Kael finally sat on the edge of the arena platform, letting his legs hang. The burn of the ground still buzzed faintly beneath him. His clothes were torn at the seams, his hair sticking to his forehead in damp curls. His Crownlight was low now—almost flickering.
A few metres away, Sol stood alone.
Veyna joined Kael, still tightening the Voltarm's band. She looked over once, then looked away.
"This is the Death Zone's first taste?" she murmured. "We'll be dead by day three."
Soahc grinned, teeth pink with blood. "Dead by day one if we're lucky. Let's all pray real gravens give us quick, painless deaths."
Kael didn't respond.
Because in his mind, something was still wrong. Off. Slippery.
He reached for the memory again—the fight, the way the creature moved—and something shifted. He remembered it dragging Sol by the arm.
But wait. Didn't it pin Veyna first?
Or was that the fight before?
His fingers flexed on the stone. No. That was this we only fought a graven once. Right?
The images blurred.
He gritted his teeth and stood up.
This can't be happening now.
They weren't ready. Not for real, Broods. Not for the coming days. Not for war.
Not even for truth.
Kael looked over his shoulder. Veyna was now staring at him.
"You good?" she asked, keeping her tone light, like she didn't want to make it real.
He nodded once. Too quickly.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
But behind his eyes, the thought had already taken root. If he couldn't take on a Graven now—not even a summoned one—how could the plan work?
How could any of it work?
He thought of the elite clans again. The way they carved warriors from their own children. How they fed them to young monsters so they'd grow cold, fast, and strong.
Crafted, graven killing machines.
Maybe that's why they survived.
A soft click echoed from the arena rim.
The medical bot had finished scanning and began to retreat, wheels squeaking gently across the stone.
No one stopped it.
Kael looked at the others. Sol was watching the ceiling now. Veyna had gone quiet. Soahc was lying on his back, humming something broken and off-key.
No one had any plans for the rest of the day.
No one wanted to speak about what almost happened.
Kael finally turned away, walking slowly toward the exit, the arena door creaking open behind him. Students still stared.
He didn't see them.
Because he was already somewhere else.
Already counting days.
Already forgetting details he should've remembered.
High above the fractured arena—where faint steam still rose from the broken tiles—two figures stood against the high windows, their robes backlit by the artificial sun plate humming in the ceiling.
They'd been watching since the first flare.
Professor Verdan folded his arms behind his back, his eyes narrowed as he stared through the tinted glass. The concealment spells had only just unravelled. The silence had returned. But the aftershocks still buzzed faintly in the floor.
Professor Ulreth scribbled furiously on a glowing sigil tablet, muttering under his breath.
"The Crownlight levels from that ring spiked above student safety protocols," Ulreth said, tapping a final value into the console. "At least three times. "Possibly four."
"Confirmed?" Verdan asked, not turning.
Ulreth nodded.
Silence passed. Below, the squad was just leaving. Kael's shoulder was slightly hunched. Sol looked drained. Soahc limped with dramatic flair. Veyna trailed behind, Voltarm strapped to her back.
But none of them were speaking.
"They summoned something," Ulreth added. "While yes, it was... You know who did it—there's something strange."
Garran turned at that. "Strange what?"
"It wasn't normal crown light; there was something that didn't belong in a controlled space." Ulreth hesitated, then added, "I detected Graven trace signatures – 2 of them and pretty strong."
The elder professor narrowed his eyes again.
His hand tapped once on the glass. Below, Kael's head flicked slightly—as if sensing something—but didn't look up.
"Ulreth", Verdan said quietly. "Are you suggesting they summoned an actual Graven?"
"No. But I am saying whatever they summoned walked very close to the border."
Garran grunted. "A simulation can mimic threat. That doesn't make it real."
Ulreth shook his head, gaze still flicking between readouts. "I've taught at four institutes. You know I don't scare easily. I'm sure of this: whatever they did shouldn't be in the power of... Unstable, crown-born like them, to put it lightly."
Below, the four students were finally exiting, the last thread of concealment magic fizzling out behind them.
Garran remained quiet.
Garran finally turned to him fully. "We'll speak to them tomorrow. Preparations for the day after, safety protocols, and likely a recalibration of their permissions for the Deathzone."
"Should we mention the Veilstalker?" Ulreth asked. "It's been visually spotted in the southern quadrant.
"No." The answer was immediate. Sharp.
Ulreth blinked. "But the signs—"
"I said no."
The older professor stepped away from the glass, the folds of his long robe brushing the polished floor.
"Ulreth, look at the names attending this year. Dozens of elite clans. Daughters and sons of Sovereigns, Forgemasters, Coldbound. Even the Verdant Reign sent more than scouts."
He gestured outward, toward the rest of the campus, where domes shimmered in the sunset haze, and banners fluttered with crowned sigils.
"Cancelling this is not an option."
Ulreth's voice lowered. "That's not what I meant. I meant warning them. Preparing them."
Garran turned. His eyes were steel.
"We have teachers, Elian. Warders. Telepathic sentries stationed around every Deathzone perimeter. If the Veilstalker is out there, we'll contain it. That's why we're here."
"But if the students come into contact with them –"
Garran cut him off again. "We'll handle it if it comes."
For a long moment, the two stared at each other in a deafening silence.
The war hadn't started yet.
But both men could feel it pressing at the edge of the campus.