The hall where Lysa was held was dark and cold, but what hurt wasn’t the environment.

  It was the voice.

  Grenda Malvar paced around the stone chair like a shadow that never aged, her steps as rhythmic as the traumas echoing in Lysa’s mind.

  “You’ve always been a breathing disappointment, Lysa,” she said, dragging her hand along the wall where ancient runes pulsed. “A mistake that insisted on existing. But even mistakes have their uses. Look where we are. Who you’ve become. Thanks to me.”

  Lysa remained silent, but her ragged breathing, clenched fingers, and cold sweat betrayed what was happening inside.

  The chair didn’t hurt her.

  But what Grenda said… did.

  The woman stepped closer. With cruel delicacy, she ran her fingers through the sweaty strands on Lysa’s forehead.

  “You remember the closet door, don’t you? That latch that creaked every time you tried to force it. The smell of mold. Your own urine pooling on the floor. I left you there for two days, Lysa. And still… you survived.”

  Grenda crouched down, her face inches from Lysa’s.

  “Survival isn’t nobility. It’s residue. That’s what you are. Leftovers.”

  Lysa clenched her teeth. Blood dripped from her mouth where she bit her own lip.

  “Are you... trying to break me?” she whispered.

  “I’m only reminding you who you are.”

  “Then listen...” Lysa murmured, her eyes ablaze. “I am... the result of your failure. And now I’ve come to return every latch. Every blow. Every day I breathed thinking of destroying you.”

  Grenda smiled.

  Not with sarcasm, but with twisted respect.

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  “I knew it. You didn’t learn from the System. But you learned from me.”

  She stepped back.

  “That’s why you’ll survive. Because even with hate, you’re still my creation.”

  She snapped her fingers.

  “Keep her here. She’s nearly ready for the Mirror Judgment.”

  Two hooded soldiers, adorned with small silver blades and runic cloaks, stepped from the shadows and took position behind the chair.

  Grenda turned to the four nobles waiting in the dimness.

  “Go. Stop her companions. Kill if needed. But bring the brute. The new Zero and the rogue may be useful. The mage… disposable.”

  The four nodded and vanished like phantoms.

  Grenda turned once more to Lysa.

  “Watch, if you can. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  And she disappeared through the side door, vanishing down a corridor lit by blue embers.

  In the forest, a few kilometers away

  Selene suddenly stopped.

  So did Rukk.

  Kael and Andrel went on alert.

  “What is it?” Kael asked.

  “They’re coming,” Selene replied. “The four.”

  “You sure?”

  She pointed to the sky. The clouds above were moving... against the wind. Forming symmetrical circles. Each loop a layer of conjuration. An ancient omen.

  Andrel opened the grimoire.

  “Their magic... it’s refined. Twisted, but precise. They’re shaping the battlefield.”

  Kael drove his sword into the ground.

  “Then let’s shape ours too.”

  Selene smiled.

  “We’re about to make some noise.”

  Within minutes, the clearing around them transformed. A massive seal was traced on the ground by Andrel, amplified with beast blood, charcoal, and rune fragments from the grimoire. Selene called Rukk, who dug trenches like natural walls. Kael raised stone pillars with the strike of his enchanted sword.

  When the nobles arrived, everything was ready.

  Four figures. Four cloaks. Four broken mirrors emblazoned on their chests.

  The first removed his hood.

  Silver hair and amber eyes.

  “Ilian Meret, heir of the Code Translators’ lineage. Function: Runic Dissolution.”

  The second removed her mask.

  A woman’s face, adorned with tattooed runes and entirely black eyes.

  “Sava Thir, of the Glass Court. Function: Reflection manipulation and conscious illusions.”

  The third simply smiled.

  His skin was pale. His eyes cracked in hexagonal patterns.

  “Toren Kaul. Function: Probable future reading. Conflict Prognosticator.”

  The last stepped forward, voice deep.

  “Master Velro, old servant of the Hidden Cause. Function: Corrosive enchantments and emotional plague.”

  Andrel stepped back.

  “That’s not a group. That’s an elite.”

  “They’re dogs,” Kael said.

  “Well-trained dogs,” Selene replied.

  Ilian extended a hand. A book floated to him, its pages written in living blood.

  “Surrender. We didn’t come to destroy. We came to purify.”

  “We didn’t come to die,” Andrel replied.

  Sava pointed to Selene.

  “The creature beside you... shouldn’t exist.”

  “Neither should you,” Selene said. “But let’s fix that.”

  She touched Rukk’s shoulder.

  And he roared.

  —

  The ground trembled.

  The Code danced in the air.

  And the battle began.