Far above the mortal sky, in a realm cloaked in silver light, the Witch Council convened.
A circular chamber floated amid clouds of mana, vast and quiet — until the Sanctum Blades' leader knelt before the High Seats.
The six witches who ruled the Council watched her in silence, their faces hidden behind veils of light.
The air itself pulsed with authority.
"Report, Commander Seraphine," said the center witch, her voice layered with enchantment.
Seraphine bowed her head, the silver strands of her hair glinting faintly. "Mission incomplete. The Cursed Heir survives."
A whisper rippled through the chamber — shock, anger, fear.
Another witch leaned forward, her veil flickering. "Impossible. The boy's seal should have prevented full mana resonance."
Seraphine's tone remained calm. "It did. Until he entered the Vault. Now… he bears its mark."
The High Seat paused. "The Vault of Aurelion?"
"Yes," Seraphine confirmed. "He awakened it. Defeated the Guardian. He wields constructs of pure mana."
The Council erupted — voices overlapping, spells of communication sparking like lightning.
Seraphine kept her eyes down, her mind elsewhere.
She remembered his gaze — fierce, defiant, painfully human.
"You're still holding on to yourself," she'd told him. And somehow, that had unsettled her more than his power.
Finally, the High Seat spoke again, voice sharp as glass.
"He must be destroyed before Aurelion's echo takes full form. Summon the Obsidian Order. The hunt begins."
Seraphine hesitated. "With respect, Elder… we should observe first. If the Vault recognized him, there may be a reason—"
The Council's combined aura surged. "Enough. You are a soldier, not a philosopher. Find the boy and end him."
Seraphine lowered her head. "As you command."
But as she vanished into the portal light, her heart whispered a single word she could not say aloud — Why?
Meanwhile, back in the mortal realm — the ruins of the Vault valley.
Kale sat beside a dying campfire, wrapping his arm where the Sanctum leader's blade had cut him. Lyra and Elric tended to their gear nearby, exhausted but silent.
The night was heavy. The air smelled of ash and old magic.
Elric finally broke the quiet. "We can't stay here. The Coven's already tracing the mana burst."
Kale nodded, eyes distant. "I know."
Lyra glanced up. "You're thinking about her, aren't you? The leader."
Kale didn't answer. His mind kept replaying that battle — the precision of her strikes, her control, her restraint.
She could have killed him. But she didn't.
"She hesitated," Kale murmured. "Right before the end. She saw something."
Elric frowned. "Maybe she pitied you."
"Or maybe," Lyra said softly, "she realized you're not the monster they think you are."
Kale looked at the faint glow under his skin — the Vault mark pulsing slowly. "They won't stop coming. Not after that display."
Lyra stood, tightening her cloak. "Then we need allies — others who've been hunted, like us."
Kale's gaze lifted to the horizon. The wind carried a faint howl — not human.
"Werewolves," Elric said grimly. "Out this far? That's new."
Kale's lips curved into a faint smile. "Then that's where we'll start."
Lyra blinked. "You're serious? The werewolf clans don't trust anyone — especially wizards."
"Good," Kale said. "Then they'll understand what it's like to be hunted."
He rose, the moonlight catching in his blue eyes. "If the Coven wants a war, we'll give them one — but not alone."
Elric sighed. "This is going to get us killed."
Lyra grinned faintly. "Or make history."
They packed quickly, leaving behind the remnants of the Vault's energy.
As they disappeared into the forest, a faint shimmer lingered in the air — a ghost of blue mana curling upward toward the night sky.
Far above, hidden in the clouds, Seraphine watched through a vision mirror. Her emerald eyes softened as she saw Kale leading his friends away.
"The boy who bears the curse," she whispered. "Or the boy who will change the world?"
The wind carried no answer — only the faint pulse of distant thunder.