Day 157, Week 19, Month Verdantis, Year 12123, Era Elyndris
10:22 – Atlantis Magic School, Thirtos City, Gaia Kingdom
The corridors hummed with a tumultuous energy, whispers darting through the air like moths to a flame. "Have you heard the chilling news?" one student murmured, casting a wary glance behind him.
"It's no mere rumor anymore. It's the truth, I swear. Five of them are dead!" another voice replied, her eyes wide with sheer terror. Rinoa felt the heavy cloak of dread settle over her, permeating every shared glance and muted breath in the hallways.
As the guards burst through the Academy's eastern wing, their armor shimmering with the remnants of recent turmoil, Rinoa pressed her quaking hands against the stained-glass window. "This cannot be happening," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. Yet, the crier's voice pierced her reverie as he proclaimed, "Five elders of the shadow government—members of the Round Table—are dead!"
"What does this mean for us?" a boy standing nearby gasped, clutching his books as if they were his last tether to safety. "They were invulnerable!"
Rinoa felt her heart falter, the realization settling in. "We cannot allow fear to take hold," she tried to reassure herself, even as a wave of terror simmered just beneath her skin.
"All their names… By the Gods, it feels like a curse," a girl exhaled, trembling as the crier announced the first name.
"Lord Bismarck Lauenbrug, aged sixty-three," he declared, disbelief lacing his voice. "A tactical genius. The stalwart defender of Thirtos. The esteemed founder of the Thor Gate."
"No," Rinoa breathed, her composure fracturing like fine porcelain. "Not him."
A murmur rippled through the gathered students, spreading like wildfire. "He was meant to be invincible," one whispered in shock, while another added, "How could this calamity befall us?"
"This alters everything," Rinoa insisted, her voice steadier than she felt within. "If Bismarck has fallen... what stands in the way of the Gamma forces? They shall not cease until we are all silenced."
"What are we to do?" her friend Freya implored, eyes shimmering with despair. "If the elders have perished, the city is surely doomed."
Rinoa swallowed hard, allowing the grim reality to settle in her bones. "Their deaths cannot be in vain." The weight of the moment pressed upon her, chilling and tangible.
For a fleeting instant, the world fell silent. Lord Bismarck's visage lingered in Rinoa's mind—an iron-haired titan, his gaze sharper than any blade. "Did you witness the respect he commanded?" she murmured to herself, her thoughts swirling like autumn leaves in a gust. "He was more than a leader; he was a legend."
"A legend that has now departed," Professor Yaldin lamented, his voice brittle with sorrow as he stepped closer to Rinoa. "Bismarck was the architect of half the city's defenses. You must grasp this, Rinoa; whoever orchestrated this… understood precisely where to strike."
"But why?" Rinoa's voice quivered, a tempest of anguish and fury. "He was our mightiest shield! Why would they strike at him?"
"This assault is far from haphazard," Yaldin replied, his brow deepening with concern. "It's a calculated gambit in a game where the stakes are nothing less than life and death."
Another elder stepped into the corridor, his voice low yet urgent. "No one is secure. Even the Council chamber is not spared. If they could silence Bismarck…"
"Then we are exposed," Rinoa finished, dread pooling like a stone in her gut. "It can't be true. We must take action!"
"Act?" Yaldin shook his head, his eyes betraying a storm of fear and resolve. "What can we possibly do? For now, all we possess is our mourning. Schemes cannot be forged in turmoil."
"I refuse to remain idle!" Rinoa insisted, her fists clenched with fervor. "This matter transcends Bismarck; it concerns us all. We cannot allow fear to bind us!"
"Fear is what keeps us alive, Rinoa," the elder interjected, his voice rougher with age. "Yet you speak as a warrior. You carry the flame in your heart that Bismarck once held. You must guide us."
"Guide?" Rinoa gasped, the weight of the world suddenly pressing heavily upon her shoulders. "I am no leader. But if we are to shield Thirtos, we must brace ourselves for what lies ahead."
"Then let us not squander another moment," Yaldin urged, a newfound fire igniting in his eyes. "We prepare. For Bismarck. For our city."
The crier continued unflinchingly, his voice ringing out like a somber bell for the fallen. "The second victim: Lord Maximilian Hannover, age fifty."
A wave of disbelief swept through the students gathered in the atrium, shock rippling through the crowd. Rinoa felt the icy surface of the windowsill digging into her palms, her knuckles turning white. "Maximilian?" she breathed, a tremor betraying her composure. "He was like a ghost… always lurking in the shadows, observing."
A girl beside her quivered, tears welling in her eyes. "It is said he kept records on every mage across Gaia," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "His spies were everywhere... always listening."
"Indeed, it is true," Rinoa murmured, her pulse quickening with each passing moment. "He had the uncanny ability to perceive every subtle shift, every secret we believed we had cloaked in darkness." Memories of furtive whispers and darting shadows haunted her, always present, always observant. "And now… now he has vanished into the void."
The atmosphere thickened, heavy with a sense of impending doom. Suddenly, a lad stepped forth, trepidation evident in his eyes. "What if this has all been an elaborate ruse?" he asserted, his voice trembling. "Maximilian possessed knowledge beyond measure. They wouldn't have simply silenced him without a devious scheme in mind."
From the back, another voice interjected, laced with incredulity. "We all believed him beyond reach! I beheld him at the last gala, commanding the very room as if he were royalty!"
Rinoa shook her head with deliberation. "And now, his seat of power stands vacant, seized by shadows." Her gaze drifted towards the entrance, her heart throbbing in sync with each muttered exchange. "If Maximilian could fall from grace, who amongst us possesses the strength to defy the encroaching darkness that lies in wait along these corridors?"
A profound silence blanketed them momentarily, the weight of her declaration settling like a heavy shroud. Then, a youth beside her breathed softly, "They are systematically dismantling the pillars of Gaia, one by one." His voice quivered, every syllable rife with palpable dread.
"Who will be next?" a voice broke the quiet murmur, panic threading through the air. "If they have succeeded with him, they will not cease their malevolence."
Another voice, laced with trepidation and steeped in dread, echoed across the gathering. "The third name," the crier managed to utter, his voice quavering under the weight of its significance. "Is Lord Gustav Stresemann, age forty-seven."
A palpable tremor surged through the room, a murmur of hushed disbelief rising like a dark tide. Rinoa felt the tension coil around her, a constricting band of anxiety. "Gustav… renowned for his persuasive tongue and shrewd mind," she whispered to herself, her heart pounding in her chest. "He brokered peace with the tribal leaders during the Gamma War, only to outmaneuver them when the moment was right."
An elder at the back of the crowd leaned forward, his gnarled hands entwined with resolve. "He spun treaties from naught but threads of silk entwined with steel," he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Transformed Gaia from a land of solitude to a radiant beacon of innovation."
"A savior or a traitor?" a young woman voiced, her head shaking in disbelief. "That depends entirely on whom you inquire."
Rinoa turned to the woman, her voice a soft whisper. "And what is your conviction?"
With a heavy sigh, the woman replied, "He ensnared the old guard into embracing the iron pact. But tell me, did he lay the foundation of this city's glory… or did he condemn us all instead?"
Professor Yaldin's shoulders sagged beneath the burden of bygone eras. "He acted as he believed was just," he murmured, almost to himself. "Yet, the price…"
"The price is ever too steep," another teacher interjected quietly, a tinge of bitterness weaving through his tone. "We are all suffering for his decisions now."
Rinoa's gaze shifted to the next figure materializing in the shimmering memory, her heart quickening with anticipation. "And here comes the fourth," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the din.
"Fourth—Ludwig Schwerin. The Knight of Gaia. Bestower of Fitran's blood title," another teacher declared, his voice heavy with awe and reverence.
"Ludwig…" Rinoa breathed, the name wrapping around her thoughts like a warm embrace. "He was more legend than man, was he not?" She could almost envision him; the armor battered yet steadfast, his gaze fierce as thunder rolled across the battlefield.
"He summoned the offensive known as Blood Monday," a student interjected, his eyes wide with the weight of history. "A full day of torment."
"Five thousand souls lost, all beneath that vast azure sky," another murmured, her hands trembling as the gravity of the words settled over them. "How could any heart endure such a burden?"
"He stood upon the hill," Rinoa recalled, her voice thick with emotion, each word steeped in reverence. "His blade a crimson testament, condemning Fitran for the deaths of our kin. His fury…" She paused, the memory choking her emotions. "It became the stuff of legends."
He cast the world's sorrow upon Fitran's shoulders, Rinoa pondered, a chill creeping up her spine. "Who among us could bear such a weight?" she murmured, feeling the very essence of history pressing inexorably upon them all.
"This transcends mere nomenclature," one of the educators interjected, concern etching lines upon his brow. "They are erasing our past, one name at a time."
The students around her erupted into heated debate, tension palpable in the air. "But who could possibly slay Ludwig Schwerin?" a boy burst out, his hands balled into fists. "He triumphed over Blood Monday—he's supposed to be invincible!"
"No one is truly immortal," came a sharp retort from a girl lingering at the back, her voice laced with resignation. "Not even the most revered legends."
At last, the crier's voice quivered, echoing across the chamber as he pronounced, "The final name—Lady Beatrix Charlotte."
Instant silence cloaked them like a heavy veil. Even the wind outside hushed, infused with the weight of unuttered thoughts.
"Lady Beatrix, the sole woman of the Round Table," Rinoa murmured, her tone low yet pointed. The memories hung around her like a shroud. "She didn't merely unite Gaia and Earth post-war; she carved a path through the chaos."
Yaldin leaned in, brow knit with concentration. "You remember her, don't you? With that cloak of living leaves? Her eyes—they shimmered with an unyielding fire."
"I do," Rinoa replied, her gaze distant as she drifted through the corridors of memory. "She had a remarkable way of commanding respect effortlessly. Just... a single word from her could still any room."
"And she was the beacon for Fitran during the darkness," Yaldin murmured, a tinge of sorrow seeping into his voice. "Without her, he might have languished in despair, abandoned like refuse."
"She sustained the spirit of Gaia long after Blood Monday," Yaldin whispered, emotion crackling in the air as he recalled the past.
"That day shattered everything," Rinoa stated, her fists tightening with righteous anger. "Look at where we stand now, Yaldin. Five leaders fallen, and what remains for us?"
A heavy silence settled between them. Outside, the city felt diminished, its towering structures looming like specters over the frightened populace. Rinoa cast her gaze toward the shadowy streets of Thirtos. "Bismarck was discovered at his desk," she remembered, her voice quavering with unsteady emotion. "His hand still gripping that blood-stained map. Do you believe he realized what was coming?"
"I cannot fathom that any of them did," Yaldin replied, slowly shaking his head, a somber gravity in his words. "Maximilian was found slumped over those coded reports. How could he have allowed this to transpire?"
"And Gustav…" Rinoa shivered visibly. "Caught in the act of writing. To whom was he even addressing his letter? It's so unlike him."
"And then there was Ludwig," Yaldin added, bitterness lacing his voice. "He fell, his armor bent and broken in his study. Can you fathom it? When did our leaders become so frail?"
"And Beatrix…" Rinoa's voice trailed off, lost in the weight of memory. "Sprawled beneath that ancient oak in the Diplomatic Quarter. Magic and earth entwined with her skin. It felt so wrong—she was meant to be our shield."
The toll of their losses weighed heavily upon them as the Council poised itself for an emergency session. Voices echoed amidst the chamber, each countenance pale and drawn in horror. The fear was tangible, curling around them like an unseen shroud.
High Archivist Mama Taal was the first to rise, her keen gaze sweeping across the assembly. "We have lost the backbone of this nation," she proclaimed with firmness, though her hands betrayed her with a slight tremor. "Five leaders. Five divergent fates. What, I ask, binds them?"
Zeskar stepped forward, his voice a low growl that rumbled like distant thunder. "Power. Knowledge. Influence. We have lost the very mind of our city, its watchful eyes, its indomitable will, its steadfast shield, its very soul. All... gone."
Rinoa shivered, an icy dread creeping down her spine. "And if we do not unveil the truth…"
"Then we are the next to fall," Yaldin interjected, his eyes blazing with grim resolve. "We must take action, or all will perish."
Zeskar's response emerged again as a low, ominous growl. "Power. Knowledge. Influence. The city's mind, its watchful eyes, its resolute will, its protective shield, its very soul. All have vanished," he declared, his voice barely containing the fury that simmered within him. "We are left only with shadows and echoes of a once-vibrant life."
Rinoa, captivated by the chaos unfolding around her, instinctively stepped closer to the council's outer ring. "Look at them," she murmured, her gaze sweeping over the officials barking urgent commands. "Have they ever appeared this desperate before?"
A guard nearby, his brow beaded with sweat, shouted, "Raise those wards! We cannot allow them to breach the inner sanctum!" The mages hurriedly recited incantations, their chants weaving an invisible tapestry of energy that crackled in the tense air. Messengers dashed past, their faces drawn and haunted by a palpable dread. Rinoa sensed the rising tide of panic, a dark undercurrent bubbling beneath the fractured surface of the city.
Outside, the throng swelled, a sea of souls entangled in a web of fear. "We demand answers!" a voice rang out, slicing through the clamor like a dagger. "Justice for the fallen!" The names of the five leaders manifested within the crowd, echoing like a cursed refrain. Some among the multitude wept openly, their sobs rising, while others raised defiant fists, ardently calling for vengeance.
A figure materialized before Rinoa, a fellow student named Eris, her voice quaking with urgency. "You knew Fitran, did you not? Please, tell me it isn't true."
Rinoa nodded slowly, a heavy weight settling in her chest. "I did. But why do you ask?"
Eris's wide eyes sparkled with worry. "Rumors are running rampant, Rinoa. They say all five elders are the ones who cast him out. They're claiming this is retribution from the void," she whispered, her words slicing through the chaos like a lost prayer.
Rinoa felt her heartbeat quicken at the accusation. "Fitran would never—" she began, but the shock pulled the words from her.
Eris pressed on, her desperation etching deep lines upon her brow. "Wouldn't he? They forced upon him their burden! And now—all of them are dead!"
The weight of the accusation hung in the air, festering like an old wound, refusing to be brushed aside or forgotten.
Professor Yaldin stepped into the tumult, his countenance as solemn as the grave nature of their discourse. "Rinoa, thou must disappear from sight," he urged, his sharp eyes scanning the gathering like a hawk searching for impending danger. "The city seeks scapegoats, and if they perceive thee as complicit—"
Rinoa met his steely gaze, a tempest of anger and sorrow raging within her. "Fitran is no murderer! I refuse—no, I cannot accept such a notion!"
Yaldin sighed heavily, motioning for her to retreat. "In such dark times, the truth becomes a mere whisper drowned beneath the thunder of fear. Thou must depart—at once."
Rinoa wove her way through the press of bodies, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts as she maneuvered through the crowd. "They fail to comprehend," she whispered to herself, the weight of her heart pressing upon her chest. "Each lost soul held a different meaning for me—and for Fitran." Clenching her fists, she reminisced about Bismarck's keen intellect, Maximilian's elusive murmurs, and Gustav's fiery debates. "All those lives, so intricately intertwined with ours..."
At that moment, a voice pierced through her reverie. A hooded figure emerged beside her. "Rinoa, is it true what they speak?" It was an old acquaintance, Alin, his brow creased with worry. "About the Council's suspicions toward Fitran?"
"Do not speak such ill of him," she responded, her voice a fierce whisper. "He is no murderer. I refuse to believe it." Her eyes narrowed as the memory of their quiet camaraderie flashed in her mind.
Alin nodded gravely, an unmistakable urgency threading through his words. "The Council grows frantic. They believe that by casting blame upon him, they might obscure their own failings."
"Each life snuffed out weighs heavily upon our souls," Rinoa said, pushing forward through the encroaching shadows and murmurs of the crowd. "Bismarck had offered him lessons in strategy, while Maximilian confided secrets in quiet corners. Gustav debated policy with him, Ludwig condemned him for the fallen, and Beatrix had given him refuge when all others would not."
"What is irrevocable cannot be changed, and yet, they forge ahead with their eyes closed," Alin declared, his tone quaking with resolve. "Who among them would dare to eradicate an entire lineage of Gaia's shadow rulers in the span of a single night?"
Before Rinoa could muster a reply, the distant peal of Council bells echoed around them, a summons that sent a shiver through her chest. "I must take my leave," she said, a tremor of anxiety slipping into her voice. "The Assembly awaits my presence." As she hurried toward the gathering, the low hum of the crowd curled around her:
"The Thor Gate is already faltering," an anxious voice barely floated through the air. "Who will uphold the wards in Bismarck's absence?"
Another voice, steadier and more confident, asserted, "Word has it that Maximilian's secret documents have vanished."
"Sabotage?" another pondered aloud, casting furtive glances laden with suspicion.
"Gustav's treaties—will they endure, or will the tribes rise against us?"
In the midst of the uproar, a sonorous voice resonated, "Without Ludwig to guide them, the knights drift without purpose."
A sorrowful lament followed, "Beatrix's alliances sustained our lives. What shall we do now?"
Within the confines of the Council chamber, tension gripped the atmosphere as tightly as a bowstring. Rinoa inhaled deeply, summoning her resolve as the war council convened. High Archivist Mama Taal rose to her feet, her voice crackling like brittle leaves in the wind. "We stand besieged—from within or without, I care not," she proclaimed, her gaze sweeping across the gathered assembly. "The city must not fall. Every official, every guardian shall be called to arms. Trust no one."
Magister Zeskar, his voice a tempest, slammed his fist upon the table, causing the surface to shake. "I demand the names of every survivor from those wings," he bellowed, his eyes ablaze with fierce determination. "Bring me the suspects. Fetch the witnesses. Anyone connected to Fitran Fate—bring them forth at once!"
Rinoa felt her heart plummet as her name materialized on the list, uttered like a curse. "No..." she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
Suddenly, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows—a quick flash of white hair and piercing green eyes. Yaldin hurried toward her, urgency etched into every line of his face. "Rinoa!" he hissed, pressing a folded note into her palm. "Read it. Then, for your safety, destroy it."
Her fingers quivered as she peered down at the parchment, its surface crinkling beneath her grasp. "What is this?" she inquired softly, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
"Just trust me," he implored, stepping closer to shield her from prying eyes. "It's of utmost importance."
She slipped into a dim alcove, her heart racing as she carefully unfolded the parchment. "What could he possibly want me to keep in mind?" she murmured, concern knitting her brow. The note was succinct—merely six words, inscribed in Fitran's unmistakable hand:
"Remember: Not all debts are blood."
A shiver coursed through her as she uttered the words softly, "Not all debts…" The glyph upon her palm pulsed beneath her touch, and in an instant, she sensed it—a lingering presence in the air, a whisper of a memory, almost as palpable as the ghost of a caress.
As the sun dipped lower, the fervent chants from the square grew louder, slicing through the heavy tension that enveloped the air. "Justice for the fallen! Justice or blood!" The crowd surged forward, their voices merging into a desperate uproar that echoed through the streets.
"Rinoa!" A voice cut through the chaos, low and urgent, pulling her attention to the shadows. It was Yaldin, his gaze flicking anxiously over the turmoil outside. "What did he say?"
"It's a warning," Rinoa replied, tucking the note securely away as she spoke, her tone tight with anxiety. "The killings… they are no mere coincidence."
Yaldin's expression darkened further, the weight of her words settling between them. "What do you mean?"
Drawing in a shaky breath, Rinoa could feel her heart racing. "This goes beyond mere vengeance. It is a message—a reckoning that calls out for sins left unconfessed."
His eyes widened, realization dawning upon him like the first light of dawn. "You suspect Fitran is behind it, don't you?"
"If he yet draws breath," she responded, desperation clawing at her throat. "If you're out there, Fitran—what have we morphed into? How do I halt this darkness from consuming us all?" Her voice wavered, breaking slightly as she revealed the heavy burden she bore.
Yaldin stepped closer, his voice softening with resolve. "Whatever it takes, we shall confront this together. All this chaos… it is merely the beginning."
With turmoil rising and the very roots of Gaia trembling beneath them, Rinoa pressed onward, each step weighted with the memories of those lost and the shadows of what was yet to come. "We must prepare, Yaldin. If a reckoning is indeed upon us, we must be ready to face it."
Not all debts are written in blood… she whispered to herself, her thoughts swirling amid the tempest as they plunged into the chaos. The world around them twisted and roiled, as if a great crucible awaited its moment to unleash devastation upon the realm.