Word of Mark Wilde's defiance spread like wildfire—except it didn't burn upward. It burned inward.
The city beneath Blackstone had not only awakened—it had chosen him. The Forbidden Tier, the resurrected Circleless Sovereign. The one who defied Circle Keepers and lived.
But above, in the cold glass halls of Blackstone's central tower, a darker storm gathered.
A dozen robed figures sat around a circular obsidian table, far from student eyes. Their faces were obscured by shifting glamours—each one representing a ruling Circle. They were the true power behind the Accord. And tonight, they watched.
At the head sat the Maw.
Her face was always hidden. Some said she had no true form anymore. Only layers of perception bound by secrets. Her voice arrived like frost on glass.
"So," she said. "He remembers."
The Archmagister of the Circle of Chains leaned forward. "Mark Wilde is a threat."
"He is an echo," another countered. "A leftover myth wearing a student's face."
"He wields Foundry Guardians," a third added, tone sharp. "And more dangerously—he's making allies."
The Maw's fingers tapped once on the table.
"He isn't building an army. He's building belief."
The word hung in the air, heavier than any spell.
She turned her hidden gaze to Headmaster Kirian, who stood silently at the edge of the chamber.
"You allowed this?"
Kirian did not flinch. "I allowed the Crucible to work as it was meant to. And it revealed what you tried to forget."
Silence.
Then the Maw whispered, "Send the Whisper Division."
Gasps followed. Even the oldest Circles hesitated.
"But—he's still inside the Accord's bounds," said one.
"For now," the Maw replied. "But that city… it makes him more than mortal. More than law. We cannot afford a second rise."
Down in the buried city, Mark stared into a map of ley-lines etched into the central atrium wall. New veins of mana had begun glowing, stretching like veins to points outside the academy. They pulsed like arteries through a slumbering beast.
"They're not just watching," he muttered. "They're testing how far I'll go. How deep I'm willing to reach."
Elira leaned over his shoulder. "Then what's the next move?"
Mark turned to her, his tone low. "We go further. We find the Forgotten Wells. Tap into the other seals. And most importantly—we rally the others who've felt the Accord's chains."
Silas stepped into the room, his jacket torn, eyes alert. "There's a bounty on your head now. Unofficial. But real. Not just from the Circles. Rogue factions inside the school, mercenaries, even a few professors."
Vrix followed him in, carrying an old spellcore box. "And some weird stuff's started happening in the Eastern Archives. Doors unlocking on their own. Voices in empty rooms. Someone's poking the vaults."
"Someone or something," Elira added.
Mark absorbed it all, his gaze turning to the upper walkways of the city. The architecture whispered of civilizations erased, power suppressed beneath history's bootheel.
"Then it's time we start acting like a Circle."
He turned, voice hard.
"Tonight, we claim our first dominion."
The old Archive Tower had once belonged to the Circle of Whispers—long since dismantled after they'd been dismantled for heretical practices.
Mark and his allies moved through it silently, glyph-lamps floating ahead, each step revealing shattered illusions and fading wards. The air buzzed with forgotten enchantments, the mana dense and electric.
"Wait," Vrix whispered, scanning a wall. "This ward… it's alive."
Elira's hand snapped up. "Illusion. Not to trick sight—just to trick memory."
They passed through and emerged into a forgotten vault. In the center stood a pedestal carved from dragonbone, a hovering crystal spinning in perfect silence.
Mark stepped forward. Even the air bent slightly around the artifact, as if resisting his presence.
"This is it," he whispered. "One of the Pillars."
It pulsed the moment his hand neared it—reacting to the same mana signature that woke the buried city. A rush of forgotten whispers filled his mind. Images. Memories. Wars not recorded. Names that had been erased.
But someone else had arrived.
A slow clap echoed behind them.
From the shadows emerged a tall woman, black robes marked by a singular violet line down the middle.
"A Crownless Sovereign," she purred. "How quaint."
Elira's eyes narrowed. "Whisper Division."
The woman smiled, revealing sharpened silver teeth.
"Correct. And you're trespassing in a vault that predates your bloodline."
Mark didn't hesitate. "And yet it answers to me."
The Pillar flared as if responding to his voice. The agent's smile dropped.
She moved first—so fast the air warped. Twin daggers flickered in and out of sight, enchanted with anti-memory runes. She danced like silence given form.
Mark caught one blade with a twist of his coat—its magic flaring uselessly against the city-imbued fabric. His counterstrike was brutal: a sigil of pure entropy hurled forward. It didn't explode—it consumed. Reality twisted where it landed, devouring spells, devouring rules.
They clashed in a blur of shadows and flame. Vrix and Silas moved to flank, but she slipped through a rift, hissing as she vanished.
Her final words floated back like poison.
"Tell your city... the Maw is watching."
Later that night, in the Council Chambers of Blackstone, whispers turned to roars.
A new sigil had appeared above the student rankings.
Not a House. Not a Circle.
But a faction: The Crownless.
And next to it, a rising number.
One by one, students were defecting.
Many were drawn not by fear—but by curiosity. What kind of power made the ancient Guardians move? What kind of vision made even the Keepers retreat?
Inside dorms, enchanted mirrors whispered with rumors. Old tomes lit up with previously sealed content. Names long erased from Accord records were being spoken again.
Even younger professors watched carefully, uncertain whether to report or remember.
In the lowest level of the Academy's Archive, a cracked statue whispered a single name to itself—"Wilde."
The game had changed.
And in the dark of his chamber, Mark Wilde finally smiled.
"They wanted to erase me."
His eyes glowed black and gold.
"Now they'll remember."