The greenhouse trembled faintly as the first light of dawn crept through its cracked panes, casting jagged shadows across the tangled roses where Kael Veyrin sat, the deep blue Veyrin crystal pulsing steadily in his palm. The air was thick with the musty scent of decaying plants and the lingering hum of magic from the previous night's escape from the sanctum. It was 06:39 AM WIB on Tuesday, June 3, 2025, in the world beyond Eldoria, but within this magical realm, time was marked by the relentless pulse of the academy's trials and the royal court's machinations. The victory in the sanctum—breaking the ritual, freeing Rylan—had shifted the balance, but the cost weighed heavily on Kael. The echo within the crystal whispered of the throne, its voice a constant companion, urging him toward a destiny he wasn't sure he wanted.
Rylan, now resting on a makeshift cot of scavenged blankets, looked frail but resolute, his amber eyes—mirroring Elara's—fixed on Kael. His emaciated frame was wrapped in one of Gav's spare tunics, the fabric hanging loose on his once-athletic build. Elara knelt beside him, her crimson robe dusted with sanctum grime, her hands glowing faintly as she channeled the last of her healing magic. Lir hovered nearby, his spellbook open, tracing runes to reinforce the greenhouse's weak wards, while Gav and Mara stood guard at the entrance, their silhouettes tense against the morning mist.
"We can't stay hidden forever," Rylan said, his voice hoarse but steady. He shifted, wincing as the chains' marks on his wrists caught the light. "The council chamber holds the proof—the records of every ritual, every bloodline drained. If we expose it, the nobles might turn against the king. But it's deep in the palace, guarded by royal mages."
Kael nodded, the crystal's warmth grounding him. The echo murmured of strategy, and he felt its guidance sharpen his focus. "Dorian said the next move is ours," he replied. "The king will retaliate after the sanctum, but the Culling Trial chaos gives us a window. We use it to reach the chamber."
Elara's amber eyes narrowed, her freckled cheeks tightening with determination. "And risk everything? We barely survived Lysara. The palace is a fortress."
"It's our only shot," Kael said, meeting her gaze. "The ritual's broken, but the Scepter's still there. If we destroy it and expose the council, we can end this. Rylan, can you guide us?"
Rylan nodded weakly. "I memorized the layout during my imprisonment. There's a servants' passage—less guarded, but it's a maze. We'll need a diversion to get past the outer wards."
Gav grunted, his massive frame shifting. "I can handle that. Mara and I can stage a fight near the gates—draw the guards out."
Mara smirked, her scarred face lighting up. "Let's make it messy. A little fire, a lot of noise. They won't know what hit them."
Lir looked up, his pale face drawn. "I can weaken the wards with a dispel rune, but it'll take time. We'll need to hold off any mages until it's done."
The plan took shape over the next hours, the greenhouse becoming a war room of whispered tactics. Kael trained with the crystal, the echo teaching him to extend Severance's range, unraveling Lir's test wards with precision. Elara practiced fire bursts, her magic syncing with Kael's counters, while Rylan sketched the passage on a scrap of parchment, his hands trembling but steadying with each line. The alliance's bond tightened, a fragile but fierce unity forged in shared danger.
As dusk fell, they moved. The palace loomed against the horizon, its golden spires a stark contrast to the academy's crystal structures, its wards humming with royal power. Gav and Mara slipped toward the gates, their staged duel erupting in a clash of steel and flame, drawing guards and proctors alike. Lir worked his dispel rune near the servants' entrance, the air crackling as the ward weakened, while Kael, Elara, and Rylan darted inside.
The passage was narrow, its stone walls slick with moss, the air heavy with the scent of damp and decay. Rylan led, his memory guiding them through twists and turns, past hidden alcoves where royal spies might lurk. The echo whispered warnings, and Kael's Severance unraveled a trap—a collapsing ceiling—saving them from a fatal fall. Elara's fire lit the way, her amber eyes scanning for threats, her hand brushing Kael's in silent support.
They emerged into the council chamber, a vast hall with walls lined with tapestries depicting Vaelthar victories, their golden threads glowing faintly. A long table dominated the room, its surface covered in scrolls and a ledger identical to the one from the archive. Kael flipped it open, the echo guiding him to a page: *"Veyrin bloodline terminated, ritual sustained, 15th cycle complete."* Proof of the king's crimes, spanning centuries.
But the chamber wasn't empty. Prince Aric stepped from the shadows, his golden eyes blazing, a storm of blades swirling around him. "You've gone too far, Veyrin," he snarled, his royal crest glinting. Behind him, royal mages emerged, their staffs raised, the Scepter's energy pulsing anew.
Kael raised the crystal, Severance flaring as he unraveled Aric's blades, the effort draining him. Elara's fire clashed with a mage's ice, her burns flaring as she pushed her magic. Rylan, despite his weakness, drew a dagger, guarding the ledger, while Lir's dispel rune weakened the mages' shields.
The fight was brutal. Kael countered spell after spell, the echo urging him to strike the Scepter. He lunged, Severance shattering its core, the golden light exploding in a wave that knocked Aric back. The prince fell, unconscious, the mages faltering as their power waned.
Elara seized the ledger, her flames sealing it in a protective barrier. "We've got it," she gasped, pulling Kael to his feet. The team retreated, the passage collapsing behind them as Gav and Mara rejoined, their diversion spent.
Back in the greenhouse, the alliance panted, the ledger their prize. Rylan's voice was weak but firm. "Take it to the nobles. They'll have to act."
Kael clutched the crystal, the echo whispering of the throne, but his mind was on survival. The king would come, and the gambit had just begun.