The Astronomy Tower was a needle of white stone piercing the belly of the night sky. It was the highest point on the floating island, a place where the air was thin and the wind bit with the fury of the upper atmosphere.
It was also the location of the First Cornerstone.
I ascended the winding stairs, my breath misting in the cold air. It was late, past curfew for the lower years, but the tower was never truly empty. Senior students studying celestial navigation and sleepless professors often lingered on the observation deck.
My cover story was ready. If anyone asked, I was cross-referencing ancient dwarven star-charts with the current constellations to pinpoint the exact latitude of the lost ruins. It was a flimsy excuse, but my reputation as the "obsessed scholar" was strong enough to carry it.
I reached the observation deck. It was a wide, circular platform open to the heavens, dominated by the Academy's Great Telescope—a massive, brass-and-crystal construct that looked like a cannon aimed at the gods.
There were three students huddled in the corner with a smaller telescope, and one professor pacing the far edge. I ignored them.
I activated my Soul Resonance, keeping it low and tight to my skin to avoid detection. I wasn't looking for emotions; I was looking for order.
Alastair's journal had said: "The North Anchor binds the sky to the stone."
I walked around the perimeter of the deck. I touched the railing. Nothing. I touched the stone floor. Just cold granite.
I moved toward the center, toward the Great Telescope. The massive instrument rested on a raised, octagonal plinth of black marble.
As I approached the plinth, a subtle, harmonic vibration hummed against my senses. It wasn't mana. It was the absence of it. It was a void of static in the noisy magical atmosphere of the academy.
This was it. The black marble plinth wasn't marble. It was a casing for the Starlight Silver anchor.
I stepped up to the plinth. I needed to touch it. I needed to pour the "intent of pure order" into it to wake it up.
"Mr. Greyfall."
The voice was oily and sharp. I didn't flinch. The Frozen Keep was already half-raised in my mind; the surprise was filtered through a window of logic before it could reach my pulse.
I turned slowly.
Professor Vane emerged from the shadows of the telescope's gears. He was wrapped in a heavy fur coat that swallowed his small frame, his watery eyes gleaming with suspicion.
"Professor," I said, my voice cool. "Enjoying the view?"
"I am enjoying the quiet," he said, stepping closer. "Until now. What brings Damien's right hand to the roof of the world? I thought your research was focused on the deep earth, not the sky."
"Dwarves navigated by the stars before they went underground," I lied smoothly. "I am verifying the axial tilt of the Ironspine range relative to the Polaris Star. It affects the depth calculations for the dig team."
Vane stared at me. He was a rat, but he was a clever rat. He sensed something was off.
"Fascinating," he drawled. "May I see your calculations?"
He was testing me. If I fumbled, if I showed hesitation, he would report back to Damien that I was wandering where I shouldn't be.
"They are internal," I said, tapping my temple. "I prefer to verify the math visually before committing ink to parchment."
I turned my back on him—a calculated insult, a display of arrogance to sell the lie—and placed my hand on the black plinth, as if leaning against it to gaze up at the sky.
"It is a beautiful night," I murmured.
"It is cold," Vane corrected, moving to stand beside me. He was watching my hand. He was watching my face.
This was the test. I had to perform the activation right now, with a spy standing two feet away, watching for any sign of magic.
If I cast a spell, he would sense the mana flare. But the Scribe's Path wasn't a spell. It was a state of mind.
I looked up at the stars. I took a breath.
Engage.
In my mind, the black gates of the Frozen Keep slammed shut. The annoyance of Vane, the fear of discovery, the cold of the wind—all of it was dragged into the dungeons and locked away.
I sat on the Throne.
My mind became a singularity of cold, white logic. I focused on the concept of Order. Not the tyrannical order of a dictator, but the structural order of a crystal. Perfect. Unchanging. Aligned.
I pushed that concept down my arm, through my palm, and into the black stone.
Wake up.
To Vane, nothing happened. There was no flash of light. No hum of power.
But to me, the world tilted.
I felt the stone beneath my hand shudder. It was a psychic vibration, a deep, resonant thong like a massive bell being struck deep underwater.
The Starlight Silver within the plinth recognized the key. It woke up.
A rush of invisible, stabilizing energy shot up through the tower. It felt like a fresh breeze blowing through a stale room. The "noise" of the academy's chaotic mana—the resonance of despair Damien was cultivating—was suddenly dampened in this immediate area. The static cleared.
Anchor One: Active.
I held the state for three seconds to ensure the connection was stable. Then, I slowly, carefully, unlocked the gates of the Keep.
Sensations rushed back. The biting wind. The smell of Vane's stale tobacco smoke. The tension in my neck.
I didn't gasp. I didn't stumble. I simply blinked, slowly, as if coming out of a deep thought.
I turned to Vane. My hand slid casually off the plinth.
"The alignment is correct," I said, my voice bored. "The dig team is searching three degrees too far east. I will have to correct their orders."
Vane blinked. He looked at the plinth, then at me. He had sensed... something. A shift in the air. But he couldn't place it. There was no spell residue. Just a sudden, inexplicable feeling that the air was cleaner.
"You... did that in your head?" he asked, skeptical.
"I am the architect, Professor," I said, walking past him toward the stairs. "I don't need paper to see the lines."
I stopped at the doorway and looked back. "Don't stay up too long, Vane. The cold makes the mind wander. You might start seeing things that aren't there."
I descended the stairs, my footsteps echoing on the stone.
My heart was racing now, safe in the privacy of the stairwell. That had been close. Too close. But I had done it.
One anchor down. Three to go.
As I walked back across the dark campus, I felt a strange sensation. For the first time in months, the crushing weight of the academy's atmosphere felt just a fraction lighter. The North Tower stood behind me like a silent sentinel, a singular point of order in a sea of encroaching chaos.
I had planted the first shield.
But the next three cornerstones were not in public towers.
According to my mental map, the East Anchor was located in the Herbology Greenhouses.
The South Anchor was in the Arena—the very place I had destroyed Leonidas.
And the West Anchor... the West Anchor was the problem.
It was located in the Faculty Housing District. specifically, beneath the private manor of the Headmaster.
I looked at the moon. One month.
I had fooled the rat. Now I had to fool the garden, the ghosts of my own violence, and the most powerful wizard on the island.