"As you've read," he began, voice clipped and serious, "Newhold was wiped out earlier this week by a strange phenomenon. We believe it to be the same force responsible for the destruction of Velmara and Claywall three years ago."

His words hung in the air like a stormcloud, heavy and suffocating. Though he maintained a composed exterior, those paying close attention might have noticed the subtle tremor beneath his tone.

But Michael was not one of them—at least not right now.

The shock had numbed him. Another town? Just like Velmara…

His breath caught as a quiet dread began curling in his gut. Rudy's home. His home. They hadn't been isolated cases.

"What happened?" Mason asked, breaking the silence with a grim expression. "How does an entire town vanish overnight?"

The question was one everyone had, though most didn't dare voice it. Aside from the fourth-years, who sat in still, knowing silence, the rest of the students looked confused and rattled. It was clear many of them had never heard of the first incident.

"We don't know," Professor Stark answered, slower this time. "There's no evidence to tie it to anyone in particular..."

His gaze flicked toward Magnus.

"The royal family chose to keep the previous event under wraps… but this time, it won't be possible. Newhold lies too far inland to be dismissed or ignored."

A faint edge of accusation tinged the professor's voice.

Magnus didn't flinch. His face was impassive, unreadable—eerily calm. But his stillness carried weight.

"So," Magnus replied coolly, his tone devoid of deference, "you're here to shift blame onto the royal family? Is that it?"

The air in the room tightened, the tension palpable. Chairs creaked as students shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what would come next.

"There was no such intention," Professor Stark said evenly, seemingly unaffected by the prince's challenge. "I'm merely here to inform the student council—how you choose to communicate this to the student body is up to you."

His gaze swept across the room, sharp and unyielding.

"Effective immediately, all academy activities beyond castle grounds are suspended. No student is permitted to leave the premises until the royal investigation concludes. If any… difficult individuals attempt otherwise, use your emblem to alert the nearest professor."

He paused.

"My advice?" he added, more quietly. "Be vague when delivering the news. Tell them more details will be shared once the investigation is complete."

Without another word, he turned and exited, the door clicking shut behind him with eerie finality.

Silence followed.

The room seemed to exhale all at once. Every student wore some variation of the same expression—shock, uncertainty, fear. The weight of the news pressed down like invisible chains.

Michael sat in a haze, his mind churning. He barely noticed the others.

What could do something like this? Why now?

No one—not even Stark—seemed to know.

But more than fear… Michael felt something else bubbling beneath the surface.

Memory. Guilt. Rage.

Images he'd worked so hard to suppress came surging forward—

His mother, face bloodied but defiant, standing her ground.

The shrill scream of her voice—begging him to run.

And the silence that followed.

He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. He barely felt the pain.

Had he truly never questioned it? Had he buried the truth so deep that he'd forgotten to even look?

Had the four masked assailants been part of the phenomenon that killed Velmara's people and drained the mana spring dry? Or had they arrived for a different purpose?

Was his mother, Alice Aurelius, their true target… or merely collateral damage?

It didn't make sense.

If the robed assailants had been behind the tragedy in Velmara—and if their goal had been to kill his mother—then why hadn't they simply let her die in the manor? Why bother confronting her at all?

Unless... their hand was forced.

Michael's thoughts turned to Lord Aurelius's final command: for the steward, Rohan, to flee with them. Had that act triggered the assault? Was his mother simply caught in the middle of a larger objective?

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became—he was missing something vital.

A single piece… one key insight that could crack open the truth.

If he could only discern the intent behind the robed attackers that night… maybe then he could begin to uncover their identity. And from there, take one step closer to his revenge.

His mind churned restlessly with half-formed theories—until Magnus's voice cut through the fog.

Gone was the prince's usual lazy drawl. His tone now held weight. Authority.

"You are all violet emblem holders—essentially the cream of the crop," he began, his gaze sweeping across those seated at the round table. "Your talents, your potential—they're what the royal family is counting on for the future."

His expression was serious. No trace of jest remained.

"And for that reason," he continued, "I'll share with you the results of an investigation that's been ongoing since the first incident—three years ago."

The room stilled.

No one spoke. No one interrupted.

Every student leaned in slightly, as if collectively holding their breath.

Even Michael found himself frozen, his eyes fixed on the blond royal. This could be it. The piece I've been missing...

"The mana spring collapses weren't natural," Magnus said. "They were intentional."

Gasps rippled around the room.

Shock painted every face. The mere suggestion was heretical.

To tamper with the world's ley lines and mana flow was an abomination—banned by international decree since the end of the Great War. It was the one rule every nation, mage tower, and kingdom abided by without exception.

"The royal family still hasn't identified the culprit," Magnus continued, "but we discovered disturbing patterns among the deceased."

He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle before delivering them.

"Every single victim had their inner palace shattered—their souls either destroyed or extracted. We don't know how. We don't know why. But we know something, or someone, did it."

His words fell like stones in a silent pond—each one deepening the stillness that followed.

Rose, usually composed, whispered in disbelief, "Who could possibly do such a thing?"

A few others murmured in agreement, shaking their heads. The silence that followed was suffocating.

But Michael didn't join them.

His brows had drawn together into a deep frown.

He remembered.

The pressure slamming into his inner palace. The invasive force clawing to reach his soul.

He had no name for the entity that attacked him back then, but he knew—he knew—it hadn't been natural. It had nearly torn through his defenses.

Only by instinct—and perhaps luck—had he managed to keep that thing at bay.

Hearing Magnus's words now only confirmed what he had suspected all along.

He'd stared death in the face and somehow survived.

How close had he truly been to joining the others in Velmara?

Had he faltered even slightly, his soul would've been ripped from his body like all the rest.

His fists clenched beneath the table.

"I think the better question is," Michael said at last, his voice low but clear, "why would someone do it?"

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