The full moon hovered above the Academy, casting long shadows through the narrow glass spires. Most students were asleep, but deep beneath the library—where no one was allowed to tread—ancient torches flickered to life.
Alan Grey stood at the center of a ritual circle.
He wasn't bound. He wasn't struggling. He was just standing there, calm, while seven hooded figures surrounded him—members of a hidden cabal known only as The Circle of Veils.
Each wore masks of bone and silver. Each held relics that glowed with forbidden enchantments.
"You were easy to bait," one of them sneered. "We knew you couldn't resist a mystery door labeled 'Do Not Enter.'"
Another stepped forward, chanting. The runes on the ground flared red, forming an arcane web of divine suppression. Meant to seal strength, strip memories, erase names.
"Alan Grey," the leader announced, raising his staff. "You are an anomaly. A threat to balance. In the name of the Twelve Thrones, we bind you—mind, magic, and soul."
Alan just blinked. "You're going to regret this."
The leader laughed. "You're not the first to say that."
"Then I'll make sure I'm the last."
The ritual activated.
Chains of light burst from the circle, wrapping around Alan's body—arms, chest, legs—pulling tight with crushing force.
The air sizzled. The earth cracked.
Alan's eyes closed.
Silence.
Then— his power erupted.
The chains began to shudder. Crack. Fracture.
"Impossible!" one of the cultists gasped. "Those are divine bindings—crafted from godbone!"
Alan opened his eyes.
They weren't blue anymore.
They were glowing silver-white, burning with ancient fire.
"You tried to bind me," he said, his voice layered with echoes. "Do you know what that means?"
He shattered the chains with a pulse of mana.
The entire chamber cracked—walls split, runes bled magic, relics shattered like glass.
One by one, the cultists fell to their knees, screaming. Not from pain—but from the truth they saw when they looked into his eyes.
"You're not mortal," whispered one.
"No," Alan said, stepping forward. "I'm what comes after."
He snapped his fingers.
The leader's staff turned to dust.
"You serve the Twelve Thrones," Alan said. "Tell them this: I remember everything. The war. The betrayal. The death."
His voice dropped, low and cold.
"And I'm coming for them."
*****
Above the chamber, in the headmaster's office, a mirror cracked.
Headmaster Velian—a woman whose power once moved mountains—stood in horror.
"That seal hasn't been broken in a thousand years," she whispered.
The mirror shimmered. A god's voice echoed from beyond.
"The Godslayer awakens. Prepare the Watchers. This time... we kill him properly."