The skies had shifted lately.
Not in the way of storms or seasonal change—but in an eerie stillness. Birds no longer passed over certain areas of the academy's sprawling lands. Insects, so abundant before, went silent in moonlit fields. And even the wind itself seemed to hush as it crossed over particular spots, like it feared awakening something slumbering deep beneath.
Kieran, his clone attending class like always, was moving through the older archives beneath the eastern wing of the academy's historical wing. These weren't accessible to students normally, but with his Void Slip ability and the ever-expanding Hidden Crown Network feeding him irregularities in mana density, he had come to investigate a particular node that pulsed like a heartbeat through the system's map.
He passed under moss-laced arches, his boots silent against age-worn stone. The lantern in his hand wasn't fueled by fire but by "Voidlight," a utility skill he had devised to navigate through cursed places without drawing attention. It cast faint grayish-purple light, warping shadows in unnatural ways, making the corridor feel like it stretched forever even though he walked steadily.
At last, he reached a sealed doorway—carved not of stone, but of some darkened bone-like material that pulsated gently with violet veins.
[SYSTEM WARNING: Unknown Anomalous Structure Detected. Caution Advised.]
"Strange. This doesn't match the Academy's original schematics," he murmured, placing his palm on the cold surface.
[Permission Required: Host Authority Detected — Override Initiated...]
A long breath.
The doorway shuddered, and something whispered—not in words, but in thought. A rasping breeze brushed his skin, like a memory trying to claw its way back into consciousness. Kieran stepped through as it cracked open.
Inside was a vault unlike any he'd seen.
A circular room, no larger than a noble's study, but impossibly deep—like a funnel spiraling downward endlessly. Floating shelves hovered in concentric rings, each filled with tomes old enough to predate empires. Runes crawled across their spines like worms, rearranging constantly. The air smelled of burnt parchment and cold blood.
A single pedestal stood at the center.
Upon it was a book—shrouded in chains made of black steel, with a lock bearing a blood-red sigil.
"Codex of the Withering Root"
Even the System hesitated.
[UNRECOGNIZED TEXT — Analysis: Origin Unknown. Estimated Age: 31,000+ Years. Host interaction may result in... irreversible knowledge transfer.]
"…What did they bury beneath this academy?"
He stepped forward, and as his fingers brushed the book's surface—
His mind fractured. Visions poured in.
Forests of flesh. Skies turned to rot. Eyes in the soil. A woman draped in vines that writhed like serpents, whispering to thousands who walked willingly into the roots of the world to be consumed.
Then darkness.
He staggered back. Blood trickled from his nose, eyes unfocused.
But the damage had been done.
He knew something now—fragments only—but enough to know there was a rot far deeper in the world's history than what the kingdoms ever dared to teach.
Something beneath the world's surface. Something that grew roots.
He blinked and quickly stored the Codex into his Dimensional Archive. He didn't know what would come of it—but he knew this book had answers no one was meant to find.
Meanwhile, in the Slumbering District – Edge of Crown Territory
Rhea stood outside a rundown alleyway, arms folded, her sharp amber eyes scanning the flickering shadows.
A recruit had vanished here.
The street smelled of old sweat, damp mold, and something else—devotion. Not the good kind.
Vell Ashmoor joined her shortly after, barefoot as always, her delicate steps silent against the stone. A bone rose bloomed behind her ear—withered and pulsing.
"There's blood beneath the tiles," Vell murmured softly.
Rhea grunted. "Another cult gathering?"
Vell gave a small nod, her pale fingers brushing the side of a nearby sewer drain.
"They're adapting. Not just summoning anymore. They're… merging. Using hosts."
Rhea's face darkened. "Like parasites?"
"No. Like converts. Willingly."
Silence lingered between them.
Then Rhea spoke again. "We need to escalate this. Kieran needs to know."
In the Hidden Crown HQ – Throne of Veils
Elira reviewed the latest reports from the Shadow Commanders. Multiple cult clusters had been identified across major cities, all operating under different banners—The Ashbound Choir, Children of the Eclipsed Flame, The Rooted Whisperers, and The Last Bloom.
Each had different goals. Different pantheons. But they all shared one thing in common:
Obsession with awakening forgotten truths.
And wherever their influence reached, the same pattern followed—missing orphans, collapsed ley-lines, and the spread of cursed glyphs that caused madness in lesser mages.
Sylvie entered with another document. "There's a surge near the abandoned watchtower northeast of Windress Village. Locals say it's cursed. No one comes back."
Elira closed her eyes for a moment. "We'll handle it."
Far South – Forbidden Reaches
A tower had appeared.
Not built—appeared.
It wasn't made of stone or wood, but shimmering obsidian, rising straight from the earth with no foundation. No doors. No windows. Just an endless spiral of runes that blinked in unnatural patterns under moonlight.
Locals didn't go near.
But someone had carved words into a tree facing it:
"The Tower is not to be climbed.The Tower is to be remembered.For we climbed it once… and fell."