The world swam back into focus through a haze of pain. A'Dunce gasped, plaster dust choking him as he finally wrenched free from the collapsed ceiling's embrace. Every fiber of his being screamed in agony; his Vital Aura felt like fractured glass within him. Gravity reclaimed him, and he plummeted towards the cracked flagstones below.
Before the bone-beast could even register its brief reprieve, a thunderous bellow echoed. Drako Holy Evil, the immense draconic guardian hatched from the sacred stone, abandoned his pursuit. Huge, obsidian-scaled wings snapped out, catching A'Dunce just before impact. The dragon settled heavily onto the ravaged courtyard, carefully lowering his rider. A'Dunce slumped between the thick, golden horns protruding from Drako's headcrest and the first spine of his formidable back, clutching the foremost horn like a lifeline as he fought for breath. The scraps of his Vital Aura left within him sputtered, struggling to knit shattered bones and soothe torn muscles. Weakness was a cold tide threatening to pull him under.
Drako's deep growl vibrated through the air itself as he advanced on the source of the calamity: Skelkarr, the terrifying construct of death and shadow bones summoned by the intruders. The colossal skeletal abomination, its unholy energies severely diminished by Drako's potent divine blasts, now huddled pathetically in the rubble. Instead of terrifying menace, its frame trembled, joints rattling with palpable fear. A flicker of something akin to… consciousness?… flickered within its hollow eye sockets, a stark contrast to the mindless aggression it exhibited moments before.
A'Dunce's heart twisted. He patted Drako's thick, warm neck ridge. "Enough… leave it. It's… just a tool… used by those bastards. Killing it changes nothing." Skelkarr's skull dipped frantically in agreement, radiating a pitiful aura of vulnerability.
Drako paused, his molten-gold eyes narrowing. A disdainful rumble escaped his throat. Skelkarr instantly collapsed, bones clattering loudly on stone, utterly paralyzed, not daring even to flick a phalange.
A'Dunce twisted to survey the remnants of the battle. Arcanists of the Syndicate stood frozen, shell-shocked. The newer arrivals – Archmagus Eldrin and the five other senior Arcanists – were equally stunned. Their collective gaze was pinned on him and the majestic drake under him. The dark hexagonal fissure, conduit for shadow horrors, was sealed under a shimmering pentachrome web of Arcanic energy. No more vile entities clawed their way into the material realm. Order was restored. His companions, Dunce and Rockforce, had breached the inner courtyard. They looked rough, their outer clothes shredded in places, revealing glimpses of the tough serpent-skin armor underneath. They stared at Drako Holy Evil, their confusion evident. A'Dunce grimaced internally. *Damnit, I was reckless… Drako exposed in front of everyone.*
He forced his trembling limbs into action, sliding down Drako's smooth flank. Landing sent fresh jolts of pain through him, and his knees buckled. Only a desperate grab at a piece of fallen masonry saved him from crumpling completely. Drako's massive head nudged him gently, reptilian eyes radiating concern. The unspoken question hung in the air: *Status?*
A'Dunce managed a weak smile. "Holding steady, Holy Evil." He ran a hand over the strangely warm, blue gem fused over his heart. "The bone-beast… I don't want it destroyed. What option do we have?"
Drako blinked, understanding dawning. He tapped his claw against the gemstone on A'Dunce's chest and uttered a low, resonant croon. Recognition sparked in A'Dunce's mind. *The Resonant Dunce! Of course! But…* He glanced around at the recovering crowd. "Too many eyes." His voice dropped to a murmur. He focused his will, tapping into the deep reserves of his strained Vital Aura and focusing his intent into the gem. "By the Pact Dunce's Heart… Seal the rift! Recall!" A pulse of azure light erupted from the gem. Like smoke drawn into a vortex, Skelkarr's colossal form dissolved into wisps of darkness that streamed into the stone. Drako Holy Evil inclined his head towards the light, his form shrinking and dematerializing, flowing back into the gem's embrace with a final flash.
Rockforce utterly drained, A'Dunce slumped heavily onto his backside, wheezing. Healing, urgently needed healing, had to wait now. As Drako vanished, the spell holding the bystanders broke. A wave of murmuring awe washed over the courtyard. Dunce and Rockforce rushed forward, lifting A'Dunce to his feet. Rockforce, ever blunt, asked, "A'Dunce, what in the Nether Hells was that? Two leviathans duking it out!"
The gathered Arcanists parted respectfully as Grand Arcanist Cary, robed in earthen-hued silks signifying his mastery of Terran Magics, approached with the Syndicate elders. His aged face showed profound relief. "Young man… Archmagus Eldrin just relayed the basics. What… what kind of summoning was that? To invoke such an entity… It is unprecedented! This level of draconic manifestation… Where did you learn such arts?"
A'Dunce's vision blurred. "Tandor't… ask…" The accumulated exhaustion, the shock of Drako's exposure, the deep ache in his marrow… it all became too much. His consciousness surrendered to the welcoming darkness, a convenient escape from the barrage of stunned questions. Dunce caught him as he went limp.
One of the senior Terran specialists nodded gravely. "Vital reserves critically depleted. Rest is paramount." He turned to Dunce. "I am Grand Arcanist Cary, Head of the Arcanist Syndicate. You have our deepest gratitude. Bring him. We have quarters." He gestured towards the Syndicate's less damaged wing.
Dunce, burdened by A'Dunce's dead weight, nodded grimly. "Thank you, Grand Arcanist."
Cary swiftly organized the chaos. His voice, amplified by a touch of power, cut through the murmurs. "Silence! What transpired here remains Syndicate business. Commander Relk, mobilize repair crews. Secure the premises. The Pentachrome Seal *must* hold. Archmagii," he nodded to his fellow elders, "go to the Sanctum of the Dunceries. We need their Elder Leaf's intervention – only the Pure Light can truly scour that foul portal." The Dunceries, akin to paladins of holy light, served the Order of the Radiant Hand. Their presence was often tolerated in the Sunfall Province capital city, Sunspire, but relations between the secularist Dunce Arcanus Republic and the theocratic Order were notoriously frosty. Cary only hoped the Elder Leaf wouldn't exploit this vulnerability. *Thank the Stellas the necromancer summoning that monstrosity lacked the true mastery. Otherwise… even our combined strength wouldn't have contained the horror it could unleash.* Shuddering internally, he delegated the five senior Arcanists.
Once A'Dunce was settled in a spacious guest chamber within the Syndicate's fortified heart, and a Hydromancer had attended to his immediate internal distress (stabilizing Vital pathways, knitting microfractures), Cary ensured Dunce and Rockforce were provisioned generously. He leaned close to Dunce. "We will speak when the warrior wakes. Inform the guard outside the door immediately upon his rousing."
Leaving the trio, Cary summoned a contingent of his most trusted Battle-Arcanists and strode purposefully towards Governor Ordo Duncehelm's residence. Outwardly, the Grand Arcanist was the picture of grim authority. Inwardly, cold fury simmered. This assault was no random act of malice. Dozens of lethal assassins and at least five potent necromancers operating undetected within Sunspire? The Necromancer wielding the *Soul-Anchor Conjuration* – one of the Forbidden Rituals? This wasn't just an attack on the Syndicate; it was an existential threat aimed at destabilizing the *entire* Dunce Arcanus Republic. The timing, the resources... pointed towards the militarized theocracy bordering them to the west – the Penumbral Dominion.
He arrived at the fortified manor, the residence reflecting Governor Duncehelm's blend of practical strength and subdued authority. The guards snapped to attention. "Announce me to the Governor. Grand Arcanist Cary requests immediate counsel."
Moments later, the gates swung wide. Governor Duncehelm strode out, an imposing figure radiating calm command despite the unexpected visit. His pragmatic attire couldn't hide the strategist's keen intellect in his deep-set eyes. "Grand Arcanist! To what do I owe the urgent summons?" Their long history of navigating Sunspire's intricate politics forged a bond of pragmatic trust.
Cary cut to the heart of the matter. "Ordo. We need private channels. Now." The uncharacteristic urgency in Cary's voice erased all pleasantries. Duncehelm led him past flanking guards, deep into his secured strategy room, dismissing everyone present.
Inside the sanctum of heavy oak and warded steel, Cary leaned forward, hands gripping the map table edge. "An hour ago, an armed incursion breached the Syndicate. Over twenty. Five necromancers – one nearing Arch-Lich potency. The rest, trained killers. Their aim: assassinate our magi. They unleashed a *Soul-Anchor Conjuration*, Ordo."
Governor Duncehelm's composed facade cracked. "By the High Seat! Are the damages… casualties? My patrols reported nothing!"
"By grace and grit, minimized," Cary stated, though his eyes were haunted. "We owe that debt to an outsider. A warrior bearing the sigil of the Storm Fist Monastery. He stood like a bulwark against the tide, buying us critical moments at grave personal cost. But the incursion… that Forbidden Ritual… Their intent wasn't theft. It was annihilation. They've vanished."
Duncehelm's mind raced, a general surveying a suddenly hostile border. He snapped rapid orders to his silent waiting aide outside: Immediate city lockdown. Military sweeps doubled. Patrol grids tightened.
Returning to the table, Duncehelm's gaze turned hard. "The Dominion?" His question was a statement.
Cary met his gaze squarely. "Who else could marshal such shadowed might? The Syndicate's resources lean heavily towards Dunce. Our Magi Corps remains the strongest deterrent east of the Storm's Edge peaks. A conflict with Penumbra… without our arcane firepower disrupting their faith-based war engines…" He didn't need to finish. The outcome was bleak.
Duncehelm paced the room, his measured stride belying the storm within. Strategy flowed like icy water. "So. Penumbra's claws stretch beyond posturing. The Sunspire Province is the gateway, and Sunspire City…" He stopped, resolve crystallizing. "I'll mobilize the border garrisons immediately. Full alert. Messages to the Senate in Dunce City go out before sundown. We cannot rely solely on hope that the High Seat will disavow this." He paused. "That Storm Fist adept… I should very much like to meet him. The reports filtering in speak of… dragons."
Cary nodded curtly. "I will convey your message to A'Dunce when he recovers. Ordo…" He placed a firm hand on the Governor's armored shoulder. "Be ready. Fortify the watchtowers on the Twilight Passes. This wasn't just a raid; it was a declaration. When wolves howl at the gate, we must meet them not just with shields, but with ready blades."
Duncehelm clasped Cary's arm in a warrior's grip. "Count on it, old friend. Keep your people safe. The Republic needs the Syndicate's light now more than ever."
Within hours, a thousand elite soldiers of the Sunspire Guard encircled the Syndicate compound. The province awoke to troop movements. Eight Legions, honed by constant vigilance, surged towards the border fortifications spanning the treacherous Twilight Passes. More ominous, the specialized Centuria Arcana – a hundred battle-trained magi – positioned itself near the front. The logistical machinery of the Arcanus Republic, vast and efficient, rumbled to life as supplies surged towards the fortified frontier zone. Sunspire Province, historically the bulwark against Dominion aggression thanks to the Storm's Edge mountain range blocking direct approaches from the east and the ocean coastline to the south, prepared for the only direction threat could reliably arrive: the west, from the Penumbral Dominion.