We didn't make it ten steps out of the Vault before we were caught.
There were no alarms, no bells, no magical sirens. Just twelve figures in white robes, waiting for us at the top of the stairwell.
Council Enforcers.
Each one a combat specialist hand-picked by the Scholars. Each one wore a silver crest across their chest—the insignia of the Judicium Order, the highest disciplinary force the Academy had at its disposal.
Elara cursed under her breath. Kieran's eyes narrowed. Darian's hand moved slowly toward the hilt of the blade at his back.
But I raised my hand.
"Don't," I said quietly.
Because I already knew. We weren't going to fight our way out of this. Not here. Not now. Not yet.
One of the robed figures stepped forward, a woman with short silver hair and emotionless eyes. "Sylas Caelum. By order of the Council of Scholars, you are to be detained and tried for violation of arcane law, unauthorized access to forbidden sanctums, and tampering with sealed artifacts."
Her voice echoed off the walls like the slam of a gavel.
I didn't resist as they shackled my wrists.
The others followed without a word.
The Holding Wards
They separated us immediately.
I was placed in a warded cell beneath the Obsidian Tower, the deepest and most magically secured facility within the Academy. The walls shimmered faintly with runes—nullifying fields designed to suppress all known forms of mana. Even my Divin Force was dulled, like trying to move through water with weights strapped to my chest.
The room was square. No bed. No books. Just me, a flickering crystal embedded in the ceiling, and silence.
They thought this would contain me.
They didn't know what I'd become.
Time passed—hours, maybe longer. The Mark on my hand had dulled to a faint hum, but I could still feel it—alive, like a second heartbeat pulsing just beneath my skin.
Eventually, the door creaked open.
High Scholar Venar stepped through, robes as pristine as ever. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes studied me with something I hadn't seen before.
Not judgment.
Fear.
The Interrogation
Venar sat in a conjured chair of crystal and folded his hands over his lap.
"You've placed us in a difficult position, Sylas."
I said nothing.
"You broke sacred laws. You accessed chambers sealed for reasons you cannot begin to comprehend. And worst of all…" His gaze dropped to my hand. "You activated a mark that has not been seen in a thousand years."
I held up my hand slowly, palm facing him. "Looks familiar, doesn't it?"
Venar's jaw clenched. "That symbol predates even the founding of the Academy. It's not a Pathway Mark—it's something else. Something… darker."
"You don't know what it is," I said.
He didn't respond.
"Then maybe you should be sitting in this chair."
His voice sharpened. "You are not a prophet. You are a child with a dagger pointed at the world's heart."
I leaned forward, shackles clinking. "And what exactly is the world doing, High Scholar? Preparing for peace?"
He didn't flinch. "We're trying to maintain order."
"Then you're failing. Because the Forsaken are waking, and the forgotten continent isn't going to sit quietly while it happens."
Venar's eyes flickered. "So you admit contact."
"I admit the truth," I said. "Whether or not you're ready to hear it."
He stood abruptly.
"Your trial will be held at dawn. The Council will decide your fate then."
"What fate?" I asked. "You'll kill me?"
His silence said enough.
Visions in the Dark
That night, they tried to suppress the Mark.
I was strapped to a cold table in a separate chamber, surrounded by mana siphons and enchantments carved into steel. Instructors chanted incantations designed to purge curses, seals, or any lingering aetheric tethers.
But the Mark did not fade.
Instead, it grew brighter.
The siphons shattered. The air filled with a dull ringing.
And then the world shifted.
For a moment, I stood not in the chamber, but in a coliseum of obsidian and flame, surrounded by an audience cloaked in shadows. At the center stood the Harbinger—face obscured, holding the same black sphere I had found.
"They fear what you might become. But you were always going to become it."
I dropped to my knees as the vision ended. Cracks had spread across the table. The instructors backed away in silence.
I didn't need their permission to keep walking toward the truth.
Dawn's Verdict
By the time they dragged me into the central auditorium at dawn, the sky had turned to ash and gold. Light streamed in through the stained-glass dome, casting fractured colors across the floor.
The Council stood in a circle. Hundreds of students and staff filled the surrounding seats, watching, murmuring, whispering.
Elara, Kieran, and Darian had been brought in, but separated—each under guard, each with chains at their wrists.
I stood alone in the center of the circle.
High Scholar Venar stepped forward.
"Sylas Caelum, by the authority of this institution, you have been found in violation of arcane code, unauthorized access, and suspected activation of a Class Black sigil."
A pause.
"Do you have any final words before judgment is passed?"
I looked up at them.
At all of them.
The instructors who had trained me. The students who had doubted me. The Council that had tried to control me.
And I raised my voice so all of them could hear.
"You're not afraid of what I've done. You're afraid of what I might do. Because I've seen the truth. I've touched power older than this Academy. I've heard the gods whispering—and they're not whispering to you."
A ripple of shock passed through the crowd.
"You want to silence me because you know your age is ending. The Forsaken are rising. The old world is burning. And when it falls, you won't be the ones standing at the center of it."
The Mark on my hand flared.
And in that moment—the suppressing field failed.
Light exploded outward from my palm. The chains around my wrists shattered. The energy flared up into the ceiling, cracking the stained glass above.
Screams rang out. Students fled from their seats. The Enforcers drew weapons, but none dared step forward.
Venar raised his hand to shield his eyes. "What are you?!"
I met his gaze, my voice steady.
"I am the one your gods left behind."
The Escape
Kieran moved first.
In the chaos, he blinked across the chamber, cutting through Elara's chains in a single motion. Darian ripped his restraints apart with brute force, catching a guard's weapon mid-fall.
Within seconds, we regrouped at the base of the Council's platform.
"We can't fight them all," Elara warned.
"We're not here to win," I said. "We're here to leave."
I raised the Marked hand to the ground.
The air fractured.
Space split.
And in the next heartbeat, the stone floor beneath us tore open—revealing a fissure of warping energy that swallowed us whole.
We vanished.