The wind stopped.

  The leaves fell silent.

  The earth held its breath.

  In the clearing marked by runes and stone trenches, two groups faced each other with the tension of cosmic forces on the verge of collision.

  Four against four.

  The elite of the Glass Circle against the System’s renegades.

  And at the center, like a living totem, Rukk stood tall — a mountain ready to collapse on everything.

  Ilian Meret was the first to move. With a gesture, he opened the floating grimoire beside him, and the pages began to turn on their own, each one releasing lines of Runic Dissolution.

  "Every conjuration depends on structure," he said calmly. "I undo structure. I deny the verb."

  Runes created by Andrel for protection began to crack, unraveling like glass under heat.

  Andrel reacted.

  “Try touching my core, noble. Let’s see if you can still conjure after tasting confusion.”

  He traced a quick inversion seal, and two runes that had been undone reappeared... unstable. The ground beneath Ilian's feet trembled.

  Kael dashed forward with unexpected speed. His sword, Trafal — a blade forged from enchanted steel laced with code — sang with each movement. He targeted Sava Thir, who watched him with empty eyes.

  “You see the world as it is,” she said, raising a hand, “but I show you the world as it wants to be seen.”

  Kael hesitated for a fraction of a second.

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  And saw.

  Lysa.

  Bleeding.

  Fallen.

  Begging for help.

  The strike he launched veered off by instinct.

  Sava smiled.

  "Illusion? No. Emotional reflection. I shape what you fear most."

  Selene appeared behind her.

  Fast.

  Lethal.

  But Sava was already dissolving into mirror fragments, reappearing behind the monster conjurer.

  “And you? What shape does fear take when you’ve already lived in chains?” Sava whispered in Selene’s ear.

  But Rukk roared. And the vibration that erupted from him shattered the illusion like a cracked wall. Fragments of Sava’s form scattered in the air like smoke.

  Selene pointed:

  “Rukk!”

  The titan charged at Master Velro, who chanted in a guttural tongue. The black runes on his skin glowed with emotional plague, and the aura around him was nauseating. The air grew heavier, breathing harder.

  Rukk stopped mid-charge.

  Trembling.

  But not with fear.

  With fury.

  Selene’s code connected to his like an electric pulse, and the living wall roared again — now with crimson runes bursting from his shell. The corrupted emotions turned back — against Velro.

  The old man staggered, feeling his own plague attack him.

  “Impossible…” he muttered.

  Selene smiled.

  “You manipulate feelings. But Rukk doesn’t feel like humans. And I... I’ve already burned everything that could weaken me.”

  Meanwhile, Toren Kaul remained still. His hexagonal eyes glowed, analyzing every movement.

  Andrel noticed.

  “You don’t fight.”

  “Indeed,” said Toren. “I predict.”

  And then he vanished.

  Reappeared two meters from his previous position, with surgical precision. A dispersal seal had nearly hit him, but he already knew.

  “Probability of 82% for a direct area-conjuration attack. Countermeasure: preemptive pulse shift.”

  Andrel clenched his teeth.

  “He reads the future. Damn cheat.”

  Kael joined him.

  “Then let’s rewrite it.”

  They split up, launching attacks in unexpected directions, chaotic movements that followed no logical pattern. Yet still, Toren responded naturally. Every dodge, every appearance, every block — all within calculated margins.

  “13% chance you’d fake the charge. 87% chance you’d attempt a diagonal leap.”

  Kael jumped upward.

  Toren hadn’t expected that.

  The sword sliced his side lightly.

  Nothing fatal.

  Above, Sava recited mirror runes.

  Ilian undid Andrel’s runes with silent strikes.

  Velro coughed blood but continued reciting dark verses.

  Toren wiped the cut with disdain.

  Selene stood beside Rukk, linked by a pulsing magical chain.

  Kael bled from his shoulder but didn’t back down.

  Andrel conjured multiple runes at once — sweating, flushed, but active.

  And Lysa, somewhere beneath that earth, between mirrors and voices of the past, felt the vibration of battle.

  She felt they were coming for her.

  And that the glass was beginning... to crack.