The world no longer turned with the quiet rhythm it once knew. Since the fall of Velnor and the return of Vornak the Dreadflame, the empire stood on the precipice of chaos. Cities fortified their walls, mages rearmed their minds, and warriors sharpened their blades. The Grand Arcanum became the fulcrum of it all.
Yet within its towering halls and ancient corridors, the conflict wasn't just political or military. It was personal.
.....
Loyaid Floyen was no longer a name spoken with indifference. It became a name that bore weight of prophecy, of dread, of hope. Each hallway he walked through now echoed with whispers, reverence, fear. Even the professors, once superior and cold, now nodded respectfully, hesitantly, as if uncertain whether to fear or follow him.
He hated it.
Celia noticed the shift in his posture, the stiffness in his shoulders. You can't carry it all, you know,she said one evening atop the south tower. The wind carried winter's bite, and yet they stood close, breath visible between them.
If I don't, he replied, others will die.
She stared at him. You didn't bring the Demon King back.
No. But I didn't stop him either.
Celia stepped closer. That's because you're human. Not a god. You were never meant to be the shield of the world alone.
Their eyes met. For a moment, the tower fell away, the war forgotten, and only the fragile line between guilt and healing remained. Then the alarm bells rang.
.......
It was a coordinated strike. Three cloaked figures had slipped past the academy's outer barrier a feat thought impossible. One was caught by Arcane Watch sentries. The other two reached the outer sanctum.
Loyaid arrived first. His instincts, once dulled by years of silence, now screamed.
They fought without mercy. Not mages something else. Assassins trained in both demonic rituals and anti-magic arts. Their blades could cut through mana like steel through cloth.
One slashed his shoulder, poison sizzling on the blade. He didn't stop. He channeled light and shadow, twin beams blasting the attackers back.
Celia arrived next, followed by Elira. One attacker tried to leap the balcony Celia caught them mid-air with a divine tether, dragging them down into a binding circle. The other turned on Elira but found themselves impaled by a spirit-lance.
"They were sent to test our defenses,Elira said grimly. They didn't expect to survive.
Loyaid knelt by the dying assassin. The man's eyes, bloodshot and distant, whispered one word:[ vornak].
And then died....
......
That night, Loyaid's dreams returned. Not memories. Echoes. He walked through scorched fields, past ruins where demons feasted on corpses, past cities where his name was carved into stone and stained with blood.
Max Van had made choices. Some good. Some unforgivable.
In one vision, he stood before the old Mage Council, demanding they evacuate a city days before it was destroyed. They refused.
He screamed at them. Begged them. They turned their backs.
That was the day he walked away from politics and became a weapon.
When Loyaid awoke, he realized something: history was repeating itself. And this time, he had to break the cycle.
.....
Loyaid gathered his closest allies. Celia, Elira, Brant, Reich, Myrren. Together, they formed what Dravion would call the Second Circle—a unit designed to operate outside bureaucracy, with full authority under war doctrine.
Their base was the Tower of Vow, once an abandoned observatory.
Each of them brought something new:
Celia discovered she could now imbue objects with divine essence making even mundane tools into relics.
Elira created a network of spirit-scouts that could travel undetected.
Brant forged war-hammers laced with anti-demonic sigils.
Reich created a wind beacon system, allowing instant communication across leagues.
Myrren unveiled the Tombblade: a weapon forged from the memory of dead kings, infused with necrotic judgment.
They trained. Not as students. As warriors. Loyaid designed new spells, hybrid incantations that could counter demonic curses.
And slowly, they became not just defenders—but hunters.
....
Reports came in daily...
Villages disappearing overnight. Skyships grounded by crimson fog. Whole forests turning to glass.
And then, a direct message. Burned into the walls of a burned monastery:
I remember your light, Sage. Let me show you my flame.... Vornak
Dravion ordered an immediate response.
Loyaid led the strike team.
They found the remains of the monastery still smoldering. Vornak was gone but he had left behind a trap. A magical anomaly, an orb of shifting flame and darkness, pulsing with cursed energy.
Elira tried to banish it. Celia shielded her.
But Loyaid did something else. He stepped into it.
The orb welcomed him. Dragged him inward. Into a plane between realms.
There he met Vornak. Not in body but in presence.
You walk paths that burned before,
the demon said, his voice like molten iron.
You think killing me again will change what's coming?
Loyaid replied,
No. But I'm not here to kill you.
He released a pulse of magic pure memory. He showed Vornak the last war. The deaths. The betrayal. The final scream of the Demon King.
And then he pulled back.
The orb shattered.
When he returned, Celia was holding him.
You were gone for hours.
"To me, he said, it was .....
With the anomaly destroyed, the Second Circle now had proof: the demon commanders were trying to open gates between realms something only possible during a celestial convergence.
Which was now only weeks away.
The empire moved. Armies were conscripted. Artifacts unearthed. Old pacts revived.
And Loyaid… stood at the center of it all.
He no longer feared his past. He embraced it.
But he still wondered… would it be enough?
....