The storm had passed, the fires extinguished, and the wounded stabilized. But the academy was far from safe.
Smoke still curled from the ruins of the dormitories, a black scar against the academy's proud skyline. The students had been moved into the city, yet fear lingered in their eyes. This wasn't over.
In the heart of the academy, beneath the grand hall where students once gathered for ceremonies, a secret chamber lay hidden. It was old—older than the academy itself, lined with dark stone and lit only by hovering mana crystals. The walls were inscribed with ancient wards, sealing all sound within.
Tonight, this place would bear witness to a meeting that would decide the fate of the academy itself.
The long obsidian table in the center of the room was surrounded by the most powerful individuals within the academy—men and women who had weathered wars, led armies, and forged legends.
Valdris, the Academy Head, sat at the head of the table, his piercing gaze locked in thought. His usual composed demeanor had hardened, his fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the dark stone.
To his right, Alaric Vermund, the Head of Material Studies, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His massive frame, a result of years working the forge, seemed impossibly still.
Beside him, Sylvia Moreau, the Alchemy Head, sat with her arms crossed, deep in thought. Her sharp, calculating eyes flicked between the others, no doubt already formulating countermeasures.
The Beast Studies representative, an elven woman named Vaelis Thornbloom, watched with an unnerving calm, fingers lightly tapping the wooden surface. The scent of the wilderness seemed to cling to her, a reminder that even nature had its own brand of ruthlessness.
Professor Gregor, the dwarven scholar in charge of Spells Division, muttered something under his breath, his beard still damp from controlling the storm.
The Medical Department's head, Madam Lysara, looked weary, but her presence was resolute. She had spent the last hours healing, yet she had still come to this meeting.
Xel'thar, the draconian Head of Species Studies, sat with his arms resting on the table, his golden scales catching the dim light. His reptilian gaze was unreadable, but his presence alone was a statement.
At the far end of the table, Professor Baudric, the head of the History Department, lazily flipped through an ancient text. His casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the atmosphere, yet no one doubted his intellect or power—especially after he had bludgeoned assassins to death with a book.
Master Rourke, the supervisor of optional-combat sparring, cracked his knuckles, eager for action.
And finally, standing near the doorway, arms crossed, was Garrick. He wasn't an official member of the academy's leadership, but no one questioned his presence. His eyes were sharp, watching, listening.
This was not just a meeting.
This was a war council.
Valdris broke the silence first.
"Let's begin."
A flick of his hand, and a shimmering blue glyph ignited in the air. It twisted, reforming into a three-dimensional projection of the academy grounds. The damage was displayed in detail—the destroyed dormitories, the blast patterns, the surrounding cityscape.
"The first attack was expected," he said, voice steady. "We knew someone would test our defenses, but this…" His gaze darkened. "This was not a test. This was an extermination attempt."
Sylvia Moreau leaned forward, her fingers tapping against the table. "We're dealing with a level of coordination that surpasses mere mercenaries or rogue factions."
Alaric grunted. "A force this large, this well-equipped—someone's funding them. Heavily."
Xel'thar's voice rumbled through the room. "This was meant to cripple us. They attacked the dorms, not the faculty buildings." His slitted pupils narrowed. "They weren't here to challenge our power. They were here to eliminate the next generation."
Silence followed.
It was a terrifying truth. The faculty had annihilated the attackers without struggle. But the students? If they had still been inside when the dorms went up in flames…
It would have been a massacre.
Vaelis Thornbloom broke the silence, her voice smooth but firm.
"I did some digging after the battle." She placed a small wooden token onto the table. It bore a stylized crimson fang—a sigil none of them recognized immediately.
"This was found on several of the dead attackers."
Baudric adjusted his glasses, studying the emblem. "This is not from any known faction within the city."
"It isn't," Vaelis agreed. "Because it isn't local. It's foreign."
Gregor frowned. "Foreign?"
Vaelis nodded. "I suspect this is from an organization outside of Eyrendyl. Which means—"
Sylvia's eyes narrowed. "Which means the city's authorities won't be much help."
They all knew the political reality. If this was a purely internal matter, the city's rulers might have assisted. But an outside force? That meant bureaucracy, negotiations, and red tape. The academy was on its own.
What Comes Next?
Madam Lysara sighed, rubbing her temples. "And the students? We can't just keep them here."
Valdris shook his head. "No. They must be relocated."
Rourke grunted. "What, and send them running into the city? We'll have assassins crawling through the streets within days."
Garrick, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.
"We don't have a choice."
The room turned toward him.
He exhaled. "This academy is compromised. We don't know who else might be lurking in the shadows. Moving the students out buys us time to track down the real orchestrators of this attack."
Valdris nodded. "Then it's decided. We move the students into the city. Effective immediately."
There was no argument.
Sylvia tapped a finger against the table. "And while we're at it, we need to trace the funding behind this attack. Someone's paying for this war."
Vaelis smirked. "Oh, I intend to find out."
Baudric grinned, flipping another page in his book. "Shall we remind the world why the academy has been standing for centuries?"
A dangerous silence followed.
This attack had failed. The enemy had miscalculated.
They had tried to break the academy.
Instead—
They had awakened it.