Chapter 4

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Julian grumbled, stomping towards the door. He yanked it open, expecting a servant or perhaps a persistent messenger. Instead, Olivia Stone stood there in a formal gown that looked far too restrictive for her agitated state. She tapped her foot, her eyes narrowing as they swept over his casual attire. "Why are you still at home?" she demanded, her voice sharp with disapproval. "The dance is two hours away—" Julian started, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "What are you doing here, Olivia?" Julian asked, leaning against the doorframe. "Miss Vance told me to get you," she admitted, her shoulders dropping slightly. She looked away, her voice losing its edge and becoming uncharacteristically subdued. "She also said you couldn't find a date, so that will be me for the evening." Julian stared at her. The image of Stella Vance's polite, apologetic face flashed in his mind. The woman was a master manipulator. She'd managed to guilt the class representative into dragging the most reluctant student in the third year to a social gala. "Right. Give me ten minutes," Julian said. He turned back into his room. If Olivia was being forced into this, the least he could do was not make her look like she was escorting a vagrant. He pulled on his formal robes, smoothing the fabric and checking his reflection. It was a chore, but for Olivia's sake, he could pretend to be a functioning member of House Hayes for one night. The walk to the dance hall was a quiet one. The evening air was cool, and the distant sounds of the academy's festivities echoed off the stone walls of the surrounding buildings. Olivia walked a stiff pace beside him, her gaze fixed firmly ahead. Julian didn't push it. Silence was preferable to a lecture on punctuality or social graces. When they reached the entrance, the sheer scale of the crowd became apparent. Students from every year, faculty, and visiting dignitaries were packed into the foyer. Music drifted out from the main hall—a complex orchestral piece in the traditional Aethelian style. As soon as they crossed the threshold, a surge of younger students pushed between them. Julian saw his opening. He stepped to the side, letting the current of silk and perfume carry Olivia toward a group of girls while he slipped into the shadows of a decorative pillar. He watched her head whip around, looking for him, but he was already gone. He chuckled to himself. The hall was transformed. Lavish tapestries draped the walls, and the ceiling glowed with enchanted orbs that mimicked a starlit sky. It wasn't just a school dance; it was a political staging ground. He saw representatives from various noble houses and high-ranking mages from the Institute mingling with wine glasses in hand. He managed to stay hidden for nearly twenty minutes, enjoying the buffet from the periphery, before Olivia caught his trail. She marched up to him just as the orchestra began tuning for the first formal dance. "People were asking for you," Olivia said. Her face was flushed with annoyance. "All they had to do was look for me," Julian replied with a smirk, popping a grape into his mouth. "You're supposed to be my partner," she hissed, grabbing his arm. Julian looked at her, softening his expression just enough to be convincing. "There is no way I'd leave a beautiful girl like you for anything," he said. It was a practiced line, the kind his brother Marcus used constantly, and it worked well enough to make Olivia pause. She didn't let go, however. She dragged him toward a circle of older women draped in jewels. "Are you by chance related to—" a woman began, her eyes scanning Julian's face with predatory curiosity. "Marcus Hayes and Garrett Hayes, yes," Julian interrupted, his tone flat. He'd heard the question a thousand times. The woman's eyes lit up. "What instrument do you play?" "None," Julian said. The woman blinked, her smile faltering. "Oh. Well, surely—" "I'm more interested in how the orchestra fills the entire hall evenly with sound," Julian said, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. "The acoustic dampening on the corner pillars is quite sophisticated. It prevents the brass from drowning out the strings despite the stone floor." The woman stared at him, then at Olivia, clearly having no idea how to respond to a fifteen-year-old discussing architectural acoustics at a ball. Olivia's grip on his arm tightened until it bruised. She pulled him away toward the food tables. "Wrong fork," Olivia mumbled, leaning in close as Julian reached for a piece of smoked fish. "I know," Julian mumbled back, pointedly picking up the smaller salad fork and using it anyway. Olivia stopped. She turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with sudden, unexpected moisture. "Why are you being so difficult?" she asked. It wasn't a scold this time; it was a plea. "It's not that," Julian started, reaching out. "You'd rather go alone than with m-me?" she asked, her voice breaking into a sob. Before he could answer, she spun around and bolted through the crowd toward the exit. Julian stood with the wrong fork in his hand, feeling the eyes of nearby guests on him. He sighed and set the utensil down. He wasn't going to chase her through that mess. Instead, he found a side door used by the staff and slipped out. An hour later, he was perched on the slanted roof of the dance hall. He was pretty sure Olivia was no longer in the building and that she wasn't going to come back. The stars were clear tonight, unobstructed by the city's usual haze. He sat in the silence, nursing his own irritation. The clock tower struck midnight. A cheer erupted from within the hall, muffled by the stone, signaling the official start of the mid-winter festival. A series of celebratory fireworks began to hiss into the sky, bursting into vibrant blues and golds. Then, Julian saw them. Among the colorful sparks, several dull, dark red flares were falling. They didn't burst; they drifted with a heavy, unnatural weight, trailing thick smoke that smelled of sulfur and old rot. One of the red flares plummeted toward the residential sector. It struck the roof of Julian's own dormitory building. The explosion was silent for a heartbeat before the shockwave hit. A massive gout of green-tinged flame erupted, tearing through the stone structure. Within the fire, Julian could see shifting, flaming shapes—spirits or constructs—tearing at the remaining walls. The city was under attack. Julian scrambled down from the roof, his boots skidding on the tiles. He dropped to a balcony and sprinted back into the hall. The music had stopped, replaced by a low murmur of confusion as the windows rattled from distant impacts. He shoved through the crowd, looking for the faculty. He found Stella Vance and the muscular, bald figure of Owen near the dais. "Julian! What are you doing here?" Stella demanded, her face pale. "I just went out for some fresh air," Julian fumbled, his heart hammering. "Some kind of flares are falling all over the city. My residence... it's gone. It's an attack." Stella's professional mask shattered for a second. She exchanged a look with Owen, who was already reaching for a heavy staff leaning against the wall. "Go join Olivia and the others in the dance hall," Stella instructed, pushing him toward the center of the room where students were being gathered. "The shelters are being opened." Julian didn't follow the order. He knew Olivia wasn't in the hall. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small Scrying compass he'd ‘borrowed' from the lab weeks ago. He'd tuned it to her magical signature during one of their study sessions. The needle spun wildly before settling, pointing toward the residential district. He slipped out a back exit and ran. The streets were a nightmare. Trolls—large, hideous creatures—were already prowling the alleys, but they were the least of the problems. High above, Julian saw the silhouettes of Battle Gargoyles. They were three meters tall, their leathery skin shimmering with a dull green hue. They carried jagged blades and moved with a terrifying, mechanical precision. Julian ducked behind a stack of crates as a Gargoyle smashed through a storefront across the street. He checked the compass. Olivia was close. He heard a shout and a roar. Down the street, he saw a familiar figure. Ethan Cooper was standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms and shouting at a pair of Gargoyles. "Over here, you overgrown paperweights!" Ethan yelled. Julian watched, horrified, as the Gargoyles charged. But Ethan didn't flinch. He raised a hand, and a massive fireball erupted from his palm. It wasn't the standard Academy-grade spell; it was white-hot and roared with a vacuum-like sound. The Gargoyles were incinerated instantly, their stone-like skin turning to molten slag. A flock of Steel Beaks—mechanical avian constructs—dived from the rooftops. Ethan didn't even look up. An aegis of shimmering blue light snapped into existence around him, the constructs shattering against it like glass. He followed up with a burst of fire magic that cleared the sky. "Julian? What the hell are you doing here?" Ethan asked, spotting him behind the crates. "Searching for Olivia," Julian said, stepping out. He stared at the charred remains of the Gargoyles. "How did you—" "Man, and I even went to the trouble of making sure you go to the dance, too," Ethan groaned, wiping soot from his forehead. "You're the one that told Stella I wasn't planning to go?" Julian asked, incredulous. Ethan sighed, his eyes scanning the rooftops. "You always stay in your room and get killed in the initial barrage. I thought if I got you to the hall, you'd be safe." Before Julian could process the "always" in that sentence, a white shape lunged from a nearby alley. A Winter Wolf, its fur matted with blood, snapped its jaws inches from Julian's throat. Ethan's hand moved faster than Julian could follow. A concentrated Arcane Bolt punched through the wolf's skull, pinning it to the cobblestones. "Stay close," Ethan commanded. They moved through the city with terrifying efficiency. Ethan didn't cast like a student; he cast like a veteran of a hundred wars, his movements fluid and his mana pool seemingly bottomless. He picked off monsters with casual flicks of his wrist. They found Olivia in a small, abandoned townhouse near the edge of the district. She had barricaded herself in a larder, her mana exhausted from trying to maintain a basic shield against a pack of Frost Wolves scratching at the door. Ethan cleared the wolves in seconds. Julian hammered on the door. "Olivia! It's me!" The door creaked open. Olivia threw herself at Julian, her gown torn and her face streaked with tears. "I thought I was going to die!" she wailed, burying her face in his shoulder. "Ah, young love," Ethan said, leaning against the doorframe and checking the street. "Shut up, Ethan," Julian muttered, though he didn't push Olivia away. Ethan reached into a pouch and pulled out a slender metallic rod. "You hold on too, Julian," he said, holding it out. "What is that?" Julian asked, suspicious of the humming energy coming from the device. "It's a teleport rod," Ethan said. "Programmed for the academy shelters. It's got a thirty-second delay. Hold on tight." As Olivia took hold of the rod, Julian noticed Ethan flinch. The blond boy's face went momentarily pale, his eyes darting toward the end of the street. "But what about you?" Olivia asked, looking at Ethan. "I still have unfinished business here," Ethan said, waving her off with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. A sudden flash of crimson light illuminated the street. A ray of pure, concentrated necrotic energy shot from a distant rooftop, aimed directly at Ethan's back. Julian didn't think. He lunged forward, shoving Ethan hard. The red ray hissed through the air, grazing Julian's arm and slamming into the stone wall behind them. The impact threw Julian into Olivia, who was already disappearing in a swirl of blue light as the teleport rod activated. "Damn it, Julian, why didn't you hold on?!" Ethan screamed, scrambling to his feet. "You'd be dead, then!" Julian protested, clutching his arm. The wound felt like ice and fire combined, a numbing rot spreading through his nerves. A shadow fell over the street. A figure descended from the sky, floating on a cloud of dark miasma. It was gaunt, its skin stretched thin over a skeletal frame. It wore robes of tattered black silk that seemed to swallow the light. A lich. Julian's breath hitched; the pressure of the creature's presence was like a physical weight on his chest. A 9th circle mage. "So... You're the one that has been killing my minions," the lich said, its voice resonant and hollow, echoing in Julian's very bones. "Julian, run away while I deal with this guy," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped between Julian and the undead mage, his hands glowing with a fierce, golden light. Ethan launched a volley of spells—sun-fire and holy lances—that turned the street into a blinding corridor of light. The lich retaliated with waves of shadow and bone-chilling frost. A stray beam of dark energy clipped Julian as he tried to scramble for cover, sending him tumbling into a pile of stone shrapnel. His legs felt like lead; he was paralyzed. He watched from behind a fallen pillar as the two mages traded blows that leveled the surrounding buildings. Ethan was incredible, weaving Spell Matrixes at a speed Julian hadn't thought possible, but the lich was a force of nature. It shrugged off attacks that should have leveled a fortress. Ethan was being pushed back, his movements slowing, his breathing becoming ragged gasps. The lich raised a hand, and a Spirit Weave spell—a shimmering web of gray light—expanded across the street. It caught Ethan, lifting him off his feet. "You put up quite a fight, child," the lich gloated, drifting closer. "I guess... I'll have to... try harder... next time," Ethan gasped, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Next time? Silly child, there will be no next time," the lich said, its jaw clicking in a dry chuckle. "Enough talking, just get it over with," Ethan spat. The lich paused, its empty eye sockets fixed on Ethan. "You seem surprisingly unconcerned." "It's not like I'll be dead for good," Ethan said, rolling his eyes even as the Spirit Weave tightened around his chest. "Aaah, I see," the lich said, a new tone of understanding in its resonant voice. The lich's hand flashed forward, a blade of solidified shadow impaling Ethan through the chest. With a casual flick, the creature hurled Ethan's limp body across the street. He hit a wall with a sickening thud and slumped to the ground. Then the lich turned toward the pillar where Julian lay paralyzed. "And for the witness," the lich murmured. An invisible force seized Julian, lifting him into the air and hurling him across the gap. He landed hard on top of Ethan's cooling body. The lich began to chant. It wasn't Aethelian; it was a guttural, ancient tongue that made Julian's ears bleed. A dark light began to coalesce in the lich's palms, a complex weave of spirits that groaned with the voices of a thousand damned souls. Julian looked at Ethan's face—so close to his own. Ethan's eyes were open, staring at nothing. The lich finished the incantation. The Spirit Weave descended. Julian felt an immense, crushing pain, followed by a sensation of unidentifiable wrongness, as if his very soul were being unraveled and re-stitched into a pattern that didn't fit. The world tilted, the sound of the burning city faded, and his vision turned to black. ════════════════════════════════════════