the black granite floor.
The testing chamber was completely empty. It was perfectly silent. The ash of the Orestes nobility drifted gently through the stagnant air, coating the iron railings and the shattered remains of the pedestal in a layer of dull gray.
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Out in the main hall, Julian Hawke finally noticed something was wrong.
He frowned and looked around at the other children. The doors had been closed for nearly ten minutes.
There were no muffled voices. There were no booming announcements. There was only a deep, unnatural silence radiating from the chamber.
"This is ridiculous," Julian muttered. He stepped out of the line. "Vance is probably disciplining the peasant. I'm going to see what's taking so long."
He marched up to the heavy oak doors and pushed them open.
The cold, stagnant air of the chamber drifted out into the hall.
Julian stepped onto the top of the stone staircase. He looked down into the black granite chamber. He looked up at the observation balcony where his father was supposed to be standing.
He stopped, completely rigid.
The other children crowded in behind him, peering over his broad shoulders. Elara Vance pushed her way to the front.
"Uncle?" she called out nervously. Her voice echoed weakly through the vast, empty room.
There was no answer.
The Count was gone. The Viscount was gone. Commander Vance was gone. Silas Crane was gone. They had all vanished without a single trace.
All that remained was the quiet, drifting snow of gray ash falling softly onto the black stone floor.