-Tan'Thalon: The Iron Vanguard barracks-
After the underground battle, the Iron Vanguard had collected their wounded and retreated. Most of them were receiving treatment, but their command was sitting in a quiet alcove of their compound. Rain tapped softly on the narrow window slits. The lanterns were dimmed to a soft light. Serenya, stripped of her ruined armor, sat hunched over a table, bandages across her ribs and arms. Varros stood near the wall, arms crossed. Elira knelt, cleaning what was left of her corroded gauntlet.
"I keep replaying it." She said quietly, looking unsettled. "Those undead things. The way they moved. The runes. The…" She paused and swallowed. "The lightning."
Varros grumbled, rubbing his temples. The scar on his cheek added to his grim look.
"Don't remind me. My shield bent. Like leather. I've never seen entropy hit that hard. Not even in the border skirmishes."
Serenya stared at her cracked shield which she had placed on the table.
"This isn't a border skirmish." Her speech slowed. "This is a war we're not equipped to fight."
Silence stretched across the room until the only sound was the rain murmuring softly through the window. After a while, Varros broke the silence.
"We survived. Barely." He looked up at Serenya. "Commander, what exactly was she? That… woman? The blind one? At least I think she was. She never looked at them."
Elira answered before Serenya could.
"An elementalist, I think. But—""She struggled trying to find the right words. "Elementalists don't do that."
Serenya exhaled, long and shaky. She ran a hand across the dented metal of her shield.
"No one does." Her voice was steady, but her eyes were not. "Earth… then air… and then—" She lowered to a whisper. " —lightning. In perfect sequence. Like she'd been doing it her whole life."
"Now I know what I know her from!" Elira jumped up. "She's the Diviner!"
Elira felt the sudden need to explain, gauging from the looks she received.
"The Diviner? From the Martial Tournament?" She only got confused looks. "Oh don't tell me you two are such goody two shoes that you never went to the arena."
Elira pondered, stroking her chin. "Though I thought she was a geomancer. If she's double awakened.. There hasn't been a double awakened elementalist in the last decade."
Varros sat down, not bothering with or unwilling to mind watching how hard it was.
"Double-awakened. If that's what she is." He shook his head. "Commander… we can't fight that. We can't match that."
Serenya's jaw tightened.
"I know." She looked up at them. For once, there was no bravado. No commander's mask. Just a woman who'd been forced to stare at the shape of the danger ahead.
"We're strong. Trained. Disciplined. But discipline means nothing when your armor turns to dust in your hands and the enemy tears steel apart like cloth."
"We need help." Elira's voice was soft and fragile now.
"Magic help." Varros didn't know a tactful way of saying it, so he chose the brutally honest approach.
"Not just magic." Elira said, motioning to her half melted gauntlet. "Magitech. The good kind. Shielding, reinforcement, Lazulli channels—anything. We need to level the ground before we get buried in it."
Serenya nodded slowly, the decision forming in her eyes.
"The council won't like it. They'll say it's unnecessary. Expensive. That we're exaggerating."
Varros gave a cynical snort, being his usual grumpy self.
"Let them come fight a necromancer in a hole and see how unnecessary it feels."
Serenya's mouth twitched — not in amusement, but in bitter agreement.
"If the Diviner hadn't intervened.." She said quietly to herself, then her voice tightened. "We'd be dead. All of us."
Elira looked up sharply.
"Commander. She saved us. That's— That's a good thing."
Serenya closed her eyes.
"Look, I'm not afraid she saved us. I'm afraid she could wipe out a battalion just as easily."
A long silence hung. Outside, the rain pattered harder.
"Then… what do we do?" Varros asked.
Serenya straightened, pain flickering through her bandaged side, but her voice was iron again.
"We adapt. We reinforce. We stop pretending steel alone can hold back what's coming."
She pointed at Elira.
"I want a list of every magitech armorer in the city willing to work with military-grade Lazulli."
Then at Varros.
"You coordinate with Shyra Vollten. I want data on every stolen shard and every altered conduit. If someone is building an army, I want to know when they breathe."
Finally, she stood — unsteady, but standing.
"And I'll speak with Maranth and Veyra. We either evolve, or we die."
She looked at her ruined shield again.
"No more illusions about what we're facing."
Her eyes hardened like steel.
"From now on… we fight mages with something better than steel."
-Tan'Thalon: Somewhere beneath the city-
In a familiar room deep underground, lower than even the catacombs, a group of people were standing around a floating Lazulli mapstone showing Tan'Thalon's veins and warehouses. With hoods drawn low and clad in the same vibrant red robes, their attention seemed fixed on the mapstone. As before, illusions were animating the map. On their backs was a large symbol in the shape of a triangle with a closed eye in its center. One of them, with lila eyes and some purple tips of her hair peaking from under her hood, started to speak in an almost prayer like tone.
"No crown above, no chain below."
The rest now joined, all speaking in unison.
"No birth that rules, no name that owns. We are the unseen, the unheard, the undone— The Circle that cuts through lies. Veils we raise, veils we shatter, Till all stand equal in the dust. What the high-born hoard, we reclaim. What the council hides, we reveal. In shadow we gather— In truth, we begin anew."
She lowered her hood, revealing her blonde hair with the dyed purple tips. Selvara. A few stood out among the familiar faces, her two lieutenants, Marrek and Sillis. But also the blonde mage with his hair cut short on one side. Kerryth Vaal. Still concealed was someone with faintly glowing green eyes. The others seemed weary of him. His radiance alone sent shivers throughout the room. All, except for Vaal. He met his gaze dead on. Like there was some sort of unspoken rivalry between the person and the arcanist. The floating Lazulli mapstone flickered as Selvara lifted a single finger, silencing the echoes of the chant. The Circle members bowed their heads instinctively. Only Vaal and the one with the faintly glowing green eyes held their ground. Selvara stepped closer to the mapstone, tracing a line through the glowing supply routes. A half-dozen Lazulli veins dimmed as she passed her hand over them — minor siphons she'd rerouted herself — elegant, careful, unnoticed. She did not turn when she spoke, but her voice was like controlled steel.
"Two disruptions. Two failures. Two… embarrassments."
Her voice carried through the chamber like a blade skating over glass.
"First, the arcanist draws half the Iron Vanguard into a warehouse he was explicitly told to leave untouched." She shifted her gaze, violet eyes narrowing at Vaal. "And then Vaelor greets them by raising half the dead ring as if shouting for the council to come running."
Vaal's jaw clenched, but he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. The necromancer bristled, the Lazulli grafts under his hood flickering with unstable energy. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"My rituals were progressing. I needed—"
Selvara finally turned.
"You needed restraint."
A low murmur rippled through the Circle. Sillis and Marrek exchanged uneasy glances. The hooded necromancer shifted backward, but Selvara stepped toward him with the calm certainty of someone who already knew the outcome of every possible choice he might make.
"We are not ready to confront the council. Not yet. Not when half the city is on alert. Our plans take time, patience, precision."
She walked toward the necromancer as if inspecting an inferior piece of craftsmanship.
"You test your army too early. You draw the Diviner's attention. And you force my hand."
He stepped towards her, unflinching.
"I only forced them to retreat. To suffer. All while testing the subjects. Tests which you ordered."
He then raised his hand, sickly streaks of green starting to pulse in his arms.
"You would be wise to remember who you are speaking to. I command the dead."
She raised her own hand. A faint shimmer of Lazulli light rippled across her fingertips — an illusionist's weave so fine the air itself seemed to sharpen around it. The necromancer inhaled sharply as a sudden flock of figures stepped into view behind him — his undead minions, the ones destroyed in the tunnels. But not as corpses. They appeared alive. Breathing. Warm-skinned. Eyes bright with awareness. One tilted its head. Another smiled faintly. Gasps spread across the Circle. The necromancer choked.
"That's— impossible. I—I didn't—"
Selvara smiled her practised smile, the one without warmth.
"No. You didn't."
One of the illusory 'living' minions stepped forward and gently rested a hand on the necromancer's shoulder. He flinched violently. Selvara circled him, voice soft, almost sympathetic — the way a surgeon might speak before making the first incision.
"You work in death. I work in perception. And perception, dear necromancer…" She leaned close, lips near his ear. "…rules all."
The illusions drew nearer, their faces shifting between familiar and horribly wrong — a flicker of rotten bone beneath living flesh, a warp of Lazulli glow under their skin. The necromancer collapsed to his knees.
"They're alive… they're alive—I can feel them—" He whispered.
Selvara snapped her fingers. The illusions vanished. Only the cold chamber remained. The necromancer gasped, looking wildly at his empty hands, trembling.
"No, they're as dead as your ambitions."
She leaned in close.
"I can make a corpse believe it breathes. I can make a man believe he is surrounded by enemies. Or that he is alone in a void." Her gaze hardened. "Do not forget that your mind is far more fragile than your grafts."
Her cloak swept across the stone floor as she returned to the mapstone.
"You both answer to me. And I say: It is not time. The Circle moves on my clock — not yours, and not Ba'ham's."
Her voice cuts like obsidian.
"We proceed with subtlety. We reroute the Lazulli veins. We starve the council's machines. And when the time is right— Tan'thalon will collapse, not from battle…" Her smile widened. "…but from the truth we reveal."
Vaal bowed then — not out of loyalty, but respect for power. Even if he did hate Selvara's illusions, he knew when to stay silent. Sillis exhaled shakily. Marrek stared, shaken. And the necromancer did not rise again for a long, long time.
Selvara left him there, her point made. She then turned back to the mapstone, swaying her cloak behind her. Or at least everyone assumed she had a cloak. With an illusionist of her level you were never really certain of what she was actually wearing.
Selvara's voice was quiet. But taut as a bowstring.
"With that out of the way, it is time to get the matter of summons."
She waved her hand over the table, trailing the long sleeve of her cloak behind. As her eyes flared violet again, the mapstones projection changed. The layout faded out as a new projection shimmered above the table – an illusory rendering of Calenelda. Probably drawn from stolen scrying glimpses and reports from the tunnels.
"The Diviner. Elementalist awakened to earth… and now air. A double awakening."
Marrek swore under his breath. Even Sillis's calm mask shifted uneasily. Kerryth Vaal, arms folded, scoffed loudly.
"You speak of her like she is some prophesied terror. Double awakening or not, she is still just an Elementalist. Her strength is borrowed from the world. Mine is carved from the weave. She is no threat."
Selvara did not look at him. Which made the dismissal sting twice as sharply.
"She subdued constructs meant to overpower trained squads. She forced Vaelor, a trained necromancer, into retreat. And she channeled lightning potent enough to destabilize the tunnels themselves."
She paused a beat for effect.
"She is a threat."
The necromancer finally got to his feet again, now acknowledging Selvara's power. Though he still didn't look at her, he spoke with a raspy voice.
"Selvara speaks true. She overpowered my constructs, which were powered by the Lazulli oil and necromancy. And then she overpowered me.. You all saw what I can do."
"Parlor tricks." Vaal scoffed.
Again, Selvara ignored his arrogance. The chamber darkened as an illusion shimmered into being: the sandstorm where Calenelda shielded Talia and her patrol, the moment the wind split with divine-bright air magic. Marrek shifted uneasily before he spoke.
"No Elementalist survives that kind of surge without burning out. Not alone. She didn't just survive — she adapted."
Sillis's fingers traced the Lazulli table, reading the ripples of energy.
"She is not like the others. And people are already whispering about her. Hopeful whispers. Dangerous ones."
Vaal's eyes flashed.
"Let them whisper. She is naive. Moral. Predictable. She can be steered — or broken."
Selvara finally turned to him.
Her expression was unreadable.
"Your arrogance will kill you one day."
Vaal's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Selvara's gaze shifted to the Necromancer. The one who made the air around him feel cold.
"You have watched her more closely than any of us. Your judgement?"
A pulse of green flashed in his eyes.
"She is strong. But uncertain. Her loyalties are… not fixed. She fears her own power."
He paused.
"I think she could be turned. If approached carefully."
Vaal threw up his hands.
"Turned? She's a danger! The council already shelters her. The Vanguard already protects her. If she exposes our supply routes—"
Selvara raised a hand, ordering silence.
"The Diviner stands at a crossroads. She does not yet know her significance. To the council. To the people. To us."
She stepped around the table, the illusion shifting as if rippling away from her like water.
"If we manipulate her early, she may become a weapon for our cause. But if she chooses the council's side…"
Her eyes sharpened to flint.
"She becomes a liability. And liabilities we remove."
Sillis swallowed hard.
"Selvara… she is beloved by Talia. If anything happens to her—"
"Then Talia will break. And broken things are easy to reshape."
Even Vaal glanced at her then — surprised by the cruelty, the precision of it. Selvara let the Diviner's illusory face flicker once more above the Lazulli table. Calenelda's expression was one of determination, uncertainty, and quiet fire.
"Observe her. Test her. Push her. Find what she fears and what she desires. And when her path becomes clear…"
Her voice lowered.
"…we decide whether she will rise beside us — or be buried beneath our foundation."
The illusion winked out. And the Circle of Veils dispersed like ghosts. Only Selvara remained, staring at the empty space where Calenelda had stood moments before — and in her eyes, not fear, but calculation.
-Tan'Thalon: The council chamber-
Rain tapped against the tall windows of the Council Chamber. Inside, the marble steps were illuminated by lazulli inlays, glowing faintly like veins in the wall. Councilors Maranth and Veyra stood at the central dais, with several other council members gathered in the gallery above. A distant clinking of iron on marble signaled Serenya's arrival. She entered the room in full uniform – armor scorched, patched, and visibly melted in places from entropy burns – earning the glances of the gathered council.
"Commander Kael." Maranth frowned, taking in her battered armor. "You look as though you've been through a war."
Serenya stopped before the dais with a steady voice.
"Councilor… I'm here to report that we have."
The gallery murmured. Veyra spoke up.
"Please explain."
Serenya unclipped her shield and sat it on the stone floor. Half of its rim was corroded into lacework. Gasps rose immediately from up in the gallery.
"Hardened steel damage of that scale— impossible without—"
Serenya's voice was sharp.
" —entropy magic. Yes. The kind we were assured never reached our borders, let alone our tunnels."
She pulled a torn gauntlet from a satchel and dropped it beside the shield. The metal was warped, blackened.
"We faced a necromancer beneath the Lower Ring. Not an apprentice. Not a gutter mage. An arcanist attuned to Lazulli manipulation and full entropy casting. He commands undead constructs stitched with stolen magitech."
The silence thickened.
Veyra had a soft, but urgent question.
"How many losses?"
Serenya hesitated at first, then answered firmly.
"Five wounded. None dead— …because someone intervened. Someone we were not prepared for."
Maranth's brow narrowed.
"Tell us the events in your own words"
And so Serenya dug into her memory of that night, retelling every detail.
The Vanguard had been fighting for what felt like hours. Serenya's command voice was shredded raw, the shield line warping under every corpse-machine slam. Steam hissed from Lazulli-fractured armor; the air reeked of rot and ozone. Varros spat blood and braced again.
We're dead. We're actually dead. He thought.
Seven soldiers barely standing. Three barely breathing. The rest— He refused to finish the count. Serenya still stood at the front, bleeding through her gauntlets, shouting like she could physically hold back death with her voice.
"HOLD THE LINE! DON'T GIVE THEM A GODDAMN INCH!"
Another blast of necrotic force hit them. Shields screamed under it. A trooper was thrown back, his armor half-melted. The necromancer only laughed.
"Your steel cannot stop progress! Ba'ham's design is inevitable!"
A corpse-machine lunged into their weakening wall—and the line nearly snapped. Varros gritted his teeth.
"Commander— we can't hold—"
And then—
The ground moved. Not from the necromancer. Not from the undead. From further up the tunnel. Stone spiraled downward in a perfect, unnatural ramp, like the tunnel itself had decided to reshape. Dust flurried like breath. Someone was coming. Fast. Serenya's eyes widened—but only for an instant.
"Brace!"
A figure leapt off the descending ramp and landed between them and the necromancer— with a force that shook dust from the cavern ceiling. A three-point landing. Controlled. Precision-born. Not a stumble. Someone whispered from the line:
"Is that— the Diviner?"
The newcomer rose, blind eyes catching Lazulli light. Cloak torn, dust-streaked—but composed, like the chaos around her didn't matter. The necromancer snarled at her.
"You—one of the city's blind fools? You will be the first perfected—"
He raised a sigil. She touched her foot to the ground.
"Shatter."
The earth obeyed. The floor buckled in jagged ridges, knocking corpse-machines off balance and cracking their legs like brittle wood. Gasps rippled through the Vanguard.
"She just— she broke the ground like— like clay—"
But before anyone could process it, three corpse-machines lunged at her. She inhaled. The air itself bent inward. Then it exploded. A shockwave hurled the undead backward into the scaffolds, bones cracking, Lazulli sputtering. Varros felt the wind slice past him, sharp enough that he swore it cut the edge of his shield. Serenya went cold.
"Air…?"
Another soldier stammered:
"H-how is she using air magic? She's earth-born— the Diviner's a geomancer—right?"
Then came the real impossible thing, she summoned both in the same motion. A wall of stone rose— a blade of compressed wind sliced through it—sending shards into corpse-machines like shrapnel. Both elements. No hesitation. No separation. Someone dropped their spear.
"She's twofold awakened…? That's— that's not possible." A soldier stammered.
Serenya could barely speak.
"Impossible… but she's doing it."
The necromancer recoiled.
"That— that's forbidden! You cannot— you shouldn't exist!"
The Diviner didn't even blink.
"Too bad for you."
Earth spikes shot up around him, trapping him. Air gathered in her palm, humming dangerously— almost singing. Lightning formed. Real lightning. Varros froze in place.
Is she a goddess? The thought momentarily crossed his mind.
Just as she readied the killing strike— the necromancer triggered a blood glyph. Green light swallowed him.
"DIVINER! MOVE—!" Serenya shouted.
The lightning burst free—
—and hit everything else. The last corpse-machine convulsed and collapsed.
And someone screamed. Not undead. Human.
Sparks still danced across the cavern. Smoke trailed through the air. When the soldiers blinked the afterimages away, the Diviner was gone— vanished as suddenly as she had arrived. They were left staring at their wounded commander… and the scorch mark where a soldier had fallen unconscious from the lightning. The cavern echoed with their ragged breathing. Varros swallowed, staring at the scorch pattern.
"…What… what was she?"
Serenya didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, it was barely audible.
"Something the council will not want to hear about."
She tightened her grip on her damaged shield— the awe still lingering in her eyes, mingled with fear.
"And something we may need far more than they'd ever admit."
Maranth did that typical thing for when he was in deep thought. He ran his long, calloused fingers by his beard.
"The Diviner?"
Serenya clenched her jaw.
"She saved my soldiers." Then she lowered her voice. "But she also displayed power far beyond any elementalist we've ever documented. Earth and air both— simultaneously."
Shock rippled through the chamber. Up in the gallery people started stating, "That's impossible."
"So is surviving a full entropy blast. Yet here I stand." Serenya let the words hang for a while. Then—she straightened.
"Councilors… steel is no longer enough. Not against this threat. Not against mages who melt armor with a gesture. Not against constructs powered by stolen Lazulli." Her voice rang. "If you send your soldiers into this war with nothing but iron and discipline— you sign their death warrants."
Veyra leaned forward.
"What are you requesting?"
Serenya drew in a slow breath.
"Magitech reinforcement. Full access to the armory vaults. Reactivation of the Arcforge Division. I want prototype shielding units, anti-entropic plating, Lazulli pulse barriers— everything you banned after the Wall Dispute twenty years ago."
The room erupted.
"Impossible! The arcforge designs were unstable—"
"The city cannot afford another wall incident—"
"You want to arm common soldiers with forbidden constructs?"
Serenya's voice cut through the noise.
"I want them to live."
Silence returned like a slap. Serenya stepped forward, weight on one leg, exhaustion visible but her will unbroken.
"I am not asking. I am telling you what we face. Entropy casters. Lazulli reanimation. Construct armies built in the dark. And a mage who vanished the moment I tried to kill him."
She placed a hand on her shattered shield.
"If we wait, the next attack won't be in a tunnel. It will be at the wall. Then the Upper Ring. Then this chamber."
Veyra exchanged a long look with Maranth.
"We will authorize a limited release. Arcforge blueprints to be reviewed. Shield prototypes tested. Command access— temporary."
Serenya exhales— not relief, but grim acceptance.
"I'll take temporary. But understand this. What hit us below is just a fragment of what's coming. Give me the tools to fight it— or be ready to bury more than soldiers."
She saluted sharply, then turned, and left. The echo of her boots faded. The council chamber sat frozen—
—knowing she was right.
-Tan'Thalon: Noble district-
Talia had barely slept when the knock came — a single, sharp rap on the door, too controlled to be a soldier and too urgent to be casual. She pushed herself up, breath catching. She knew it could only be one person.
"Calenelda?"
No answer. Just silence, thick and waiting. Talia crossed the room, unlatched the door—
The Diviner nearly collapsed forward. She caught herself at the last moment, bracing a hand on the doorframe. Sweat plastered strands of hair to her temples, her robes were torn and smudged with dust and something darker, and her breathing was a thin rasp that Talia had never heard from her before. Stonefang wasn't at her side. The absence made the hallway feel colder.
"Talia…" she breathed, voice raw. "I need—"
Her knees buckled. Talia lunged, catching her by the shoulders. The Diviner's fingers clutched at her sleeve with a desperation she tried—and failed—to conceal.
"Gods—Calenelda, what happened?" Talia whispered, pulling her fully inside and shutting the door behind them.
Calenelda leaned against her, trembling, but her hands were searching—reaching—until they found Talia's wrist. She held it as though it were the only real thing in a world gone wrong.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," she murmured, breath shuddering. "I know you needed space. I tried to give it. But—" Her fingers tightened. "Something is terribly wrong below Tan'Thalon."
Talia guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. "Start from the beginning."
"I followed… echoes." The Diviner rubbed at her eyes. "Not sound. Not quite. Something moving beneath the stone. Something dead." Her voice thinned. "I went below the sanctum. Into the old tunnels."
Talia's blood chilled. "Alone?"
"Yes."
"Calenelda—!"
"I had to go." The Diviner's head tilted toward her, blind eyes tight with strain. "I felt something calling. Not like Ba'Ham. Not fire. Cold. Old."
She coughed once, shaking. Talia braced her shoulders until it passed.
"There were constructs," Calenelda continued, quieter. "Dead things… rebuilt. Someone stitched them together with iron and hate. They shouldn't have moved. But they did."
Talia swallowed. "You fought?"
"Yes." A faint, disbelieving laugh escaped her. "And not just them. A necromancer. Cloaked. Masked. He commanded them. The Iron Vanguard were already there, dying on their shields." Her fingers curled. "I saved them."
Talia stared. "…You saved the Iron Vanguard?"
"They were going to be slaughtered," she murmured. "One of them called me 'demon' until he realized I wasn't trying to kill him." She exhaled sharply. "The necromancer fled. Coward."
"And you fought him with earth?" Talia asked.
"I fought with earth," the Diviner said slowly, "and air."
Talia froze.
"Air?" she repeated. "Calenelda… elementalist channels don't cross. Earth and air resist each other—your pulse should've torn itself apart."
Calenelda's jaw tightened. "I know. But it didn't. It obeyed me."
Talia's heart thudded, heavy and uneasy.
"Calenelda," she said quietly "That's not normal. Or normal elemental mastery."
"It isn't?" Calenelda whispered. "Then what was it?"
Talia approached her, voice soft but firm.
"A second awakening."
Her words hung there in the air for a moment, like a bell note. Calenelda blinked once. Twice.
"That's not possible. Elementalists awaken one element. That is the rule."
Talia wanted to comfort her, but her own feelings and fear of them got in her way.
"There are stories, old ones, of elementalists who unlocked a second path. But only in extreme circumstances."
Calenelda's throat moved in a small swallow.
"What kind of circumstances?"
Talia took a slow breath. "Near-death. When an elementalist is about to be destroyed by their own element — buried, drowned, burned, frozen — sometimes their spirit reaches for another path to survive."
This silenced Calenelda. Her eyes unfocused as memory struck her like a hammer blow.
"The sandstorm… When I shielded you and the patrol… I thought we were going to die. I felt the sand cutting through my barrier. I felt the world crushing inward."
She pressed a hand to her chest as she relived those events and the pressure crushing on her.
"And then.. something answered. Not earth. Not anything I knew. Air. Raw and screaming. I didn't even realize–"
Talia placed a hand on her arm, grounding her again.
"You survived because of it. You saved all of us because of it."
Calenelda's next breath shook.
"An last night it nearly killed someone."
Talia met her eyes now. "Calenelda, listen to me. A double awakening is not a curse. It's rare, but not evil. It doesn't mean you're dangerous. It means you're powerful. And you need training. Guidance. Not shame."
Calenelda stared towards the stone railing, folding her hands in her lap. Faint cracks of dried blood where in the lines of her palms.
"If the council finds out — they'll try to control me. Use me. Or fear me."
"Then we don't let them find out. Not yet. Not until we know how deep the rot goes."
Calenelda fumbled inside her satchel with shaking fingers, pulling out a slender crystal disk, cracked and faintly humming. "There's more. When I was down there, I found this."
Talia took it carefully. "What is it?"
"A memory. A… recording. Holographic. Ancient." She grimaced. "I can sense the resonance, but I can't see it. I need someone I trust to watch it with me."
Her grip on Talia's sleeve trembled.
"You're the only person I trust."
The words hit like a blow. Talia closed her eyes for a heartbeat, fighting the heat rising in her throat.
"Calenelda…" she began, soft and aching.
"I know you're pushing me away," the Diviner murmured, voice thin, "and I know why. You're afraid of what you felt. I'm trying not to push. I swear I'm not." She lifted her chin, searching the air for Talia's presence. "But this—whatever is happening below the city—it's bigger than my fear. Bigger than yours."
Talia opened her eyes.
"Let me help you," Calenelda whispered. "Just… stay. Stay with me long enough to see what's on that crystal."
The room felt small. The crystal hummed in Talia's hand like a heartbeat.
"…All right," she said. "I'm here."
Relief washed over the Diviner's face — quiet, fragile, breathtaking. Talia held the crystal up.
"Let's watch it together."
The crystal warmed in Talia's hands, threads of blue light spiraling up from its cracked seams. The air shimmered, and a projection flickered into shape above the floor — grainy at first, then sharpening into a long corridor of stone lit by guttering torches. Calenelda angled her head toward it, listening to the hum, the faint crackle of Lazulli Magis being handled.
"What do you see?" she asked softly.
Talia hesitated at first. "Nothing good," she said.
The illusion lurched forward, taking them deeper into the corridor, down steps slick with dried blood. Figures moved in the haze — robed cultists, their hands stained blue, dragging limp bodies across the floor. Human, beast, something between. Talia felt her throat tighten.
"Tell me," Calenelda murmured, reaching blindly for Talia's arm.
Talia offered her hand instead. Calenelda's fingers wrapped around it instantly, warm and trembling from exhaustion.
"They're carrying… bodies," Talia forced out. "Some alive. Some—barely."
The recording shifted. A chamber opened, its walls carved with Ba'Ham's cruel, spiraling sigils. Tables lined the room, each one holding a writhing shape. Talia's breath hitched. Blue fire pulsed through veins. Screams overlapped. Bones reshaped. Flesh cracked. Through it all, cultists chanted in a language that made the air itself seem to recoil.
Calenelda's grip tightened. "Lazulli magis. They were forcing it into living blood."
"It's… horrible," Talia whispered.
The projection jumped again — now focused on a single table, where a creature lay strapped down. Wolf-shaped, but wrong. The snout shorter. The chest broader. Limbs longer. A beast caught halfway between natural design and unnatural intent. Its eyes glowed with the same blue as the cultists' hands. Talia stopped breathing.
"Is it still going?" Calenelda asked, voice thin.
"Yes," Talia said. "It's… showing an experiment."
The creature convulsed, a strangled howl tearing from its throat. The cultist leaning over it spoke sharply — and the creature snapped its bonds. The recording jerked as the image tore away, the sound replaced with shouts and the wet crunch of bone.
"Describe it," Calenelda whispered.
But Talia didn't. She couldn't. The silhouette in the final frame — bleeding, panting, eyes burning with eerie blue fire — was unmistakable. Even distorted by projection, even half-formed…
It was Stonefang.
Her chest constricted painfully. If she told Calenelda, it would break something in her. Something already fragile from exhaustion, from recklessness, from the slow collapse of fear that had once protected her from her own heart.
"Talia?" Calenelda's voice was small. "What did you see?"
Talia swallowed hard. Her pulse hammered against her ribs like a war drum. The blade of truth pressed against her tongue.
"We promised," Calenelda said again, more quietly. "We watch together."
Talia exhaled — a shudder, a surrender. She moved closer, settling beside Calenelda on the bed, their shoulders brushing. The Diviner leaned in instinctively, her head lightly touching Talia's temple, seeking grounding she didn't dare ask for aloud.
"You nearly died," Talia murmured, unable to stop herself. "Going down there alone was reckless and stupid and—gods, Calenelda, I could've lost you."
Calenelda's fingers slid along Talia's wrist again, slow and sure. "I'm sorry."
The apology was so rare, so soft, it disarmed Talia more than any argument ever had.
"I didn't think it would matter," Calenelda continued. "I didn't think I mattered enough to lose."
Talia closed her eyes, breath catching. "You matter," she whispered fiercely. "More than you realize."
A fragile silence settled between them, warm and trembling, the recording still casting ghostly blue light across their faces. Finally, Calenelda asked, barely audible:
"Talia… what did that creature look like?"
Talia's heart twisted. She squeezed Calenelda's hand.
"It looked," she said gently, "like someone we need to understand before we leap to anything."
It wasn't a lie. And neither was it the whole truth. Not yet.
Calenelda exhaled shakily, trusting her without hesitation. And Talia hated how easily that trust could shatter.
-Tan'Thalon: The Arcforge-
The Arcforge's outer hall hummed with restrained violence. Great conduits of Lazulli ran through the walls like glowing veins, pulsing in slow, industrial rhythms. Heat bled through the stone floor, mixing with the metallic tang of oil and scorched crystal. Somewhere deeper inside, hammers rang—measured, cautious, as if the forge itself was holding its breath. Serenya Kael stood at the railing overlooking the main assembly pit, arms folded across her chest, eyes fixed on the inactive fabrication platforms below.
"They called it a temporary activation," she said flatly. "As if you can wake a beast like this, prod it, and expect it to go back to sleep."
Beside her, Captain Elira leaned against a support pillar, visor tucked under one arm. She looked tired in the way only someone buried under ledgers and logistics could be—dark circles under sharp eyes, hair pulled back too tight.
"The council wants to be seen doing something," Elira replied. "Without admitting they let it get this bad."
Serenya snorted. "They still think this is isolated. A rogue necromancer. A single arcanist with delusions."
She gestured toward the forge floor.
"They don't see the pattern. The supply tampering. The coordinated strikes. The fact that someone is testing us. And Maranth's hands are tied."
Elira's jaw tightened. "I know."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of Lazulli stabilizers.
Serenya finally turned. "You don't activate the Arcforge unless you're preparing for war. And they did it with half-measures. Limited authorization. Civilian-grade constraints."
Her voice hardened. "That tells me they're still afraid of the optics."
Elira exhaled slowly, then reached into her coat.
"I didn't come empty-handed."
She produced a thin data-slate—unmarked, unsealed. Not council issue.
Serenya's brow furrowed. "What's that?"
Elira hesitated, then handed it over. "A list."
Serenya scanned the names. Her eyes widened—just slightly.
"These are—"
"Engineers who disappeared from official rosters," Elira said quietly. "Master forgers. Lazulli chemists. Arcfield stabilists. People who were deemed 'too risky,' 'too aggressive,' or 'too politically inconvenient.'"
Serenya looked up slowly. "You vetted this?"
"Twice," Elira replied. "Most of them are working freelance. Some in the lower rings. A few off-record in the Arcforge's shadow labs. All of them are willing to work with military-grade Lazulli."
Serenya stiffened. "Unrefined?"
Elira nodded. "More potent. Faster response times. Stronger output."
"And wildly unstable in its pure form," Serenya finished.
A faint smile tugged at Elira's mouth. "You didn't get where you are by fearing volatility."
Serenya looked back down at the forge. She imagined gauntlets that could shatter walls. Armor reinforced with raw Lazulli cores. Weapons that could shatter spells—and possibly their wielders.
"This is a line the council refuses to cross," Serenya said.
Elira's voice dropped. "Then maybe it's time someone crossed it for them."
Serenya met her gaze. "What's the catch?"
Elira didn't flinch. "If we use unrefined Lazulli, there's no pretending this is defensive anymore. No rollback. No deniability."
Serenya closed the slate and held it in both hands.
"And if we don't?" she asked.
Elira's eyes flicked toward the depths of the forge, where Lazulli light pulsed like a waking heart.
"Then the next escalation won't be ours."
Serenya stood there for a long moment. Then she nodded once.
"Get me Rhyssa. And Varros. Quietly."
Elira allowed herself a thin, grim smile.
"Already done."
-Tan'Thalon: The Council chamber-
The council chamber was empty. Not adjourned—abandoned. Only the great Lazulli oculus still glowed at the center of the vaulted ceiling, casting pale blue light over the long semicircle of seats where power was usually performed rather than wielded. Papers lay stacked and untouched. Sigils of record-keeping idled, waiting for commands that never came. Maranth stood at the central dais, hands braced against the cold stone, eyes fixed on the city map projected faintly above the floor. Lines of Lazulli supply routes flickered—some steady, some dim, some wrong. Behind him, Veyra closed the chamber doors with a soft seal, the sound echoing too loudly in the silence.
"They stalled again," she said quietly. "Procedural objections. Jurisdictional reviews. Risk committees."
Maranth exhaled through his nose. "Of course they did."
He straightened, rubbing at his temples. The weight in his posture wasn't age—it was frustration sharpened into something bitter.
"Serenya makes a clear case," he continued. "Escalation. Coordinated threats. Evidence from the Vanguard, the Arcforge, even independent analysts. And still—"
"—Still they call it premature," Veyra finished. "Or provocative."
She crossed the chamber, her boots echoing against the stone.
"They're afraid," she said. "Afraid of arming the Vanguard too visibly. Afraid of admitting the city is already under siege."
Maranth turned to her. "No. They're afraid of responsibility."
Veyra's jaw tightened. "Then say it plainly."
"They don't want Serenya to be right," Maranth said. "Because if she is, then every delay, every compromise, every watered-down policy becomes culpable."
Silence settled again.
Veyra broke it, softer. "I want to help her."
"So do I."
She studied him. "But?"
"But our votes don't matter when the chamber's already decided before we enter," Maranth replied. "The objections are coordinated. Too clean."
Veyra frowned. "You think someone's steering it."
Maranth didn't answer immediately. He looked instead at one of the empty seats—Eldarion's.
"Eldarion has been… persuasive lately," he said at last. "Nobles who used to argue among themselves now speak with the same caution. The same phrasing."
Veyra's eyes narrowed. "You think this is him?"
"I think," Maranth said carefully, "that someone has convinced him restraint is virtue and delay is wisdom."
Veyra scoffed. "That's not Eldarion's usual brand of arrogance."
"No," Maranth agreed. "It isn't."
He stepped closer to the map, pointing at a dim supply line in the lower districts.
"Serenya asked for temporary expansion of authority. She asked for controlled use of military-grade Lazulli. Not a coup. Not a purge."
"And they treated it like a threat to the council itself," Veyra said.
Maranth nodded once. "Which tells me someone whispered that it was."
Veyra folded her arms, gaze distant. "That has all the signs of someone from your past."
Maranth didn't react outwardly—but the Lazulli projection flickered, just for a moment.
"She's subtle," Veyra continued. "She never argues directly. She doesn't need to. She lets others believe the conclusions are their own."
Maranth closed his eyes briefly. "If she has Eldarion's ear…"
"Then Serenya never stood a chance," Veyra finished grimly.
Another silence.
Veyra spoke again, lower now. "What do we do?"
Maranth's voice was steady, but tired. "We do what we can without authority."
She met his gaze. "That's dangerous."
He allowed himself a thin smile. "So is doing nothing."
Veyra nodded slowly. "I'll keep the analysts quiet. Redirect inquiries. Delay audits."
"And I'll keep asking the wrong questions in public," Maranth said. "Force the chamber to look where it doesn't want to."
He glanced once more at Eldarion's empty seat.
"Serenya won't get help from the council," he said. "But she won't be alone."
Veyra turned toward the doors. "Not if we can help it."
As the chamber sealed behind them, the Lazulli oculus dimmed— and in the shadows where the light could not reach, decisions continued to be made. For a long moment, Maranth and Veyra stood in silence, listening to the low hum of the city's veins beneath the floor—Tan'thalon breathing, strained but alive. Veyra broke the quiet first.
"There's something else," she said. "Serenya's report didn't go unnoticed."
Maranth glanced at her. "The Diviner."
Veyra nodded. "Two elements. Earth and air. Verified by multiple Vanguard witnesses. Combat stress, uncontrolled escalation, then precision."
Maranth's expression tightened—not fear, but calculation. "A second awakening without ritual scaffolding."
"That alone is rare," Veyra said. "But the circumstances…"
"Near-death exposure," Maranth finished. "Repeated. Desert storms. Lazulli saturation zones. Sustained elemental resonance."
He exhaled slowly. "The old treatises would call that a threshold pattern."
Veyra crossed her arms. "You're thinking what I'm thinking."
"Yes," Maranth said quietly. "If the pattern continues… she could become something the council hasn't seen in centuries."
"A full awakening," Veyra said. "Four elements."
They both fell silent again, the weight of it pressing down harder than any political stalemate.
"At minimum," Veyra continued, "she must be placed on the Watchlist."
Maranth nodded. "Classified. Restricted access. No public annotation."
"No announcements," Veyra added sharply. "No titles. No ceremonies."
"Especially not," Maranth said, "with the council in its current state."
Veyra's gaze hardened. "If Eldarion or anyone aligned with him gets wind of this, she becomes a tool. Or a target."
"Or both," Maranth said.
He walked slowly around the edge of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back.
"The Diviner already holds influence among the lower rings," he continued. "Symbolic weight. Moral authority. If someone wanted to undermine May'Jahan's presence in the city…"
"They'd either discredit her," Veyra said, "or break her."
Maranth stopped. "Or force her into the open before she's ready."
Veyra looked at him sharply. "Which could kill her."
"Or worse," Maranth replied. "Finish the awakening in the wrong hands."
Veyra lowered her voice. "Then we protect her."
Maranth met her gaze. "Even from the council."
A beat passed.
"That's treason," Veyra said flatly.
Maranth gave a tired smile. "So is letting corruption decide who lives and who ascends."
She considered that, then nodded once.
"I'll restrict access to her records," Veyra said. "Scrub secondary logs. Any inquiry routes through us."
"And I'll ensure any council motion regarding the Diviner gets buried in procedure," Maranth said. "Delayed. Referred. Re-evaluated."
Veyra hesitated. "What if she becomes dangerous?"
Maranth didn't answer immediately.
"She already is," he said finally. "But danger isn't the same as malice."
Veyra studied him. "You trust her."
"I trust intent," Maranth replied. "And I trust that if she ever does stand at the edge of all four elements…"
He looked up at the dim oculus.
"She will need allies more than chains."
Veyra nodded slowly. "Then we watch. Quietly."
"And we shield her," Maranth said. "Until the council can be trusted again."
The Lazulli veins beneath the chamber pulsed once— as if acknowledging the unspoken vow.
-Tan'Thalon: Next to the Arcforge-
The sublevel briefing chamber smelled of hot metal and ozone. Unlike the polished council halls above, this room was bare stone and exposed conduit—old Arcforge architecture, built back when function mattered more than appearances. Lazulli lines ran openly through the walls, pulsing brighter here, less restrained. The air thrummed with barely leashed power. Elira stood at the center, a slate projected into the air before her. Names scrolled slowly, each one tagged with terse annotations. Serenya Kael entered first, armor plates clanking softly as she came to a stop beside Elira. Varros followed, broad shoulders nearly brushing the doorframe. Rhyssa Vale came last, steel grey eyes already sweeping the room, clocking exits, body language, threat vectors. She had the scars of someone that had to fight to get where she was now. Her short, messy hair dyed dark green. One look at her, bronze skin and all, said that she came from the slums, but was one of Serenya's most trusted lieutenants now. Across from them stood a small, tense group—engineers, armorers, magitech forgers. None wore formal Arcforge insignia. Their clothes were practical, patched, scorched in places. Hands bore burn scars and Lazulli etch-marks that spoke of dangerous work done without council blessing. Elira cleared her throat.
"These are the ones who answered," she said. "Some quietly. Some immediately."
She gestured. "Those who stayed are willing to work with military-grade Lazulli."
A murmur rippled through the group—half pride, half apprehension.
Serenya folded her arms. "You know why you're here," she said evenly. "So I won't dress this up."
Her gaze was sharp, assessing.
"The city is facing coordinated arcane escalation. Necromancy. Entropy arcanism. Supply chain corruption. Conventional magitech will not hold."
She paused.
"Military-grade Lazulli is more powerful. Faster. Less forgiving."
One of the engineers—a gaunt woman with grease-streaked hands—snorted quietly. "Forgiveness is a luxury, Commander."
Another voice spoke up, older, steadier.
"And Lazulli never cared about forgiveness anyway."
Serenya's eyes shifted. A man stepped forward. He was tall, lean, hair silvering at the temples despite his age, his Arcforge coat stripped of insignia but impeccably maintained. Lazulli filaments were woven directly into the cuffs of his gloves—not decorative, but functional. Dangerous. Rhyssa's eyes narrowed slightly. Varros stiffened.
Elira glanced at Serenya, then spoke. "Eldran Kael. Former Arcforge Master Engineer. Specialized in Lazulli stress-channeling and adaptive containment."
Varros grunted. "Former."
Eldran met his stare calmly. "I resigned before the council could make it political."
Rhyssa crossed her arms. "That usually means you were told 'no.'"
Eldran's mouth twitched. "That usually means I was told 'wait.' While people died."
Serenya raised a hand slightly, forestalling escalation.
"Military-grade Lazulli destabilizes if mishandled," she said. "Containment failures don't just kill the user. They level rooms."
Eldran nodded once. "Which is why it shouldn't be handled by committees."
He gestured to the others. "Everyone here has worked with unrefined Lazulli. Some illegally. Some under the table. All successfully."
Elira tapped the slate. "Not without cost."
A younger armorer shifted, jaw tight. "Cost's already paid. By people the council doesn't count."
Rhyssa stepped forward then, her fists heavy at her sides. She had the posture of a brawler you wouldn't want to mess with.
"I don't care about politics," she said bluntly. "I care if what you build explodes in my hands."
Silence fell. Eldran turned to her—not intimidated, but respectful.
"If it explodes," he said, "it will be because you exceeded what the design allows. And I will tell you exactly where that line is."
Rhyssa studied him for a long beat.
Then nodded. "Good."
Varros exhaled through his nose. "I like him."
Serenya looked back at the group.
"This work will be off-record," she said. "No council seals. No public acknowledgment. If this fails, you won't be protected."
No one moved.
Eldran inclined his head. "We didn't come here for protection."
Elira's voice softened slightly. "Then you understand what this is."
A gaunt engineer smiled grimly. "An arms race we're already losing."
Serenya straightened. "Then we stop losing." She met Eldran's eyes. "I want prototypes. Reinforced shields. Armor. Gauntlets. Counter-arcanist measures. Built fast—but built right."
Eldran's gaze flicked briefly to the Lazulli veins in the walls, then back to her.
"You'll get them," he said. "But understand this, Commander."
He lowered his voice.
"Once we start refining Lazulli this way… the city will feel it."
Rhyssa cracked her knuckles.
"Let it," she said. "Maybe then they'll realize this isn't a drill."
Serenya nodded once. "Then we begin."