The symbol was old.
Worn into the stone by hand—carved with sothing jagged, likely clawed. Not magic. Not ritual. It was desperate. That was the only word for it.
He reached up with his working hand, fingers brushing the etched grooves.
It wasn't a rune.
Just…a mark.
Sothing left behind by soone else who didn't want to be forgotten.
rlin leaned back.
The wall was cold, and he let it press into his shoulder until the ache dulled enough to think clearly.
'Soone survived here. Or at least tried.'
He took a deep breath.
'That's good. That ans I'm not the first.'
His eyes adjusted slowly. The interior of the burrow was tight, curved, like the ribcage of a beast that had fossilized mid-collapse.
The bones in the walls weren't arranged, but so had been moved. He could tell. Scrapes in the dust, little ridges of displaced ash. They ford a ring.
A camp circle.
And in the center, buried beneath dust and rot—
Cloth.
He crawled toward it, slow and deliberate. Every joint protested. His breath burned his throat. He pulled back the edge of the cloth with two fingers and found what was underneath.
A satchel.
Old. Leather. Dried stiff with age.
He dragged it toward him, exhaling through his teeth.
'Please don't be empty.'
He opened it.
Inside—dried rations, fossilized but technically edible. A cracked glass mana crystal. A mana wire. One silver coin etched in an unfamiliar script. And… a notebook.
He blinked.
'No way.'
It was a journal. Thin, leather-bound, the pages curled and yellowed.
He flipped to the first one.
The ink was smudged, but still legible. Barely.
Day 13
Still alive. Storms quieter now. Mana doesn't scream so loud at night anymore. I miss coffee. I'd kill for coffee.
He stared.
And turned the page.
Day 19
Saw one of the red-skins again. Tall. Too many eyes. I think it's watching the ridge for movent. Still haven't found a stable leyline.
Power's low. Got one arrow left. Don't want to waste it.
A chill crept into rlin's spine. He glanced around the burrow again. Slowly. Carefully.
Day 21
Ran into another survivor. Didn't last. He scread too loud. Drew them in. They dragged him away in pieces. I couldn't move.
I didn't help him.
He closed the notebook.
Stared at the cover.
'They died here…all alone.'
He pressed the notebook against his chest and exhaled.
"…Not ," he murmured.
He wouldn't die here.
Not like that.
And not alone.
He was going to survive.
And he was going to go back.
Because people were waiting for him.
Nathan's face flickered behind his eyelids.
'You better be holding the academy together. Or I'm going to co back just to stab you.'
He reached into his satchel and pulled out the mana wire. Thin, silver-threaded. He wrapped it around his wrist, then looped it to the side wall where a bit of exposed bone stuck out from the burrow wall.
It wasn't a trap.
Not yet.
But it would beco one.
If anything entered the burrow while he slept, it would pull the thread. Snap the line. Wake him up.
Hopefully.
'Better than nothing.'
He finally let his body rest, leaning back against the far wall, one hand still on the satchel.
His rapier, Keryx, lay beside him. Point angled slightly outward.
Just in case.
The wind outside howled, dragging ash and distant screams across the dead soil of the continent.
He closed his eyes.
'Just need… a few hours. After that I plan. Then I need to adapt..'
And then—
'Then I go ho.'
—
The tea had gone cold on the table.
Vivienne didn't drink it.
Her fingers curled around the porcelain cup anyway, needing to hold sothing. Sothing warm. But there was no warmth left in the room.
Across from her, Morgana sat with her legs crossed, one hand resting lightly against her temple. Her expression was unreadable. Not amused.
Just still.
Her long blue hair fell across one shoulder in smooth, deliberate waves, perfectly undisturbed. Her white eyes—like frost on glass—watched the woman sitting between them.
Victoria Everhart.
She looked so small in the chair. Not physically. Just… too human. Just a person with an office job. Just a sister.
She hadn't said anything since sitting down.
Not after Morgana told her rlin was gone.
Vivienne hadn't said anything either. Not really.
The silence stretched.
Victoria finally blinked. Once. Slowly.
"…You're joking."
Her voice cracked near the end. She laughed. Not a real laugh. The kind people do when the floor has vanished beneath them.
Vivienne stood. "I wish we were."
"No." Victoria shook her head. "We literally talked last night..he even brought ho one of his friends. That's normal, right?"
Neither woman answered.
Victoria looked between them, smile faltering. "And you said… gone. What does that an? Did he run away?"
Vivienne opened her mouth. But nothing ca out.
So Morgana said it.
Calm. Icy.
"Your brother sealed a rift above the west courtyard. Alone."
Victoria blinked. "…He's a student."
"Yes."
"He's just fourteen."
"Yes."
Vivienne finally found her voice, and it ca out raw. "He did it to protect the others. They were overwheld. The professors hadn't arrived. If he hadn't—"
"—then people would have died," Morgana finished, like it was simple arithtic. "He chose the option that bought ti."
Victoria's eyes darted between them. Her voice pitched up. "So where is he?"
Silence.
"Where is he?" she repeated, louder this ti.
Morgana's voice was flat. "We don't know."
"You're the headmistress—"
"And your brother walked into a collapsing gate tied to an unanchored summoning spell that reversed the mana flow of a demonic leyline," Morgana said, eyes glittering like snow beneath moonlight. "He didn't leave a note. Or a body."
Victoria's voice fell out of her.
Vivienne moved, quickly—kneeling beside her, hands on her arms.
"Victoria—"
But the woman didn't break.
She didn't cry.
She just sat there.
And said, almost too quietly:
"…Why would he do that?"
Vivienne swallowed. "Because that's who he is."
"That's not an answer!"
Morgana's nails tapped once against the armrest. "Your brother was exceptional. Quiet. Private. He never asked for attention. But he understood things most adults would never touch. He made a choice."
Vivienne glanced at her. "You're being cold."
"I'm being honest."
Victoria closed her eyes. Her hands were shaking.
Vivienne whispered, "We're going to bring him back."
Morgana didn't agree.
She didn't disagree either.
She stood, smoothed her coat, and walked toward the window.
Outside, the barrier shimred. Repaired. Intact. But far too late.
"I'll try to assign watchers to the leyline drift," Morgana said. "If he re-erges, we'll know."
Vivienne nodded, still holding onto Victoria's sleeve.
Victoria whispered, "He's all I have."
Vivienne's heart cracked.
The room fell quiet again.
There were no more words for this.
Just waiting.
And a boy no one could find.
—
rlin's eyes snapped open.
The silence was too perfect.
The kind that only existed when sothing was listening.
rlin didn't move.
For ten full seconds, he lay motionless, letting his body rest and repair itself.
His pain was manageable now. His mana was already recovering at an insane speed.
The corruption was still slightly present inside of him.
His right hand was already wrapped around the grip of Keryx.
He didn't rember reaching for it.
The tension didn't leave him until he confird—no movent outside the burrow. No broken mana lines. No screeches. No watchers.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
Still alive.
Still alone.
Still here.
'That makes two wins, I guess.'
He sat up.
Everything ached.
His shoulder was swollen, but functional. His ribs throbbed like sothing was trying to crawl out through them.
He took it as a good sign.
'If it hurts, I'm not dead.'
The light filtering through the burrow entrance was a dim gray-red, like the sky itself had been filtered through blood and ash.
He reached for the leather satchel from yesterday. Pulled out the hardened ration. It crumbled when he bit it—dry as bone and twice as bitter. Still, it kept his hands moving.
'One al. One weapon. No map. No allies. Seems like the odd aren't in my favor.'
His eyes drifted to the journal he'd found.
He flipped to the next page.
Day 25. I stopped marking days. Ti doesn't matter here.
The air's wrong. I hear things in it now. Whispers. Sotis they say my na.
rlin tapped his fingers against the page.
'So, the corruption has a voice. Or they were just breaking.'
He closed the book.
It didn't matter. He wasn't staying long enough to start hearing things.
He needed direction.
He stood carefully, brushing dust from his uniform—what was left of it—and stepped to the mouth of the burrow.
The world outside was still dying.
Thick black cliffs lood in the distance, fractured and unnatural, like they'd been cracked open by sothing massive long ago. The air was heavy. Twisted trees whispered as they moved, despite there being no wind.
To the east, a rise in the ground. Slight. Barely visible.
He focused.
'Anomaly…?'
He extended his space mana. Let it glide across the distance like thread on a loom.
It snagged. It felt disturbed.
There was sothing there.
Not alive. Not mana-reactive. But built. Made.
Stonework?
Maybe.
Maybe ruins. Maybe worse.
He pulled his hood up over his head and adjusted his stance. The slope wasn't far. He could reach it before the light shifted too far into dusk.
'If I don't do it then I'll freeze and die here.'
He started walking.
One step at a ti.
The corrupted mana pulsed under his boots.
Alive. But the steps just felt wrong.
But he kept moving anyway.
'Because people back there is waiting. Because I promised I'd change the ending.'
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