The buried city beneath Blackstone Academy thrummed with a restless energy, its black-gold runes pulsing like the heartbeat of a waking giant. The fifth Pillar's awakening had sent a shockwave through the ley-lines, a ripple that Mark Wilde felt in his bones as he stood in the subterranean amphitheater. The air was dense with mana, thick with the whispers of a past that refused to stay buried.
Around him, his allies—Elira, Vrix, Silas, and Lysa—stood in a loose circle, their faces lit by the eerie glow of the Pillar's light. The victory over the Hollow King lingered like a bitter aftertaste; it had been too costly, too close, and the Accord's next move loomed like a storm on the horizon.
Lysa clutched her journal, its pages fluttering slightly as if stirred by an unseen wind. Her eyes, wide and haunted, darted to the ley-line map etched into the dais. "The Final Veil," she said, her voice barely audible. "That's what the Maw said. It's not just a ward or a spell. It's… something else. Something that seals the world itself."
Mark's gaze hardened, the Forbidden Tier magic coiling beneath his skin like a blade waiting to be drawn. "Then we find it," he said. "And we break it. The Accord's built its power on hiding the truth. Every Pillar we awaken strips away their lies."
Elira leaned on her staff, her wards flickering as she scanned the chamber. "You're talking about taking on the Accord's deepest secret. The Hollow King was a construct, a shackle. The Final Veil sounds like something they've buried even deeper. We're not ready for that, Mark. Not yet."
Silas, twirling his cane with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, chimed in. "She's not wrong, Wilde. We've got five Pillars, a growing army of misfits, and a city that's starting to sing your name. But the Accord's not going to sit back and let you rewrite their world. The Maw's desperate, and desperate people don't play fair."
Vrix's stone-like skin glinted as she crossed her arms. "Desperate or not, they're already moving. My contacts in the Archives say the mana grid's stabilizing. They're redirecting power to the Central Vault—deep under the Headmaster's Tower. That's where the sixth Pillar is. And if the Final Veil's anywhere, it's there."
Mark's mind raced, weaving together fragments of his past life as Maximilian Wilde—deals struck in the shadows, empires toppled with a single word—and the instincts of this new body, now a conduit for the Crownless legacy.
The Hollow King's words echoed in his head: The Veins reject you. But the city hadn't rejected him—it had chosen him. "Lysa," he said, turning to the girl. "Your journal—does it mention the Central Vault? Or the Final Veil?"
Lysa flipped through the pages, her fingers trembling as she traced a sketch of a massive, spiraling rune, its edges jagged like a broken crown. "It's vague," she admitted. "But there's a note: 'The Veil is the Accord's first sin, woven from the blood of the First Circle.
It binds the Veins, locks the Sovereign's will.' There's a map fragment too—it points to the Vault, but it's guarded by something called the 'Silent Chorus.'"
Elira's wards flared brighter. "The Silent Chorus? That's not a spell. That's a myth. A collective of mages who gave up their voices to guard the Accord's deepest secrets. If they're real, they're not just powerful—they're fanatical."
Mark's lips curved into a cold smile. "Fanatics break too. We hit the Vault, awaken the sixth Pillar, and find out what the Veil's hiding. If it's the key to the Accord's control, it's the key to our revolution."
Silas tapped his cane against the stone. "Bold words, but we're walking into a trap. The Maw knows you're coming for the Pillars. She'll have the Vault locked down tighter than a dragon's hoard."
"Then we make her think we're somewhere else," Mark said. "Vrix, your sabotage glyphs—can you rig them to mimic a Pillar awakening in the Western Quad? Draw their forces there. Silas, you and the Rulebreakers stage a diversion. Make it loud, chaotic. Elira, Lysa, you're with me. We'll slip into the Vault while the Accord's chasing ghosts."
Vrix nodded, already sketching glyphs in the air. "I can make it look like the Western Quad's about to explode. But it'll only buy you an hour, maybe less."
"That's enough," Mark said. His eyes glowed faintly, the Forbidden Tier magic stirring. "Let's move."
The Central Vault lay beneath the Headmaster's Tower, a labyrinth of obsidian corridors sealed with wards that pulsed like a living heartbeat. The storm outside raged on, violet-black rain lashing the campus as mana lightning cracked the sky.
Vrix's sabotage glyphs had worked—flashes of rogue mana erupted in the Western Quad, drawing security drones and Circle enforcers like moths to a flame. Silas's Runebreakers added to the chaos, their illusions painting the quad with spectral flames and collapsing spires.
Mark, Elira, and Lysa moved through a hidden passage beneath the tower, guided by Lysa's journal and the faint resonance of the sixth Pillar. The air grew colder, the wards denser, each step heavier than the last. "This place feels… wrong," Elira muttered, her staff glowing with protective runes. "Like it's watching us."
Mark's hand hovered near the spiral glyph on his wrist, the Forbidden Tier magic thrumming in sync with the city's pulse. "It's not the Vault watching us," he said. "It's the Chorus."
Lysa stopped, her journal open to a page of shifting runes. "The Silent Chorus isn't just mages," she said. "They're… bound. Their souls are woven into the Vault's wards. They don't think—they enforce. If we trip the wrong rune, they'll know we're here."
Mark nodded, his eyes scanning the corridor. The walls were etched with spiraling glyphs, their patterns shifting like liquid shadow. "Then we don't trip the runes. Lysa, guide us."
She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the journal's runes. A faint blue glow spread from her hands, countering the Vault's wards. The glyphs stabilized, parting to reveal a massive stone door inscribed with a single, pulsating rune—a spiral wreathed in shadow, identical to the one on Mark's hand.
He placed his palm on the rune, and the door shuddered. The air sang, a low, mournful note that vibrated through the stone. The door didn't open—it unraveled, threads of mana dissolving into mist. Beyond lay the Vault, a cavernous chamber lit by a single crystal spire: the sixth Pillar. Its light was dim, almost suffocated, as if held in check by an unseen force.
But it wasn't the Pillar that stopped them. It was the Silent Chorus.
Figures emerged from the shadows—dozens of them, cloaked in robes that seemed to absorb the light. Their faces were featureless, their mouths sealed shut, their eyes glowing with a cold, unyielding resolve.
They moved in perfect synchronicity, their presence a pressure that threatened to crush Mark's mind. The air hummed with their silent will, a collective force that enforced the Accord's law.
"The Final Veil's guardians," Lysa whispered, her voice trembling.
Mark stepped forward, the Forbidden Tier magic flaring in his chest. "I'm not here to ask permission," he said. "I'm here to claim what's mine."
The Chorus didn't respond with words. They raised their hands, and the Vault trembled. A dome of shadow-mana closed around Mark, Elira, and Lysa, its edges sharp with anti-memory runes. It wasn't a spell to kill—it was a spell to erase, to unravel their existence from the world's fabric.
Elira's wards surged, forming a counter-barrier that held the dome at bay. Lysa whispered runes from her journal, her voice steady despite her fear. The wards flickered, weakening, but the Chorus pressed harder, their silent will overwhelming.
Mark closed his eyes, reaching for the city's resonance. The Pillars' song pulsed through him, amplifying his magic. He didn't fight the Chorus with force—he fought with intent. The Forbidden Tier magic wove entropy around his hands, unraveling the dome's runes. The Chorus faltered, their synchronicity breaking for a moment.
"Now!" Mark shouted.
Elira channeled her mana into a blinding pulse, staggering the Chorus. Lysa's runes flared, countering their wards. Mark lunged for the Pillar, his hand touching its surface. The chamber erupted in light, the Pillar's hum rising to a deafening roar. Visions flooded his mind—a city of free mages, a council without chains, a world where the Accord's lies had no hold.
But beneath it all, he saw the Final Veil: a shimmering barrier woven from blood and sacrifice, sealing the Veins' true power.The Chorus screamed, a soundless wail that shook the Vault. Their forms flickered, their souls unraveling as the Pillar's light burned through their wards. The chamber stabilized, the sixth Pillar's song joining the others in a harmony that shook the ley-lines.
Elira exhaled, her staff dimming. "That was too close."
Lysa clutched her journal, her eyes wide. "The Veil… it's weakening. I felt it."
Mark turned to the ley-line map, now glowing brighter, its veins stretching further. "Six down. Six to go."
Above, in the Maw's sanctum, the cracked mirror lay in shards on the floor. Her voice was a hiss, barely containing her rage. "The Silent Chorus failed."
A warlock in crimson robes stepped forward. "The Final Veil is fraying. If he awakens another Pillar, it could collapse entirely."
The Maw's mask glinted, her fingers tracing a rune of exile. "Then we summon the Last Arbiter. He will end the Crownless Sovereign, or the world will burn."