The morning at the Citadel of the Gifted was painted in tones of grey, a somber veil draped across the ancient stone bastion. Mist rolled down from the surrounding mountains, thick and wet, curling around the fortress like coiled serpents guarding a secret. There was no warmth in the air, only the sharp bite of altitude and the tension of something long awaited.
At the northern gate, the six chosen stood ready, their cloaks wrapped tightly around their bodies. Their silhouettes against the mist looked almost spectral, like statues waiting to be called to war. No birds sang, no voices carried across the courtyard. Even the guards who normally stood at ease beside the gates watched in silence.
Andrew Whitmore adjusted the leather strap across his shoulder, double-checking the contents of his pack out of habit rather than need. His face was composed, perfectly still. But his eyes betrayed him. Beneath the calm surface burned a relentless fury a deep, festering grief that no mission or logic could quiet. It had been weeks since Michael's death, and yet it haunted every breath Andrew took, fueling every choice he made.
"You're quiet," Seraphina said, stepping up beside him. Her tone was cautious, not soft, but thoughtful as though probing the edge of a blade to see how deep it cut.
Andrew didn't look at her. "There's nothing worth saying yet."
It wasn't avoidance. It was strategy. He spoke when the words mattered.
Jason, ever impatient, was rechecking the last of their gear. His knuckles were tight around the buckles of his sword belt. Lilienne stood near the gatekeeper, relacing her boots with mechanical precision, her eyes darting occasionally to Andrew and then quickly away. Lisa leaned against the nearest pillar, her expression cold, detached, but not indifferent. And Ryo, as always, remained silent, his entire body radiating stillness like a coiled spring.
Valtan arrived last, emerging from the fog like a ghost. His presence did not draw gasps or demand attention, but when he walked into a space, he consumed it. Clad in layered robes, scrolls at his side, he walked with purpose to the group and stopped before Andrew.
He held out a sealed parchment heavy, bound in red wax with an unfamiliar sigil.
Andrew took the scroll without hesitation. His fingers tore the wax cleanly, and he unrolled the contents. Symbols fluid, ancient, shifting etched themselves across the parchment in iridescent ink that shimmered faintly in the morning light.
As his eyes scanned the script, a golden glow flickered in his irises. Subtle, but unmistakable.
His voice was level, but grim. "This isn't on Earth. Not even close."
He passed the scroll to Lisa, who took it with both hands and began reading. Her eyes narrowed. "This script doesn't just describe a location. It describes a point of convergence. A dimensional fracture."
Jason's grip on his blade tightened. "Can you get us there or not?"
Lisa ignored his tone, giving a slow, confident nod. "I can. But once we cross, we won't be tethered to anything or anyone,no signals and definitely no easy returns. Wherever this portal takes us it'll be dangerous."
Lilienne muttered, "Everything's dangerous these days."
Lisa dropped her bag to the ground and pulled out a compact mirror. It looked ordinary, like something lifted from a cosmetics shelf, but the silver casing was inlaid with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with energy.
Without ceremony, Lisa smashed the mirror against the ground.
It shattered in complete silence.
Where the pieces fell, a circular ripple of blue light bloomed outward. Energy surged from the fragments, swirling into a perfect ring that shimmered with the color of deep water and ozone. Within seconds, a portal formed wobbling faintly but solid.
The six of them stood before it, the silence of the moment pressing down.
No one moved at first.
The portal hummed softly, its edges flickering with static as though reality itself was trying to reject its existence.
Jason broke the silence first, looking at Andrew. "Are you ready?"
Andrew's jaw tightened, but his voice was calm. "Doesn't matter. We go."
Ryo nodded once and stepped through.
Lilienne followed without hesitation.
Then Jason.
Then Lisa.
Seraphina hesitated just a second longer. She glanced back at Andrew. "You don't have to carry everything alone."
Andrew didn't reply.
She stepped into the portal and vanished.
Alone for a breath, Andrew turned to look over the Citadel one last time. The high towers. The training grounds. The wind tugging at the banners above.
He didn't know if he'd return. And if he did, he wouldn't return the same.
Then he stepped through.
The portal collapsed behind him.
Far across the lands, hidden in the oldest library of Halberd University, the Dean stared into the embers of his hearth. His fingers tapped slowly against the spine of a book older than most nations.
He sensed the shift.
Not magic nor was it fate. It was something deeper.
He stood, closing the book and walking to the window. The winds howled across the campus, shaking the glass panes.
The Dean whispered, as though to himself. "It has begun."
And the silence that followed felt like the earth itself bracing for what was to come.