Chapter Eleven -Ground Zero

Chapter Eleven -Ground Zero

The candle crackled, then dimmed slightly—almost as if it had heard the truth in his words.
The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale orange wash across the academy's training courtyard. Morning mist clung to the stone like breath that refused to fade. Birds had not yet begun their song. The only sound was the low, resonant hum of the *Aetherplate*—a monolithic slab of glowing crystal that pulsed faintly with ancient magic.

Kael stood alone before it, his body stiff with fatigue. His fists were raw, knuckles scraped and stained from repeated failure. His jaw clenched as he stared at the swirling light within the Aetherplate, willing it—begging it—to respond.

Elemental sparks flickered faintly in his palms. Gold, then red, then nothing. Every attempt fizzled out, like a match choked by wind.

He exhaled sharply, frustration cutting through the silence like a blade. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath. Again, he reached for the current. Again, it slipped away.

Behind him, the air shimmered softly. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

*Kiara.*

She approached like moonlight—quiet, certain, and softly radiant. A faint glow of residual energy trailed in her wake, responding to her presence like reeds to a breeze. Her voice was gentle.

“You’re up early.”

Kael didn’t turn. “Didn’t sleep.”

He tried again. Nothing. Just a dull ache in his hands. His fingers curled as if to hold something that wasn’t there.

“Everyone else made something,” he said, eyes fixed on the Aetherplate. “Even that new recruit from the North. Conjured twin daggers on his first try.”

Kiara didn’t answer immediately. She moved to his side, watching the crystal with him.

“Yeah,” she said eventually, “but none of them had the heat you carry. The intent. The purpose. You've had that since the first day.”

Kael glanced at her, tired eyes full of doubt.

Kiara smiled—not out of pity, but with the calm knowing of someone who’d seen storms pass and still believed in blue skies.

“Maybe your weapon isn’t something you summon,” she said. “Maybe… it’s something that summons you. When it’s time.”

Kael looked back at the stone. “And if it never does?”

Before she could answer, a familiar voice cut through the morning calm.

“I mean,” came *Glenn’s* voice, casual and amused, “you’ll still flatten half the battlefield with those brick hands of yours.”

Kael turned to see Glenn striding across the courtyard, his ever-bent *sound-staff* slung over his shoulder like a fishing pole. His expression was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp—always watching, always listening.

Kael raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to be encouraging?”

Glenn shrugged. “It’s true. Most of us? We build weapons to reflect who we are. You?” He gave a short laugh. “You are the weapon.”

“That’s not helpful,” Kael muttered.

“It’s not false, either.”

Kiara chuckled under her breath, and for a moment, the weight in Kael’s chest lifted. Just a little. Just enough to let air in.

He turned back to the Aetherplate. The crystal hummed low, as if it had heard the conversation—and was considering a reply.

Kael rolled his shoulders. His fists unclenched, then tightened again.

“One more try,” he said softly.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting pale light through the stained-glass windows that lined the palace corridor. Each beam painted fractured rainbows across the cold stone floor, but the colors were fleeting—fading as quickly as the shadows that shifted within. It was as though the entire palace was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable strike.

Korin moved through the halls like a phantom, his steps silent as whispers, his body fluid and untraceable in the cloak of night. The torchlight flickered dimly against his blackened form, offering just enough illumination to make out his cold, calculating expression. His blade gleamed in the shadows, sharp and unforgiving.

He paused by the body of a fallen guard, his throat slit in an almost artistic arc. Kneeling beside the corpse, Korin wiped the blood from his blade on the man’s cloak—his movements methodical, precise, as though this was nothing more than routine.

“No witnesses,” he murmured to himself, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “No mercy.”

Rising, he stood tall and still, letting the weight of his words settle in the air. Then, without another glance at the fallen, he slipped deeper into the palace, disappearing once more into the darkened corridors.

The deeper halls of the palace, where the air was thick with tension. Here, the shadows were not alone, for there were others—three masked infiltrators moving through the darkness. They moved as one, fluid, silent, their every step deliberate as they approached a warded gate.

Vex, the lead infiltrator, kept her eyes trained ahead, her movements practiced and sharp. She was the first to speak, her voice low and urgent.

“Which way to the Elemental Vault?” she whispered, her breath barely a sigh in the otherwise still air.

Rell, to her left, didn’t break his stride as he answered. “Left—west wing. Keep low. They rotate guards every fifteen.”

The group pressed forward, quick but careful. They knew time was not on their side. But as they neared a crossway, something shifted. The tension in the air thickened. Too quickly, Vex and Rell broke formation, darting toward an open hallway to check their surroundings.

Then—freeze.

A guard stood at the far end of the hallway, just as startled as they were. He was only half-dressed, his uniform undone as he returned from a shift. He froze in place, blinking in shock as his mind registered the intruders.

“Intruders!” he shouted, his voice a sharp break in the night’s quiet.

Vex cursed under her breath, but it was too late. The guard slammed a crystal shard into the wall, and with that single motion, a surge of magic shot down the hallway like lightning. The air crackled with energy.

“Intrusion detected,” a cold mechanical voice echoed through the palace, and in an instant, the alarms blared to life. Red lights flashed, and wards along the walls ignited in crimson fury. Doors slammed shut, cutting off their escape routes, and patrols emerged, moving with swift precision.

Vex’s eyes widened. “No—MOVE!” she shouted.

Before they could react, the guard’s hands sparked with electric energy. A sphere of crackling magic formed between his palms, and with a forceful thrust, he hurled it directly at Vex.

The blast struck her square in the chest with a sickening crack, sending her sprawling backward into the stone wall. She gasped, blood spilling from her lips, her body crumpling to the ground in a heap.

“VEX!” Rell screamed, rushing to her side.

But his efforts were short-lived. Before he could reach her, two guards appeared from around the corner, tackling him to the floor. One of them forced a suppression collar around his neck, silencing his screams as he was pinned down.

The sound of his struggle echoed through the hall, but the relentless march of the guards continued, indifferent to the chaos.

Elsewhere in the palace, Harper was fending off two guards in another wing. His breath was labored, but he stood his ground, each blow he landed precise and forceful. For a moment, it seemed as if he might actually pull through.

But fate had other plans. A stun glyph detonated beneath his feet, and the world around him shattered in blinding light. He fell hard, twitching, his body unable to respond as the magic coursed through his veins.

A shadow loomed over him, cold and unforgiving. The click of a suppression collar echoed in the silence as it was snapped around his neck, and his resistance faltered.

Korin stood still in the southern hallway, his eyes dark and distant as the red alarm lights bathed the palace in blood-colored light.

“They saw them,” he muttered grimly to himself. “Of course they did.”

He didn’t need to look behind him as two guards rounded the corner, their eyes wide with the shock of seeing him standing in their path. They raised their weapons, but Korin didn’t hesitate. His blade moved faster than the eye could follow. One guard fell, his throat sliced open with surgical precision. The other guard had time to gasp before Korin’s elbow slammed into his skull with bone-crushing force, dropping him like a puppet with its strings cut.

The echoes of his movements reverberated through the halls, but Korin was already gone. The alarms blared louder, but they didn’t matter anymore. He was a shadow now, slipping further into the depths of the palace.

The Vault Sublevel. The air was thick with the smell of dust and old magic. Korin moved swiftly, past shattered seals and trembling torches, towards the Cipher Chamber.

His hand, glowing with red glyphs, pressed against the stone wall. In response, a dark, reflective barrier erupted from the surface, sealing the path behind him. The barrier shimmered ominously, but already, tiny fractures began to spiderweb across its surface.

Korin paused, his cold eyes studying the fissures.

“They were pawns,” he muttered with chilling indifference. “Disposable.”

He took a slow, measured breath before continuing onward, the silence of the palace now deafening as he entered the inner sanctum, alone.

Torches flickered feebly against the cold wind that swept through the broken halls of the academy, casting long, trembling shadows against the cracked stone. The scent of burnt fabric and blood hung thick in the air as Kael ran, his breath ragged, his fists clenched with fury. The academy—his home—had been breached, and every step he took seemed to echo the weight of the betrayal.

He passed fallen guards—some unconscious, their faces twisted in confusion and pain; others lifeless, their blood staining the floor like a cruel reminder of the night's events. The once-proud halls now felt hollow, as if the walls themselves had become aware of the impending doom.

Kael’s heart pounded harder in his chest when he heard a weak groan. He skidded to a halt near a broken archway, where a guard, barely conscious, leaned against the stone wall, clutching his side.

Kael crouched beside him, urgency in his voice as he shook the guard lightly. “What happened?”

The guard’s eyes fluttered open, his breath ragged and shallow. “They... snuck in,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “One of ours... turned. The vault... they're in the vault.” His hand fell limply at his side.

Kael’s eyes widened in horror. “Who?” he demanded, his voice tight with anxiety.

The guard’s voice faltered, barely audible. “Someone with... Rell... Harper... but they are taken...” His eyes glazed over, his life slipping away.

Kael’s blood ran cold. He pushed forward, faster now, the weight of betrayal and loss fueling his every step. He had to stop them. He couldn’t let them take the Cipher.

The air was thick with an ancient energy as Kael arrived at the vault’s entrance. The chamber within was vast, domed, and timeless. Runed stone pillars lined the walls, their faint silver glow adding to the ethereal atmosphere. In the center of the room, suspended in mid-air above a basin of liquid crystal, was the Cipher—an orb of ever-shifting script, its movements as fluid and unknowable as time itself.

Before it stood an old man, robed in faded gold—the Archivist Alwin, the Cipher’s ancient guardian. His hands trembled slightly as he watched the orb, but his posture was firm, unwavering.

From the shadows, a figure stepped forward—Korin. His blade was lowered, but his presence was sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade through flesh.

“Step aside, old man,” Korin’s voice was cold, his words dripping with disdain. “The Cipher belongs to the age ahead—not your dusty traditions.”

Alwin didn’t flinch, his voice calm and steady as he met Korin’s gaze. “It belongs to no age. The Cipher was not meant for conquest... only understanding.”

Korin scoffed, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Understanding won’t keep you alive in what’s coming.”

Alwin took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “You think power gives you clarity. But you’re blind, boy. You don’t even know what the Cipher is.”

Korin’s smirk deepened, his eyes cold as steel. “I don’t need to know what it is. Only what it does.”

Alwin’s expression darkened. “Then you’ve already lost.”

Korin’s hand flicked upward, and the air around him shimmered with dark energy. “No,” he whispered, his voice low and menacing. “I haven’t.”

With a single, fluid motion, Korin raised his hand, the dark glyphs on his palm pulsing with ominous energy. “Veilbind.”

The chamber seemed to breathe, the walls warping and distorting. Alwin gasped as the world around them shifted—no longer solid stone, but a surreal dreamscape. The walls became the sky, the stars bled through cracks in the fabric of reality, and all sound was swallowed by an eerie silence. They were no longer in the real world. They were trapped in *The Veil*, a forbidden realm where time and space bent to the will of the caster.

“This... this is forbidden magic...” Alwin’s voice trembled, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

Korin smiled coldly. “So is wasting centuries.” He took a step closer, his shadow looming over the old man. “Goodbye, Keeper.”

With a fluid flick of his wrist, Korin unsheathed a spectral blade of crimson smoke. It sliced through the air with unnatural speed, and in an instant, it found its mark. Alwin’s body crumpled, dissolving into motes of starlight, his form vanishing as if he were never there to begin with.

In the Cipher chamber, Korin stood over Alwin’s collapsed body, the remnants of the old man’s dream-like form dissolving into the ether. The Cipher hummed, responding to Korin’s presence, its glow intensifying as he approached.

He reached out, fingers brushing the surface of the orb. But just as his hand closed around it—

The main door blasted open with a thunderous crack, sending shards of stone and arcane runes spiraling through the air.

Smoke and flame billowed from the doorway, filling the chamber with heat and chaos. A figure stood silhouetted against the blazing light—Kael. His eyes burned with elemental fury, veins glowing like molten rock. His fists were clenched, crackling with raw power, his body an extension of the furious energy coursing through him.

“Seems like no one welcomed you hard!” Kael’s voice rang out, calm but dripping with contained rage.

The tension in the air was palpable, crackling like the storm that had gathered around Kael’s fists. Korin turned to face him, the Cipher now within his grasp—but for the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes.

Boom.

The front gate of the academy exploded inward, a thunderous shockwave tearing through stone and steel. Shattered iron screamed as it twisted, molten rock raining like ash across the cobbled ground. Smoke surged through the breach, thick and rolling like a storm tide—and from within it, a figure emerged.

Ronan.

He stepped out slowly, unbothered by the chaos he’d unleashed. His robes—black, tattered, and lined with fragments of bone—whipped around his frame like the wings of some deathless creature. A horned mask obscured his face, but the cold glow of necrotic energy curled around his fingers like hungry spirits.

He raised his hands.

“Time to wake up,” he said softly, “old friends.”

The earth split open beneath him.

Rotting hands clawed through cracked stone. Skeletal warriors dragged themselves up from the depths, armor fused to bone, swords rusted to ruin. Some were scorched, their bodies blackened by fire long extinguished. Others were hulking, mutated things—half-flesh, half-abomination. Their eyes burned with ghostlight.

Ronan smiled behind the mask.

“Let’s see how many screams it takes to bring the sky down.”

A scream answered. One of the academy guards, caught in a skeleton’s charge, was shredded like paper. Then another scream, and another. Panic spread like fire.

Upper Courtyard.

Glenn stood at the edge of the chaos, fingers tightening around his staff. The weapon pulsed with energy—thin metal strips running its length like living veins.

He exhaled through his nose.

“Let’s test the limits.”

Beside him, Kiara stepped forward, calm and resolute. Her magical staff shimmered, light spiraling up its core. Above it, a crystal halo spun slowly, casting arcs of radiant energy in every direction.

Kiara’s voice was steady. “Let’s make sure he screams the same way.”

Then they moved—together, without hesitation—into the heart of the inferno.

The fight erupted.

Glenn’s staff whipped through the air. It flexed with the motion, then snapped back, sending out a sonic wave that slammed into the charging skeletons. Bones fractured, then crumbled to dust beneath the concussive force.

He gritted his teeth. “Let’s see you handle feedback, freaks!”

Kiara planted her staff into the ground. Runes blazed to life around her feet. A beam of searing light erupted, slicing through two undead mid-charge. She spun, the halo above her flashing—casting shields of force and daggers of hardlight that shattered the undead like brittle glass.

“Hold the line,” she said, calm even now. “I’ve got your flank.”

But they kept coming.

One leapt at her from the side. It never reached her—caught mid-air in a blast of sunfire that turned its skull to ash.

Glenn’s eyes darted, breath ragged.

“They just keep coming!”

But in his mind—something else cracked open.

Too many.
This can’t go on like this.
Just swinging... hoping something works. It’s not me. Not anymore.

He could feel it—his control slipping, logic buckling beneath the weight of chaos. But the memory struck before the fear could.

The sky blushed with hues of gold and wine as the sun dipped behind the city’s jagged silhouette. The evening air hung thick with silence—not peace, but something heavier. Bloomy, expectant. Like the moment before a downpour.

Caren stepped through the front door, closing it behind him with an uncharacteristic urgency. His hands fumbled for the lock, clicking it into place as his eyes darted across the windows. He froze, chest rising and falling, a grim tension tightening his face.

Then—he moved.

“Tary!” he called, voice sharp. “Switch off the lights—get Glenn. Now.”

Tary appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel, confusion written all over her.

“Why? What happened?” she asked, but obeyed, flipping the lights off with a nervous flick of her fingers.

Caren turned toward her, eyes fierce, voice low. “We’re under attack. I was followed. When I got here, there were at least four—maybe five—figures already circling the house. I felt them.”

Her breath caught. “Oh my God. Thieves?”

“No. Not thieves. Not from inside the city. These are outsiders.”

Footsteps pounded on the stairs.

Glenn burst into the hallway, eyes wide, breath tight. “Dad! Mom! I saw someone—just outside my window!”

Bang!

The door shuddered under a powerful impact. The sound echoed like a war drum through the tight hallway.

Tary’s hand flew to her mouth. “Glenn, hide. Now! Behind the stairs. Go!”

But Glenn didn’t move. His jaw clenched. “Why should we hide? We should teach them a lesson for trying to break into our house!”

“No!” Caren’s voice cracked like a whip. “Listen to your mother. Now’s not the time. That door’s reinforced. It'll draw attention if they try too hard—that's what they don’t want.”

But Glenn’s eyes were burning. With pride. With something reckless.

“Don’t act like a coward, Dad. This is the time to strike—before they’re gone!”

Before either parent could stop him, Glenn lunged toward the stand by the door, grabbed his old baseball bat, and threw the bolt open with a violent clack.

“Glenn, NO!” Tary cried, running after him.

But he was already swinging.

The bat cut through empty air.

“Huh?” Glenn blinked. “See? I told you—they ran.”

Then, without warning, a blur of steel.

A knife, fast as thought, sliced through the air toward Glenn’s chest.

But Caren was faster.

He threw himself between the blade and his son, taking the hit square in the ribs. A sickening sound. His breath left him in a guttural cough—blood spilling from his mouth as he stumbled.

“Dad!” Glenn screamed, catching him.

Caren’s eyes, dimming, found his son’s.

“Never act out of rage...” he whispered. “Always think. That’s what you’re supposed to do. You’re my son... Glenn Loren. And I am Caren Loren—one of this kingdom’s best tacticians.” He coughed, red on his lips. “Now... get inside. I’ll handle the rest.”

He pushed Glenn toward the house with the last of his strength and slammed the door behind them.

Inside, Glenn and Tary stood frozen, drenched in shock.

Outside—they heard the fight.

Blades striking. Flesh tearing. Grunts. Gasps. Then—

“Ah! Dumb man opened the door for us,” came a voice—gravelly, amused. “Let’s go. We got the one we came for.”

The footsteps faded.

Glenn in his mind thought, It was me. I caused it. My rage... my pride. That’s why he died. I swore—never again. Never again will someone die because I didn’t think it through.

From the smoke, a silhouette emerged—slow, deliberate, and deathly still. Ronan stepped into the fray, his tattered black robes whispering with every movement, the jagged bones sewn into their seams clinking like war chimes. Violet energy shimmered at his fingertips as he traced necrotic sigils into the air, symbols that twisted the very light around them.

His voice cut through the chaos—calm, assured, and chilling.

"You're just dancing at the surface..."
He raised his hands.
"...Let's go deeper."

With a roar of arcane fury, Ronan slammed his palms into the ground. A deep rumble split the earth beneath Glenn and Kiara. The stone cracked apart like shattered glass—and from the smoking crater rose a monstrosity.

It towered above them: a skeletal beast of immense size, ribs glowing molten orange, like a furnace fed by souls. Its limbs were jagged obsidian blades, its face a grotesque fusion of bone and ember. When it roared, the academy itself trembled.

Glenn's grip tightened on his staff, jaw clenched. Kiara’s eyes narrowed, light weaving into a spiral above her haloed staff.

Kiara shouted, fierce and focused:
"You take the limbs—I'll take the soul. I have to end this."

Glenn nodded, teeth bared.
"Yeah, go for it!"

Then—
Silence.

The world around Kiara dimmed.

Sound collapsed into a faint, steady heartbeat. Her vision blurred—not from fear, but from memory. The present melted away as her mind drifted backward.

FLASHBACK

The tiny home was lit only by the dull glow of a single candle, flickering against cracked stone walls. Kiara sat at the wooden table, her small hands wrapped in fresh white bandages, tender from splitting firewood.

Her father's voice came low and weary, yet firm.

“Kiara… I know you're young. But you need to understand. We don’t have the luxury to give up. Not once. Not ever.”

She looked up at him—his shadow long on the wall, worn shoulders bent beneath the weight of a life too hard for too long.

From behind, her mother smiled softly. Eyes tired, but kind.

“You're not just our daughter,” she whispered. “You’re our hope. The only thing we ever did right in this world.”

Then—
Bang.

The front door burst open.

Two men stood in the frame. Coats soaked with sleet. Faces hard as stone.

“Time’s up,” one of them barked. “Next moon cycle, we’re taking the house.”

Her father stepped forward, planting himself between them and Kiara.

“Over my dead body,” he said quietly.

Kiara, heart pounding, watched from behind him. Her fists clenched at her sides. In her chest, something stirred—a heat, a vibration. Power. Even then.

Young Kiara’s voice, trembling but defiant, echoed in her own mind:
“I’ll protect them. Someday… I’ll be strong enough.”