Dawn arrived pale, tinting the stones with cold light. The wind cut through the ravines like invisible blades, and a strange silence hung over the camp.
Selene was the first to notice.
“She hasn’t come back,” she murmured, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Kael stood abruptly, scanning the area. The breeze carried only the scent of damp earth, no trace of blood or struggle. But something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Andrel was already consulting the energy map in his enchanted grimoire.
“There’s a residual trace... faint, but recent. A kind of rapid displacement seal. It hit Lysa directly, without physical impact. She was taken.”
Kael clenched his fists.
“By who?”
“I don’t know,” Andrel replied. “But whoever it was, they’re not part of the official System. This is high-lineage signature. Blood magic and secrecy. Possibly the Glass Circle.”
Selene stood up, her black hair tied back with a strip of improvised leather. She looked at Kael, then Andrel.
“We’re going after her.”
“It’s a trap,” said Andrel.
“Obviously,” Selene replied. “And we’ll step on it until it breaks.”
They followed the trail of energy left by the seal. The magical signature was faint but steady — carried by an invisible ceremonial field that ran through dense forests and corrupted clearings.
By mid-afternoon, they reached an open slope. Trees twisted like raised hands dominated the landscape. And there, waiting, they stood.
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Twenty.
Twenty nobles.
All hooded, wearing battle robes inscribed with golden runes. Each carried enchanted weapons — staves, thin blades, seals dangling from chains. The emblem of the Glass Circle marked them all: a broken mirror wrapped in symbols of the old System.
At the center, a man stepped forward. Young, but with old eyes.
“In the name of preserving the Cycle, you are not to take another step.”
Kael drew his sword.
“Where is Lysa?”
The noble smiled.
“In a safe place. Where errors can be undone. She will be judged. You... will be erased.”
Andrel raised the grimoire.
“Warning: attempting to rewrite her name will be the last thing you do.”
The nobles lifted their weapons.
“Last chance,” said the spokesperson. “Kneel. Or die.”
Selene walked slowly to the front.
She stopped between Kael and Andrel.
“You asked for it, huh?”
She raised her hand.
“Rukk...”
The ground trembled.
All eyes turned to the ravine behind them.
And then he came.
Charging.
Like a hurricane of stone and light.
Rukk. Fully awakened.
His arms were like temple columns, breaking everything in his path. His eyes glowed with the amber of wild code, and ancient runes pulsed across his chest.
The first noble was crushed before he could scream.
The second, cleaved in half with a single blow.
The others scattered, casting spells, invocations, offensive seals — all of it ricocheted or was absorbed by Rukk’s living shell.
Kael leapt into battle, spinning with sword in hand, cutting a path through two spellcasters.
Andrel traced symbols in the air, summoning magic-negation fields and runic explosions that disoriented the nobles.
Selene, eyes closed, danced between the energies, in sync with Rukk as if they were a single being. Her commands were silent, almost intuitive. A hand gesture, a shoulder shift — and the colossus obeyed.
Four nobles conjured an imprisonment seal shaped like a mirror. Rukk paused for a second, roared with fury... and shattered the field with his scream.
The sound that came from him was more than a voice.
It was an ancient language.
Kael stumbled and was caught by Selene.
“This... this is a living war weapon!” he shouted.
“No,” she replied. “This is what happens when the System makes a mistake... and we survive the error.”
When the battle ended, the field was littered with bodies and rune debris.
Thirteen nobles dead.
Five fled.
Two unconscious.
Rukk knelt, exhausted, his shell still glowing with active runes.
Selene collapsed beside him, eyes fixed on the sky.
“That was just a rehearsal,” she murmured.
