The Royal War Chamber had not seen this level of tension since the Border Conflicts twenty years prior. Ancient oak tables bore maps marked with red indicators—seven confirmed rift manifestations across the kingdom, all within the span of hours. The lighting crystals hummed with unstable energy, their usual steady glow flickering in response to the collective stress of the assembled leadership.
King Kendrick sat at the head of the war table, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair. At fifty-three, the king had weathered political storms, economic crises, and border skirmishes with the composure expected of a monarch. But the fury radiating from him now was unlike anything his advisors had witnessed.
"Two hundred students," the king's voice carried the quiet rage of a father whose children had been threatened. "Two hundred of our kingdom's most promising young awakened. Vanished. Through a rift that manifested inside our most secure facility."
