The response was immediate.
Mage students moved across the academy with practiced urgency, forming circles where the barrier had fractured. Some stabilized the wounded, pouring what little mana they had left into shattered casting lines. Others returned to position, forcing their reserves back into the failing structure.
The barrier flared again, strained but holding.
At the center of the effort stood Lyra Voss.
Her presence alone imposed order. Mana flowed from her in steady, disciplined streams, correcting instabilities before they could spread. Her robes were scorched, hair pulled back tightly, expression focused and unshaken.
Top five.
Not a title. A fact.
"Match my output," she said evenly. "Anchor to the rhythm."
The barrier responded. Stress fractures sealed. The vibration running through the barrier eased.
For a brief moment, the academy felt protected again.
Then the pressure outside shifted.
The next strike bypassed the surface and tore into the reinforcement layer itself.
The barrier collapsed inward.
Backlash detonated through the casting network, hurling mages from their positions as spells unraveled mid-cast. Bodies struck stone. Mana feedback burned through arms and lungs.
Lyra absorbed the impact directly.
Her defensive weave shattered instantly, overwhelmed by force designed to break anchors. The shockwave lifted her from the ground and sent her flying across the terrace.
She struck the stone near the entrance gate, momentum carrying her into the surrounding brush. Branches snapped as she vanished into the bushes beside the gate, landing hard and unmoving.
Silence followed.
The barrier's light extinguished completely, leaving only open air above the academy.
Lyra did not rise.
And for the first time in its history, the academy stood without protection.
Niel didn't wait for silence.
The moment the barrier failed, he moved—eyes already tracking exits, distances, lines of approach. Panic was spreading, but not evenly. There was still time to shape it.
"Listen," he said, voice cutting through the noise. Not loud. Precise.
Zen turned first. Then Aren. Rex was already halfway toward the Weapon Maker Hall.
Niel pointed. "Zen—go with Evan. He's on the upper levels. You stay mobile and keep him covered."
Zen hesitated. "Shouldn't I—"
"Now," Niel said. "You're best where people are already getting hit."
Zen nodded once and moved.
Niel turned to Aren. "You're with me. We hold the inner corridors. If they're targeting anyone specific, it'll be through the main access lines."
Aren's jaw tightened. "Got it."
Niel pivoted toward Rex, already moving fast. "Rex—finish the vehicle. No refinements. No experiments. Final touches only."
Rex slowed just enough to glance back. "That thing isn't ready."
"It's ready enough," Niel replied. "And it may be needed sooner than planned."
Niel took a step toward him. "Zen can regroup with you if—"
Rex shook his head immediately. "No. I can handle defense myself. You carry on with your part."
There was no bravado in his voice. Just certainty.
Niel studied him for half a second, then nodded. "Don't get pinned."
Rex grinned faintly. "Don't let them reach the halls."
They split.
Around them, the academy was breaking into pieces—students scattering, mages pulling the wounded back, alarms finally beginning to catch up to reality.
Niel drew a slow breath and looked at Aren. "They didn't hit randomly," he said. "This is controlled."
Aren flexed his hand, Iron Fist settling into place. "Then they're coming for something."
Niel's eyes lifted toward the open sky above the shattered barrier.
"…Someone," he corrected.
And then they moved—each in a different direction—because whatever had just entered the academy wasn't here to test defenses.
It was here to take something.
The airship was already slowing when the device reacted.
On the central table, the rectangular box Forgewarden Krail had built flickered to life. Its screen brightened, a familiar grid spreading across the surface.
A single light point appeared.
Centered.
Locked.
Distance markers collapsed inward until they vanished entirely.
Krail stared at the display. "…We're here."
Aether stepped closer, eyes fixed on the dot. The reading was stable. Absolute.
"This is the location," Krail said. "The Mana Heart is beneath us."
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
Then the rune stone flared.
Inside the central cabin, the council stood in tight formation—maps still open, mana readings hovering in the air, plans half-spoken and already being revised.
Aether felt it before the message came through.
The rune stone in the center of the table activated on its own, light sharp and unstable.
The Hall Master's projection snapped into place.
Blood marked one side of his face. Smoke drifted behind him.
"Academy is under attack," he said immediately. "Barrier has failed. Students are engaging. We need you back—now."
Silence followed.
Not disbelief.
Calculation.
Aether's expression hardened. "Status?"
"Mage wing is down," the Hall Master replied. "Multiple injuries. Unknown hostile force. Airship assault confirmed."
Varkesh swore under his breath.
"We're turning back," Aether said. "Full speed."
The pilot didn't wait for the order to be repeated.
The engines roared as the airship banked sharply, mana thrusters flaring brighter as it redirected toward the academy.
Then—
Impact.
The entire vessel lurched sideways.
Metal screamed as something struck the hull from below, tearing through plating and rupturing a stabilizer array. The cabin lights flickered violently. Several council members staggered as gravity shifted.
"What hit us?" the pilot shouted.
A second blow followed, heavier than the first.
The airship dropped.
Not gradually.
Suddenly.
Altitude vanished as the engines lost alignment, thrust spiraling out of control. Warning lights flared red across every surface.
"Stabilizers are gone!" someone yelled. "We're falling!"
The floor tilted sharply as the nose dipped, the world outside the windows spinning into a blur of cloud and distant land rushing up far too fast.
Aether grabbed the table, mana already surging as he looked toward the fractured hull.
"They knew," he said quietly.
The airship continued its uncontrolled descent—
plunging toward the ground at terrifying speed.
And for the first time since leaving the academy,
they were no longer on their way back.
They were going down.
The airship screamed as it fell.
Loose objects slammed across the cabin. Consoles tore free from their mounts. Outside the windows, clouds ripped past in a blur as the forest canopy rushed up far too fast.
No one shouted orders.
They didn't need to.
Aether moved.
He stepped forward, planting one foot hard against the tilting floor. Mana surged—not violently, not explosively—but with absolute precision. His hand rose, fingers spreading slightly.
"Brace," he said.
The word carried weight.
A barrier formed around the cabin—not a dome, not a wall, but a layered shell that folded inward, compressing space itself. The air thickened as force was redirected, impact bending and collapsing into controlled paths instead of tearing outward.
The first collision hit.
Hard.
The airship tore through treetops, branches and trunks exploding as the hull disintegrated around them. Stabilizers failed completely. The force should have crushed everyone inside.
It didn't.
The barrier held.
Inside it, the world shook violently—but bodies remained intact. Bones didn't snap. Organs didn't rupture. The pressure was spread, flattened, absorbed.
Varkesh staggered but stayed upright. Aurilna braced herself against the table, eyes locked on the mana structure holding the cabin together.
"…You're holding the whole section," she said.
Aether didn't respond.
His focus never wavered.
The barrier adjusted again as the airship slammed into the forest floor. Metal folded inward. Engines tore free. Earth and debris erupted upward as the wreck carved a scar through the trees.
Then—
Stillness.
Smoke drifted between broken trunks. Leaves settled slowly over twisted steel and scorched ground.
The barrier dissolved.
Everyone was still standing.
Breathing.
Alive.
"…We're down," the pilot said quietly.
Aether lowered his hand and looked through the fractured airship into the forest beyond.
"And the academy," he said calmly, "is alone."
They moved quickly, forcing open a section of torn metal and stepping out into the clearing left by the crash.
The forest was silent.
Too silent.
Aether raised a hand. "Form up."
They did—expecting spells, movement, an immediate strike.
Instead, figures stepped out from between the trees.
One group.
Then another.
Then many more.
They emerged from every direction—between trunks, from behind fallen logs, down shallow slopes. Armored. Armed. Disciplined. No banners. No shouting.
Just intent.
The circle closed slowly, deliberately.
Aether's gaze tracked the perimeter, measuring distance, spacing, formation.
"…One thousand," he said at last.
No one spoke.
They weren't surrounded by scouts.
They weren't facing raiders.
They were standing in the center of a prepared force.
And every one of them was waiting.
Marshal Teren Vos didn't reach for his weapon.
He reached for the rune stone.
The clearing remained silent—one thousand figures encircling the wreckage, unmoving, watching.
Teren activated the stone.
The surface warmed beneath his thumb.
Light gathered.
The rune began to respond.
Teren raised it slightly, breath steady, eyes fixed ahead—