Liam adjusted the collar of his long coat as he stepped out into the bruised twilight. The faint glow from his mechanical eyes shimmered across shattered stone and twisted rebar, casting pale reflections across the wreckage. Ash drifted through the air—silent, persistent, like a memory unwilling to fade. Behind him, the broken silhouette of Knight Headquarters dissolved into shadow.
He raised his wrist communicator.
"Layla," he said, voice low and calm, "I'm heading back. If you're delayed, don't wait—we'll reconnect later."
The line crackled, faint with static, but he knew she'd receive it.
He moved through the wounded city. Smoke curled through the streets. Knights and civilians toiled side by side—dragging survivors from crumbled homes, forming bucket lines, digging through ruins with blistered, bleeding hands. Magic flickered faintly in the gloom: an Earthshaper lifting stone, a Lightweaver pressing glowing hands to torn flesh.
Liam slowed, his gaze sweeping over the scene.
A child limped past with a bundle of bandages. An old man handed out bread with shaking hands. Nondicci, bloodied but breathing, pressed forward beneath a sky that offered no comfort.
He said nothing. But silence in Liam was never empty. It carried weight—measured and coiled, like a drawn bow.
After nearly half an hour of weaving through alleyways and scaling broken terrain, he arrived at his tower—an unmarked spire of alloy and encrypted plating. It bore no insignia, no windows. No invitation. And yet, unlike much of the city, it stood untouched. Whole.
As he stepped through the invisible perimeter, a voice entered his mind, calm and precise.
"Welcome home, Sir. External damage: negligible. All internal systems operational."
"Appreciated, AISAR," Liam murmured.
He climbed the internal stairwell to the rooftop. The air above hissed with wind—tainted with soot, scorched mana, and the distant scent of blood.
From the summit, he surveyed the city.
Nondicci sprawled like a broken body across the horizon. Flattened districts stretched toward the distance. Fires burned along the outskirts. The river ran gray and sluggish with runoff. Only the mage towers and noble estates remained standing—distant, untouched, like indifferent witnesses to the city's unraveling.
Liam pressed his hand to a recessed panel on the rooftop.
With a hiss, a hidden hatch unfolded. Sleek, insectile drones emerged and lifted into the sky, scattering in concentric arcs above the ruins.
"Full-scope scan initiated," AISAR announced. "Thermal, spectral, and mana-field overlays active. Estimated completion: six minutes."
Liam watched them vanish into the haze, their lights blinking against the clouds.
"Where do we begin, AISAR?"
"Based on population density, structural degradation, and contamination index, the critical zones are Varnis, Leraine, and Southbank. Mana instability in Southbank continues to escalate. Projected to reach critical threshold within forty-eight hours."
Liam nodded slowly.
"And the leylines?"
"Seventy percent disruption confirmed. Five major fractures. Mana readings indicate the formation of rogue wells—either emergent or reawakened. If unchecked, they may trigger arcane storms, planar breaches, or unstable anomalies."
A breath escaped his lips—measured and heavy.
"This city isn't dying," he murmured. "It's mutating. Becoming something else."
A pause.
"Correct, Sir. Mutation thrives in entropy. Without direction, it devolves into chaos."
He looked down at his synthetic hands—flawless, enduring, built to outlast the fragile world around them.
Then lifted his gaze to the fractured skyline.
"Then let's give it direction."
The drones hung in the air, near-invisible now—faint specks of motion against the darkening sky. Liam remained at the rooftop's edge, silent, his gaze fixed on the wounded city like a surgeon studying a patient mid-collapse.
AISAR's voice returned—sharper, focused.
"Scan complete. Collating data… anomaly detected."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "Define it."
"Mana field in Southbank displays core instability. Initially read as standard leyline flux. However, deeper layers reveal a rhythmic pulse—structured. Repeating. Not natural."
Liam turned toward the south, where smoke veiled the district in question.
"Mana doesn't pulse unless something is drawing it."
"Correct, Sir. Scanning waveform… Partial match to pre-contamination readings from the Ruined Spire. However, deviations exist. Source likely buried beneath Southbank. Possibly reactivating."
A chill slipped through the air. Liam's synthetic fingers curled.
"Are we looking at a sealed structure?"
"Unknown. Seismic interference limits scan depth. However, energy displacement suggests layered shielding—arcane, ancient. Possibly pre-modern Nondicci."
His jaw tensed. "Any signs of motion? Cognition?"
"Indeterminate. The pulse mimics sentient patterns—faint, irregular. It may be artificial, arcane, or a remnant of something sealed long ago. Current behavior indicates awareness. It is… responding to mana. It is waking."
Silence settled for a beat.
Liam stared across the broken city. Smoke. Fire. Magic. History clawing its way back into the present.
"Mark the anomaly. Maintain passive observation. No engagement. I want eyes, not contact."
"Understood. Surveillance drones rerouted. Silent monitoring engaged."
Liam gave a slight nod.
Then, quietly—almost to himself—he said:
"Let's hope we're the first to notice it."