The second wave of attackers had barely been dealt with when an unnatural stillness settled over the academy grounds.
Then, without warning—the world erupted.
A deafening BOOM tore through the air, followed by a second, then a third. The ground trembled as fire and smoke billowed into the sky, consuming the academy dormitories in a violent inferno.
Windows shattered from the shockwave, sending glass shards raining down like daggers. Walls buckled under the force, stone and wood splintering apart, launching debris in all directions. The once-proud dormitories, standing tall for generations, were now reduced to crumbling wreckage.
Screams rang out from students caught in the explosion. Some had managed to flee in time, but others were thrown to the ground, clutching at burns and bruises. A few stood in stunned silence, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames, watching everything they owned disappear in smoke.
For a moment, the academy—the very heart of learning and power—was reduced to pure chaos.
Then, from amidst the swirling destruction, a voice cut through the madness.
"Gregor. Moreau."
A single command from Valdris.
And the world obeyed.
Professor Gregor slammed his foot into the ground, veins of blue mana spreading from his boots into the earth. The air thickened, the wind howling in protest as he gathered magic from the very bones of the world.
Sylvia Moreau, the Alchemy Head, was already moving. She reached into her coat, pulling out a small vial with a faint blue shimmer. Without hesitation, she hurled it skyward.
The glass shattered midair.
In an instant, thick storm clouds billowed forth, unnaturally fast, spreading like ink across the sky. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed in a violent symphony.
Then came the rain.
Not a drizzle. Not a natural downpour.
A torrent.
Water slammed down in sheets, suffocating the flames before they could spread. The fire mages responsible for the explosion cried out in agony, their burning mana quenched violently, the sudden temperature shift sending shocks through their bodies.
The unnatural storm responded to Gregor's every motion, his arms orchestrating the deluge with the precision of a master conductor.
Stone hissed as steam rose from the wreckage, charred embers struggling for life beneath the relentless flood.
Valdris' Wrath
The fire and earth mages who had planted the bombs tried to flee.
They didn't get far.
Valdris turned his gaze upon them, his piercing eyes glowing with cold fury.
With a simple lift of his hand, the air grew impossibly heavy.
The fleeing mages froze mid-step, their bodies trembling under an invisible force. They gasped for breath, their limbs contorting as if their very essence was being crushed by unseen hands.
Then—
A flick of his fingers.
And their bodies turned inside out.
No scream fully formed. No time to process the horror of their own unraveling.
What was left of them collapsed to the ground, unrecognizable.
Those who witnessed it felt their stomachs twist. Even those accustomed to violence found themselves unable to meet Valdris' gaze.
There was no emotion in his actions.
Only judgment.
Madam Lysara was already moving. She did not hesitate.
"Bring the injured here!" she ordered, her voice sharp and urgent.
Students sprang into action, dragging survivors from the wreckage.
Kalem, ignoring the heat and dust, braced his shoulder against a collapsed beam, straining as he lifted it off a trapped first-year. The student gasped, coughing up dust, but was alive.
Jhaeros and Velka darted through the ruins, sniffing out those who had been buried beneath the rubble. With precise movements, Jhaeros dug out a half-conscious girl, her uniform torn and soaked with rain.
"She's breathing!" he called, hoisting her over his shoulder and sprinting toward the healers.
Nara, her arms dirtied with soot, was kneeling beside a boy whose leg was trapped beneath a fallen stone pillar. With gritted teeth, she jammed a metal rod beneath it, using sheer force to create a gap just wide enough to pull him free.
"He's in shock!" she shouted.
Lysara appeared beside her in an instant, hands already glowing with warm golden light.
"Hold him still," she instructed, pressing her palms over his wounds. The torn flesh began knitting together, bones realigning with eerie smoothness.
Sweat dripped down Lysara's face, but she never wavered.
Aftermath: The Academy Stands, but Barely
By the time the storm faded, the fire was gone.
The damage, however, was irreversible.
The dormitories, once home to hundreds of students, were reduced to little more than blackened rubble. Smoke curled from the wreckage, and the acrid scent of burned wood and stone hung thick in the air.
Students stood in silent clusters, some shaking, some crying, others simply staring at the destruction.
They had lost everything.
Yet, despite the devastation, no one had died.
A miracle.
But the message was clear—
The academy was no longer safe.