The sky above Valdera churned with restless clouds, heavy and brooding. From the tallest spire of Caelmire's Central Bastion, the storm mirrored the unease settling among the continent's most powerful voices.
Within the high council chamber, carved from layered rune-stone and infused with ancient magic, five figures sat encircled around a crystalline table that pulsed faintly with stored mana. Each bore the crest of their respective guild, etched into armored plates, flowing robes, or inlaid sigils—symbols of authority that had once been the continent's foundation. Now, they were its last line of stability.
The silence inside was measured—not of ignorance, but of calculation.
The chrono-rune embedded in the wall ticked once, twice. Then Theron Kaelis rose from his seat.
The elder Guild Master of Aetherlight Vanguard, now fifty-eight, wore his command in quiet dignity. His armor, a blend of matte silver and midnight-blue alloys, shimmered with muted enchantments. Age had not dulled his gaze—it had sharpened it.
"The Upper District break was not an isolated incident," he began, his voice firm but not forceful. "It mirrors signs of a larger sequence."
Across from him, Saria Vorn narrowed her eyes. The youngest among them at twenty-six, her crimson cloak rippled slightly from the residual pressure of the transport sigils she'd used to arrive.
"That's still speculation, Guild Master," she said. "Unless you've suddenly decided to trust Nova Arcanum's half-reports?"
"I trust data," Theron answered calmly. "And the energy patterns from the sealed district match readings from the Core Incident in Solvarin."
Galen Thorne, robed in froststeel and bearing the mark of Glacium Pact, let out a slow breath. His blue-gray eyes were sharp beneath the fur-lined hood of his mantle.
"You mean the one that destabilized an entire continental rift?" he asked.
"Exactly," Theron confirmed. "The patterns are too aligned to be chance."
A low scoff came from the opposite end of the crescent.
Veyra Duskbane, Guild Master of Obsidian Dawn, sat with one leg crossed, arms draped loosely in a pose more casual than anyone else would dare. Her shadow-black armor was threaded with red corestone veins—volatile, alive. "So what now?" she said dryly. "We watch it grow and hope it gets bored?"
Without responding directly, Theron reached across the table and tapped the crystal interface. The chamber dimmed as the central projection flared to life. A map of Caelmire's Upper District rotated slowly, its center highlighted in shifting hues of red. Failed scans, unstable ley lines, and increasing mana density bled outward like cracks in stained glass.
"The expansion rate increases daily," he said. "In under a week, it could breach containment."
Elric Sylvanis, of the Verdant Chain, leaned forward, hands folded over his staff. His green robes were lined with living flora, shifting with every breath. "Has Nova Arcanum made a formal statement?" he asked, his tone even.
Galen replied before Theron could. "Only a coded report. Their agents are already inside."
Saria's jaw tensed. "Of course they are. Nova Arcanum always operates alone."
There was more than annoyance behind her words—something unspoken, personal.
Theron changed the display. Five symbols appeared around the Upper District, each representing one of their guilds.
"Each guild will send one elite representative," he said. "Together, they'll assess the core. If possible, neutralize or stabilize it. Minimal exposure. Minimal escalation."
"You want cooperation," Veyra said, unmoving. "With Nova Arcanum involved."
"They'll never cooperate," Saria added. Her voice was quieter now. Sharper. "Especially her."
No one asked who she meant. They all knew.
"A relic signature was detected in the last mana flare," Theron said. "Unfamiliar resonance. Unreadable composition. We suspect it was dormant... until now."
Galen's brow furrowed. "Have you confirmed it's a relic?"
"Not a confirmed one," Theron answered, "but the readings are consistent with prior exposures—right down to the frequency spikes. What matters is that it isn't native to the dungeon's structure."
Veyra remained silent, her crimson eyes watching the projection rotate.
"If it is a relic," Elric said carefully, "and the energy is tied to that structure—what happens if someone already interacted with it?"
Theron was quiet a moment longer before responding.
"Then we may be too late."
A beat passed. Then another.
Galen broke the stillness. "One representative per guild. But if the situation escalates?"
"Then suppression squads are authorized," Theron confirmed. "Each of you should ready contingency deployments."
Saria looked at him directly. "If it spreads beyond containment, I won't wait for another vote."
"Understood," he replied. "But until then, we move together."
There was a gravity to those words. Cooperation wasn't ideal. It was necessary. Even now, there were fractures in the alliance—ideological divides, conflicting interests, buried history. Yet none of them were naïve enough to think they could face what was coming alone.
Each guild master pressed their personal runeplate.
A muted pulse of light passed through the crystalline table, signaling unanimous agreement. Silent magic sealed the accord.
One by one, they stood.
Saria left first, her cloak flaring behind her like a scarlet flare vanishing into the corridor. Galen and Elric followed, deep in quiet discussion. Veyra lingered, just long enough to glance back at the projected map one final time. Her gaze paused on the faint green echo pulsing near the relic site—unstable, irregular, but familiar.
Theron remained alone in the chamber, watching the projection fade into the polished stone table.
Outside, the storm broke.
Lightning danced across Valdera's skyline.
And deep beneath Caelmire—beneath the seals, the stone, the old protections—the relic pulsed once.
Not in warning.
In awakening.
End of chapter.
There might be mistake here I will be rechecking some later on.
Thank you for reading.