Mark stood before the cracked statue in the archive's lowest chamber. Its marble face had eroded over centuries, but its stance—fierce and defiant—remained. The statue depicted an ancient warrior, forgotten by name but clearly once revered. Mark placed his hand on the weathered surface, and a ripple of mana surged beneath his skin.
The statue whispered again.
"Crownless... but not voiceless."
That same phrase had haunted his dreams for nights. And now, it felt more like prophecy than coincidence. Around him, the Crownless gathered—no longer just followers but a force. Elira. Vrix. Silas. A dozen others who had been scorned, underestimated, or exiled within their own Circles. Now, they stood on equal footing.
"The Maw will retaliate," Elira said, arms crossed. "We humiliated her Whisper agent. That kind of loss doesn't go unanswered."
"She's already retaliating," Silas added. "Three of our new recruits were 'disqualified' from courses. Their dorms raided. Their mana sigils tampered with. The Accord's getting desperate."
Mark's voice was steady. "Then we strike back—but not through brute force."
He turned to the crystal Pillar hovering in the center of the vault. It pulsed with faint black-gold light, reacting only to him. According to Vrix's decoding, the Pillar was part of an ancient network buried beneath the continent—remnants of a civilization that predated the Circles. The network had been sealed off, not because it was unstable—but because it threatened the Accord's control.
"We activate more of these," Mark said. "Each one widens the cracks in their narrative. And with every step, we win more of the students. Not through promises, but through truth."
Elira raised an eyebrow. "You think truth is enough?"
"No," Mark admitted. "But I know lies can only hold for so long. Especially when the walls start talking back."
Across campus, change moved like a shadow in reverse—spreading not darkness, but light into long-sealed corners.
In the eastern courtyard, a masked lecturer known only as Professor Hollow paused mid-lesson. His eyes flicked toward a hovering sigil that had just appeared in the sky: the Crownless emblem, glowing faintly against the clouds.
He smiled beneath his mask.
"It's begun again," he murmured.
That night, he left a sealed note beneath the statue of the First Headmaster. Its contents shimmered in ancient glyphs: The Sovereign returns. Let the silence end.
Back in the underground city, the second Pillar was found beneath the old astronomy dome—now a forbidden ruin wrapped in illusion wards. The Crownless had cleared it in silence. As Mark stepped toward the Pillar, a pulse of resistance shook the air.
Vrix groaned. "This one's locked behind a memory barrier."
"Memory of what?" Elira asked.
Vrix frowned. "Yours. It's… keyed to the wielder's regrets."
Mark didn't flinch. "Good. That means it'll open for me."
He stepped forward and let the memory come.
A boardroom. Glass walls. The night before Maximilian Wilde died. His protégé—a girl named Thalia—stood across from him, voice trembling.
"They'll kill you if you go public with this."
He had gone anyway. The betrayal from within had come just minutes later.
As the vision faded, Mark's body trembled, but the barrier cracked. The Pillar's glow brightened, singing in harmony with the first.
Meanwhile, within Blackstone's hidden observatory, the Maw received another report.
"Two Pillars activated. The Foundry Vault shows increased activity. Students continue defecting."
She didn't speak immediately.
Instead, she raised her hand and drew a rune in the air. It shimmered black—a rune of exile.
"Release the Markbearers," she said coldly. "Send them into the school with one goal: erase the name Wilde."
One by one, cloaked assassins known as Markbearers were awakened from their magical slumber beneath the academy. Each carried a glyph that ate away at identity—designed to erase souls, not just kill bodies.
The next night, the school shook. Markbearers—silent assassins branded with cursed glyphs—descended like shadows given purpose.
The Crownless scattered across campus, fighting in groups. Vrix dueled a Markbearer in the greenhouse, glass shattering as arcane spores exploded. Elira led a retreat through the old tunnels, guiding new recruits to safety.
Silas intercepted one assassin near the library, luring him into a trap woven from memory illusions and temporal echoes. The Markbearer vanished screaming into a pocket reality.
Mark fought two of them near the Founder's Courtyard. He didn't match their speed—he out-thought them. Every strike they made, he redirected with misdirection and entropy-infused feints. He burned one into nothing with a new spell: a fusion of Forbidden Tier magic and the Pillar's resonance.
But for every assassin downed, more arrived.
"This won't end," Elira growled. "We need a message. Something bigger than rumors."
Mark's eyes narrowed. "Then we give them one."
Three days later, Blackstone awoke to find the central fountain replaced by a monolith.
A black-gold obelisk, ten feet high.
At its base was etched a single message:
"We do not kneel. We do not forget. The Crownless rise."
The students gathered, whispering. Professors stared, uncertain. Even some of the Circles hesitated before speaking.
In her tower, the Maw watched the image appear across every mirror in the school.
And for the first time in years… she frowned.
That night, Mark stood at the heart of the buried city, surrounded by his allies. The Pillars now pulsed in rhythm. The ley-lines connected. Old glyphs that hadn't glowed in millennia began to stir. A storm was building—not of weather, but of meaning.
"You feel that?" Vrix whispered. "It's… humming."
Mark nodded. "It's not just power. It's memory. Identity."
He stepped onto a platform that had once served as a council floor for an ancient civilization long buried. Images of past rulers flickered in ghostly blue light. None wore crowns—but all stood tall.
Elira stepped beside him. "And now it's ours."
Mark reached into the resonance of the Pillars and felt the web of power stretching across the school. The game board was now visible. Every Circle, every House, every hidden corridor—they were threads in a larger design.
"This is only the beginning," he said. "We've shaken the Accord. But to break it—we'll need more than defiance."
He turned to his people.
"We'll need faith. Fire. And a future worth bleeding for."
And for the first time, it didn't feel like rebellion.
It felt like revolution.