They walked back toward the ragged ring of tents, boots crunching over glass and splintered tile.
Aurelia kept pace beside Serel, the camp's distant murmurs drifting up like a tide. She asked the question plain and sharp.
"How strong is the Spire? In raw power, could they fight a bunch of guardians if it came to that? From what I've seen, the Spire is dedicated to the Scholar's Wings edicts."
Serel's brows rose at the phrase "Scholar Wing Edicts." "Scholar Wing…?" she repeated, then gave a half-smile. "You Arcane people have your names. We have ours. Don't worry, it's the same thing dressed differently." She folded her hands, voice careful. "Short answer, we have competent fighters, skilled engineers, and magi who can hold a line. Dareth, Kestrel, and I are not weak. But Agnes is on another scale. He's the heavy hitter here."
Aurelia took that in, the words mapping themselves against the memory of the golem's fall. Agnes did it alone… and he was nearly ruined in the process. The image tightened at the edges of her thoughts.
Serel followed the look in her eyes. "Agnes can bend more than most of us. He's not just strength, he's experience, ritual authority, and the kind of Aether control that makes lesser spells look like candlelight. The royal guard and the Council's best are in that bracket as well, their captains, some of the older magi, they can all punch above your typical academy apprentice."
Lysandra, walking two paces behind, let out a brittle laugh. "Thank the stars for that, then," she said. "But it took Headmaster Agnes everything to put one guardian down. If that's a single guardian, what about dozens?"
Serel's face grew hard. "That's the worry. The kingdom is fractured, communication is spotty, many precincts are cut off, and every district that lost its watchmen is a gap the guardians can exploit. We don't know how many of the Spire's trained forces were held, or how many were taken when the Heart hiccupped. The math does not comfort me."
Dareth and Lucien were at the fire camp, the prince's grin tight but relieved, and behind them a small knot of hard-faced specialists: engineers with toolbelts, magi whose robes still smelled faintly of wards, and a handful of steely captains who looked like they'd seen too many things break to be surprised by anything now.
Relief swept the camp. People who'd been hollowed by hours of fear found a thread of hope and clung to it.
Kael was already stepping forward, voice sharp. "Did you reach the Spire's forces? Are reinforcements coming?"
Lucien's smile eased into something more sober. "Yes. They answered. We gathered what we could, engineers, conservators, a detachment of magi and wardens." He flicked his chin toward the new arrivals, the sight of trained hands among them steadied more than one breath.
Dareth's expression, however, closed like a gate. He met their eyes and then spoke, the words slow and precise as if measuring each one before release. "There's a problem. The council… It's split."
A hush fell. Even the fire's crackle seemed to quiet itself.
"One side doubts everything you say, Aurelia," Dareth continued. "They question the visions, the memories. Some have even floated the idea that you, or at least the arrival of Arcane students, somehow triggered the Core. They refuse to accept your testimony, no matter what evidence we bring them."
Heat rose in Aurelia's throat, quick and ugly. They'd swallow that instead of listening?
Lucien stepped forward, his tone lowering. "The other side believes you. They matched parts of your vision to the archives on Halvane and the Core, they've mustered forces to respond. But…" He paused, glancing around at the group. "Conflict within the council is still growing. And," he added, lowering his voice, "there's a chance one faction wants to use this chaos to overthrow the royal family and rebuild the Spire in their image."
Before anyone could answer, Ardent came running, breathless, eyes wide. "My parents, they serve the palace," he said, voice jerked raw. "Where are they? Are they—" His words broke into the wind. Fear made the edges of his face thin and urgent.
Dareth gritted his teeth. "When the Core went wrong, the guardians targeted the palace," he said. "We still don't know where the royal family is, whether they lived or were taken. That absence is why the council can't move as one, and why rivalries flare so quickly now."
A cold thing settled in the pit of Aurelia's stomach. If the throne is empty, who decides? Who keeps order?
The camp hummed around them with small, necessary tasks, bandaging, ration lists, someone arguing about water routes, but the political rot ran deeper than smoke and rubble.
Kael straightened, voice low and dangerous. "Are they enemies, then? The faction that doesn't believe, will they come after us? After Aurelia?"
Dareth closed his eyes for a slow breath, the weight of counsel and consequence pressing his face into a tired mask. When he opened them, the answer was both exhausted and honest.
"I don't know."
For a fleeting moment, she'd believed that once they learned how to rewrite the Core, the path forward would be simple, dangerous, yes, but straightforward.
But now the threat of a coup d'état hung over them like a second storm, and everything felt more fragile.
"It's… concerning," she admitted to the group, forcing her voice steady. "But our priority hasn't changed. Rewriting the Core comes first. If a fight breaks out along the way, so be it. The entire kingdom's survival depends on stopping the guardians. We can deal with political chaos after the Core is contained."
She exhaled slowly, then asked, "But how exactly do we trace the anchors? When I focus, my Aspect resonates with them. But I can't track every single one on my own. I'll need rest between each reading, and the number could be… overwhelming."
Before anyone else could answer, one of the experts Lucien and Dareth had brought stepped forward. He was middle-aged, broad-shouldered, his hands marked by years of metalwork and Aether-laced machinery.
"I'm Master Engineer Joseph," he said, bowing his head slightly to Aurelia. "And don't underestimate us, Lady Aurelia. We've lived our entire lives in the Spire. We know its heartbeat, its history, its traps. Aether here moves differently than anywhere else, you've felt it by now."
He tapped the small device strapped to his wrist, ancient runes flickering faintly. "With our experience, our instruments, and expertise, we'll find every anchor tied to the Core. And we'll rewrite them, properly."
Behind him, several engineers, wardens, and magi straightened, their postures confirming his words.
"And if we run into trouble," Corbin added, his expression hardening, "we're not exactly defenseless. Whether the threat is human or guardian, we have fighters prepared to handle it."
Aurelia felt a pulse of relief beneath the fear. For the first time since this began, the burden on her shoulders didn't feel quite so solitary.
They move from talk into action with the smooth certainty of people who have done terrible things and learned how to keep panic useful.
Professor Dareth becomes a conductor of motion, lists, teams, and routes. Magus Serel stands beside him, calm and precise. Master Kestrel and Joseph argue quietly over instruments and access points. Agnes watches from his litter, palms folded, the old man who will not be idle.
"Split into three sweeps," Dareth orders. "Sweep teams A, B, and C. Each team: a scholar or two, an engineer, a warden, and two fighters. Serel, your team takes the eastern quarter. Kestrel, you and Joseph take the mechanical districts. I'll guide the central route and the recovered royal engineers."
Joseph clicks a device to life, an odd, brass-ringed scanner that hums like a beetle. "Our instruments pick up anchor-signatures: shifted harmonics, stabilizer imprints, marginal motifs, anything Halvane's pattern left behind," he explains. "We don't need to wait for a single reader to sense them. We can track the echoes across the grid and narrow a search radius."
Serel nods, and Aurelia hears the relief in her voice. "Good. We'll work in tandem. Do not let one detection determine the sweep."
Lucien slaps Kael on the back, all bravado that softens when his glance hits Aurelia. "You leading us, then?" he asks lightly.
Aurelia swallows. I'm not leading them. I'm helping. I keep telling myself that. "I'll scan as far as I can," she says.
Serel stepped closer, resting her hand on the scanner's faintly glowing field. "Anchors store commands the way a drum keeps rhythm. Halvane wrote them short so the core wouldn't lose its place."
She tapped a brass key.
A floating keyboard of light unfurled above the console, old magic spliced into Spire tech.
"We're not rewriting the whole system," Serel said. "We're giving it a brake."
She typed a single rune-string, and the command bloomed into clean, etheric letters:
STOP
"Halvane's original phrase—'measure and keep'—kept the core steady," she continued. "But a short, simple command like this? Even an overstrained core can obey it. It won't shut the guardians down all at once… but it will slow them, redirect them, give us time."
Joseph rubbed his beard thoughtfully, eyes narrowing with comprehension.
"…All right," he murmured. "I understand."
A slow, communal exhale moves through the camp. The plan is a rough thing, no guarantee, but concrete steps, responsibilities, and contingencies.
Agnes's voice drifts over them, quiet but present, "Do what you must. Bring those anchors back to reason."
They split into their assigned sweeps and moved like pieces on a hurried map.
Aurelia's team took the eastern quarter, Lucien shoulder-bumping past with that easy, teasing smile, Kael close and vigilant, Lysandra a bright, nervy presence at Aurelia's elbow, Victoria lugging instruments and notebooks like precious things, Magus Serel, calm and stoic as ever, and a warden Aurelia hadn't met before, broad-shouldered, brass-lined gauntlets, a soft knot of gray in his beard. "Warden Calder," he introduced, voice low, professional. "I'll keep the path clear."
Aurelia set the veil again. This third time, it formed faster and cleaner, less of Dareth's practiced sweep and more of something she'd taught her hands by force.
The silver shimmer pooled around them, a ragged bubble that smelled faintly of rain and old stones.
Better, she thought, feeling the weave hold without a tremor. Not perfect. Not his level. But it will do.
Lysandra kept her voice small, half-joking, half-true. "Please tell me we won't have to fight councilmen while we're at it."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Worry about guardians, not politics," he said, eyes scanning the ruined street ahead. "If the council sends soldiers after us because they doubt Aurelia, I will personally—"
"It's the guardians who matter," Aurelia cut in, quiet and steady. She tucked the concern away for later attention. This veil has to keep us invisible long enough to work.
Victoria hesitated, gaze flicking between Aurelia and the instruments she carried. "You said you need rest after using your…Aspect. I don't really understand how it works. Is it dangerous?"
Aurelia let out a breath, "It's not dangerous in the flashy way. An Aspect is the soul's voice answering the world's current."
It's my soul reaching into the past and coming back with a mouthful of someone else's memories.
"Every time I reach, I pull on myself. The more I pull, the more frayed I get, like a once-strong rope. I can do it, but I have to stop and tie new knots, or I start to unravel."
Lucien gave a dry, approving whistle. "So it's less theatrical and more…careful bookkeeping of your insides. Helpful to know. Also, you'll need guts and stubbornness, two things the Caelistras have in abundance." His smirk softened when it landed on her, sincere. "That's why you manage, then. Not because you're reckless, but because you're stubborn enough to keep going."
They threaded through rubble-strewn streets until the city's ruined bones opened into a ragged plaza.
Sunlight slashed through smoke and dust, and there, half-buried in collapsed masonry, rose the anchor, a pillar of light and etched stone, the ring motif circling its crown like a signature.
It hummed faintly beneath the air, old instruction buried in metal.
Aurelia's chest tightened the moment she felt it. There. Halvane's ring. This is one of them.
Before she could point the others forward, a line of council wardens and officials surrounded the pillar.
Councilor Verran stood near the front, seal-heavy cloak pulled tight.
Faces framed him like a portrait of control, hands rested on pommels and papers. The council had come to claim it.
Magus Serel stepped out of the group, expression flat as a blade. "This anchor is active," she said, "If we let it continue, it will endanger the life of civilians. We must act now."
Verran's answer was a measured, cold thing. "You do not have the Council's authorization to alter public infrastructure. Stand down."
Kael's patience snapped like a string. He stepped forward, jaw tight. "People are dying, Councilor. This is not paperwork. Either you let us stabilize it, or we find a way to stop it ourselves."
Verran's mouth thinned. "You threaten civic order."
"You're arguing about procedure while the city's bones crumble?" Serel questioned.
They held their ground like two lines at the edge of a cliff, tense, measured, too close for comfort but not close enough to touch the pillar.
Aurelia's fingers curled around the hilt at her hip. I shouldn't draw this. Not here. Not yet.
Still, the leather was warm beneath her palm, the motion to pull free was a breath away.
Kael's shoulders were a coiled rope of wind, the faint whine of Aether braided through him, the air around his wrists eddying.
Lysandra's hands glowed at the knuckles as she cradled a spark of fire, ready to let it fly.
Lucien's stance was lazy, but his eyes flared sharp as flint.
Calder's gauntlets thrummed, a small mechanical heartbeat as his Aether settled into the armor.
Victoria's slate and Serel's pale tools hovered ready, Serel's fingers hovered over the floating keys she used to type her runes.
Across the soft, shattered plaza, the council members mirrored them, relics at their hips, revolvers gleaming, arcane sigils already creased into the air above their palms.
Verran watched both lines the way someone checks a chessboard before a move. No one advanced. No one touched the pillar. The anchor kept humming, patient and inert.
Words came slowly, obligatory, Verran's voice even, wrapped in official weight. "There are procedures. Council oversight. We cannot let a group, no matter how earnest, alter civic fixtures without authorization."
Serel's reply was a thin, controlled sound. "And while we argue bureaucracy, people are dying. We either act, or what's left of this city acts for us."
A murmur rippled through the council wardens. The air between the two ranks felt like a held breath.
Verran tilted his head, eyes sweeping them all. For a moment, it looked like he would press the point. Then, in a tone that disarmed and obliged at once, he said, "Very well. We will delay action and bring this before the full council. Leave the site. No one approaches the anchor until an ambassador from both sides arrives."
Serel gave the agreed, quiet nod and, with the grace of someone used to masking intent, she turned away.
No one noticed the slight motion of her left hand. Behind her back, she tapped a tiny pattern with two fingers, three quick strokes.
Signals, Aurelia registered, even before Victoria's sharp, whispered intake confirmed it. She's not accepting the delay.
They began to move as if to comply, step by step, backs turned to the pillar.
Lindering a feint of obedience was a dangerous ballet.
Everyone kept their faces neutral, and everyone kept their hands where they could strike.
Then Verran's face tightened, and an aide at his side barked a single order.
The men at Verran's flank didn't step back, they raised.
It unspooled fast. The council had anticipated a false retreat.
Revolvers flashed, a relic's pale line snapped into being, and wardens advanced.
Serel's fingers flew to her keys again, but this time not to type, she cupped her hands and sent a thin thread of light across the plaza, a slicing warning more than a spell.
Kael's hand lashed out, intercepting a gauntleted forearm reaching for Serel's tools with a whip of water.
Calder shoved forward, gauntlets clanging, to block a line of men who tried to cut off the team's exit.
Lucien moved like a blade through the press, elbow and shoulder, finding gaps
Lysandra's fire braided into swift, jabbing arcs that kept a ring of attackers at bay.
Papers flew, a conservator's clipboard clattered and spun, and dust ghosted up in small, choking clouds.
Revolvers barked, an expert's relic cracked like thunder, throwing a shock that singed someone's sleeve.
Aurelia didn't wait.
The instant she heard the metallic crack of a trigger, she drew, steel flashing in a tight arc.
The bullet struck the flat of her blade and ricocheted off into the rubble, the impact humming through her arm.
Her pulse steadied with the familiar weight of the sword in her hands. We can't wreck the anchor. We can't let this turn into a fight over it. Just buy time, keep it contained.
Behind her, Serel's fingers were already flying, tapping out a compressed rune string.
The pillar gave a faint, unnatural shiver, like water reacting to a breath.
Verran saw it instantly.
His eyes sharpened, fury and alarm snapping together. He pivoted toward Serel, raising his revolver to fire—
—but Calder was already there.
The big warden slammed into Verran's arm with a gauntleted forearm, twisting hard.
The revolver jerked sideways, clattered out of his grip, and spun across the cracked tiles in a shrieking arc of metal.
The square became a scrape of bodies and clashing wills, spells and relics, boots pounding.
Above it all, the anchor remained, brass and stone, a ringed motif catching dust like a crown. No one dared touch its face.
It was ugly, immediate, and raw, precisely the sort of scene everyone had hoped to avoid. But once the council had shown its hand, compromise was no longer an option.
The moment had been lost, only the outcome remained to choose between them.