Leaving the Academy was no small task.
Guards at every gate. Mana sigils that tracked student movement. Scouts that reported to instructors in shifts.
But Lyria Caelwyn didn't believe in rules.
She believed in lightning, shortcuts, and smoke bombs.
Aelric watched her crouch near the eastern wall, whispering to a small orb pulsing with storm energy.
"Are you sure this won't kill us?"
She smirked. "It'll only feel like it."
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the orb at the wall's sigil seal.
A crackle.
A boom.
Silence.
Then—darkness.
> [System Alert: External Spell Field Disruption Detected]
[Mana Sensors Offline for 90 Seconds]
Lyria grinned. "Run."
They sprinted.
Over the wall. Into the trees. Gone.
The wilderness east of the Academy was not empty.
Mana beasts prowled the underbrush. Some small, some bear-sized, some worse. The deeper one went, the thicker the mist grew—and the stranger the sounds became.
But Aelric felt stronger now.
His blade sang when it was drawn.
Even the smaller monsters seemed to hesitate.
> [Mana Signature Detected: Lesser Ironbeak | Tier 2]
[Weakness: Jaw Crease]
He cut it down with a clean stroke, faster than he ever had before. His blade hummed as if pleased.
"You're improving," Lyria said, wiping monster blood from her cheek. "Let me guess—system points?"
He nodded.
She raised an eyebrow. "Useful little cheat code, isn't it?"
"Helps when I'm fighting alone."
"Who says you are?"
On the third night, they camped near a hollow cliff, the stars barely visible through the swirling mist.
Lyria stirred the fire absently. "You never told me what's in Blackwall."
Aelric hesitated.
He pulled the silver pendant from his pocket. Tossed it to her.
She studied the crest.
"This is old. Pre-Empire old."
"It belonged to my father. I found out he didn't just die—he was executed. For treason. His body was taken to Blackwall."
Lyria looked up, eyes softer than usual.
"And you want to bring him home."
"I want to know why they killed him. Who betrayed him. What he was trying to protect."
She nodded once.
"I'm with you."
But they weren't alone.
Far behind them, cloaked riders followed their trail—silent, precise, unrelenting.
At their head rode Kael Ravaryn, face expressionless, a crystal compass pulsing softly in his palm.
"Vaelion's heading for Blackwall," he said. "So predictable."
Another rider spoke. "Should we intercept?"
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"No. Let him dig. The deeper he goes, the better we'll bury him."