The ground of the clearing trembled, stained with rune fragments and fresh blood. The trees around had been consumed by the heat of battle, and the stone trenches raised by Kael were cracked, nearly all broken.
The Glass Circle was beginning to reveal its true face.
They weren’t just nobles.
They were judges, architects of power, crafted by the System itself to execute with precision and coldness.
And they were winning.
Ilian Meret raised the now fully open grimoire. The pages floated around him like blades of living code, slicing the air with lines of structural anti-magic. Every rune Andrel conjured was absorbed, distorted, inverted.
“Do not fight against logic,” Ilian said, his voice cold. “The System exists because chaos fails.”
With a gesture, three magical circles conjured by Andrel reversed. A healing seal became combustion. A barrier turned into a prison. A shield... an explosive reflection.
Andrel fell to his knees, coughing up blood.
Kael rushed to protect him, but Sava Thir intercepted him, reappearing from an explosion of light.
“Do you still see her face?” she whispered, touching his forehead with two fingers.
And he saw.
Lysa, again.
But this time... dead.
Kael screamed. And hesitated.
The sword dropped for a second.
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A mistake, just enough.
Sava struck with the glass blade she conjured from the very illusion. It cut deep into Kael’s arm, forcing him to recoil. The wound didn’t bleed — it evaporated.
Selene, still connected to Rukk, began to lose focus. The emotions in the field were being distorted by Velro, who walked with arms wide, chanting verses in an ever-growing voice.
“'A home that burns without fire,
A name that dies in the chest,
An echo that never returns...'”
The rune of emotional plague spread like dark mist.
Selene felt pain.
Not in her body.
In her mind.
Memories that weren’t hers: the lament of mothers, the screams of dead brothers, the horror of losing Rukk... of seeing him broken by chains of pure gold.
She fell to her knees, the bond with Rukk wavering.
The titan stopped moving.
And for a moment, the battlefield froze.
Toren Kaul advanced.
The prognosticator spun runes around his head like rotating stars. Every movement of his was a response to actions that hadn’t happened yet.
“98% chance you will try to break the conjuration line,” he said to Kael. “2% chance you will surrender. Valid prediction. Valid attack.”
He shot a spear made of pure condensed code. Kael blocked with Trafal, but the force threw him against the stone wall.
Andrel tried to react, but Ilian was already undoing every new seal before it could even form.
“You’re fighting against the structure of thought. You want the fire to warm while the water burns.”
Andrel staggered.
“At least... I think.”
But it was all he could say before being hit by an inverted spiral of counter-rune, which threw him to the ground with a muffled explosion.
Sava raised both arms.
Mirrors appeared around the field, floating.
Each one reflected a moment of loss.
Kael seeing Lysa in an orphanage.
Selene seeing the cell.
Andrel seeing his past as a servant.
Rukk seeing himself alone.
And from each reflection, a shadow emerged.
Copies.
Distortions.
Reflections of fear, hatred, and failure.
They were preparing for the final blow.
Ilian, Sava, Toren, and Velro lined up.
“The System does not fear you,” said Ilian. “But we... ensure you do not cross the threshold.”
They raised their hands.
Selene fell.
Kael bled.
Andrel didn’t move.
Rukk growled, but the bond was weakened.
And then, something broke.
Not a rune.
Not a barrier.
A sound.
As if the air itself screamed.
A name whispered... coming from the depths.
“Lysa.”
Sava stopped.
Toren turned his eyes.
The ground trembled.
An echo. Not from the System.
From the code before the System.
Something was awakening.
But the final blow had yet to be struck.
