The aftermath of the ascension echoed like a memory—etched into the sky, the land, and the bones of every citizen who had witnessed it.
In the days that followed, the Shadow Kingdom stirred with renewed energy. The altar, now fully awakened and bonded to the Academy's spine, had begun to do more than just sustain the structure—it pulsed with slow, deliberate generosity. Mana, rich and vibrant, seeped outward through unseen channels, threading beneath the stone streets, through the roots of the farmlands, and into the foundations of the Academy itself. Crops near the southern ridge grew taller. Lanterns burned longer. Spellwork cast in the streets felt cleaner, smoother. Even the air shimmered faintly, charged with life.
Word of the Academy's rise had already begun to spread beyond its borders, traveling faster than couriers and more vivid than rumor. There were those who didn't believe it—who couldn't. And there were those who did… and came running.
