Kael remained motionless for a few moments.

The distant sound of fire and screams seemed too far away to reach him—as if time had stopped.

He simply watched the man before him, the captain—his face lined with exhaustion, his sunken eyes, and the dull glow of someone who had seen too much death.

"And the Academy?" he asked finally.

His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

The knight hesitated. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Standing," he replied uncertainly. "But... something's wrong there. We haven't received any signal for days—no lights on the towers, no magical communication, nothing."

He wiped the sweat and soot from his face with the back of his glove. "But the flow of mana from there... it's increased. It's as if the mountain is breathing."

Kael looked away, staring at the colossal silhouette of the castle in the distance—the white and gold towers of the legendary Azalith Academy, now stained by smoke and the orange glow of flames.

For a moment, the reflection of the fire danced in his eyes, revealing something more than anger—remembrance.

"Breathing," he repeated softly.

The captain nodded, tightening his grip on his sword. "It's the only explanation we have. Sometimes we feel the ground tremble beneath the city. As if there were something… alive inside."

Kael took a deep breath, the cold wind stinging his face, smeared with dust and blood.

"That's not natural," he murmured. "Mana doesn't move like that of her own free will."

"Some say it's the Academy trying to defend itself," the captain continued, his gaze distant. "Others… that it has turned against us."

He gave a small, bitter laugh. "The truth is, we know nothing. We just fight. And we hope we don't die tomorrow."

Kael narrowed his eyes.

"Waiting never saved anyone."

The captain looked up, surprised by the coldness of the answer—but found something in Kael that made him silent.

There was a weight there. A presence that made the air grow thicker, as if even the shadows feared his contained fury.

"You speak as if you've seen this before," the captain said, more as an observation than a question.

Kael didn't answer immediately.

The wind blew, blowing ash between them.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper.

"I'm not as old as you think." He looked up at the distant castle. "But I believe something is wrong, very wrong."

The captain watched him carefully, trying to read beyond the words.

"You... who are you?"

Kael looked away.

"It doesn't matter."

He turned, walking to the edge of the tower, where the wind howled through the broken stones. "What matters is what remains."

The captain pressed his lips together in frustration, but didn't press the point.

Instead, he spoke with resigned seriousness:

"The path to the Academy is closed. The roads are overrun with creatures. No one has made it through. We sent out patrols... none have returned."

Kael stopped, his back to him.

"Then I'll be the first."

The captain stepped closer, taking a step forward.

"You don't understand—"

Kael cut him off, turning suddenly, his eyes glowing silver and purple in the flickering firelight.

"I understand more than you know."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The knight took a half step back—not out of fear, but out of instinct.

There was something in Kael's gaze... something that said he'd been through hell and back.

After a long moment, the captain sighed and lowered his head.

"If it is… then go. But know that if you fall, no one will be able to follow you."

Kael walked to the edge of the wall, the wind whipping his black cloak.

From above, he could see the narrow road leading up the mountain—partially destroyed, covered in rubble, and shrouded in smoke.

Still, it called.

"Don't worry," he replied, almost emotionless. "I don't plan on falling."

The captain took a step forward. "Wait!"

Kael stopped, but didn't look back.

"If you get there… and if you find the warden, tell him that Azalith still stands. That we resist."

The man's voice wavered slightly, laced with something between pride and despair.

"And if he still has any power… let him use it. Because if another attack like this comes, there won't be a city left."

Kael bowed his head slightly.

"Director, hm?" he murmured, almost as if the word were a bitter memory.

For an instant, the shadow of a smile crossed his lips—cold, distant.

"Yes. I'll tell him."

And without another word, he leaped.

The wind roared, the world blurred.

He fell beyond the walls, landing softly among the rubble and ash, and began walking.

With each step, the clang of his armor mingled with the echo of the wind, as the silent city stretched out before him.

The houses were abandoned, some burning, others completely destroyed.

The streets were a mixture of cracked stone and dried blood.

And above it all, the castle—the Academy—rose like a living monolith, exuding an aura of mana so dense it made the air vibrate.

Kael paused for a moment.

The firelight reflected in his eyes like a distorted twilight.

"So this is where it all begins again," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse.

The wind blew, carrying the distant echo of thunder—or perhaps a roar from deep within the mountain.

He raised his hood, obscuring part of his face, and took the first step toward the Azalith Academy.

Each step sounded heavy, as if the ground acknowledged the return of something long lost.

And behind him, on the wall, the captain still watched him—a solitary shadow against the red sky.

"May the gods have mercy on us…" he whispered, before the wind carried his words away.

Kael moved like a shadow amidst the smoke and wind.

His steps were silent, almost ethereal, as he climbed the side of a partially destroyed house, using the cracks and remains of the windows for support.

The sound of metal scraping against stone mingled with the distant crackle of flames consuming what remained of the city.

When he reached the roof, he paused for a moment.

The wind there was colder, carrying with it the smell of ash and burnt iron.

From up there, he could see the entire landscape—a mosaic of destruction that stretched as far as the eye could see.

To the north, the walls still stood, covered in smoke and debris.

To the south… nothing but ruins. The towers had fallen, the streets were covered in debris and indistinct shapes—bodies, perhaps, or already dead monsters.

But what caught his attention was the center: the road leading to the Academy, still lit by a pulsing blue glow, as if the castle's own mana breathed.

Kael crouched, resting a hand on the broken tiles, and let his gaze sweep around.

No movement. No sound other than the wind.

Strange.

He expected resistance—ambushes, beasts, the undead.

But nothing.

The streets there were empty, dead.

"Evacuated," he murmured.

His voice echoed faintly, muffled by the sound of the fire.

Which made sense.

That sector had likely been the first to be liberated when the defenses began to crumble.

The civilians must have been herded deeper into the mountain, under the Academy's ancient protections.

Still, the silence was unsettling.

Kael took the first leap.

The impact made the tiles creak, but he was gone before the sound echoed.

From one rooftop to the next, he moved like a shadow dragged by the wind.

Each leap was precise, calculated.

Each landing, barely audible.

The charred roofs creaked beneath his weight, and the flames danced in reflections on the metal edges of his armor.

The sky above was tinged red—not the red of sunset, but the red of the blood and fire that still burned in Azalith.

With each new leap, the silence grew heavier.

It was as if the city were watching him.

Kael stopped atop an ancient library, now reduced to ashes and broken columns.

From there, he could see the north gate—the only one still standing, and also the only one still shining. Small, glowing dots moved below—soldiers, probably.

Defending the city's last bastion.

The rest, however, was overrun.

The east was an abyss of smoke and monsters.

The west, completely in ruins.

And the south, where he stood, though empty, carried a sense of abandonment so profound that even the air seemed hesitant to move.

Kael took a deep breath, tasting the bitterness of the air.

The scent of residual magic reached him—as if every stone in the city had been burned by spells and blood.

"They fought," he murmured.

"But they lost more than they could."

The wind answered, whispering among the dead structures.

And then, in the distance, a sound—light, almost inaudible, like the scratching of claws on stone.

Kael looked up.

Nothing.

Instinctively, he moved again.

A leap, another, then another.

Now moving toward the main road—a wide, rubble-strewn thoroughfare, but still recognizable by the row of mana lamps, all unlit.

Each leap brought him closer to the mountain.

And as he approached, the feeling of unease grew.

The air vibrated, as if charged with raw, uncontrolled mana.

As he landed on a partially destroyed tavern, something made him stop.

The sound had returned.

A scraping, a distant echo, and then… silence again.

Kael tilted his head, his eyes narrowed.

The shadows around him moved—slowly, like living smoke.

They responded to his instinct, to his tension.

Nothing moved in the streets.

No bodies, no monsters, no souls.

But the mana… the mana vibrated as if the city were alive.

No—as if something, deep inside, was breathing through it.

He continued, faster now.

The leaps became long, driven by subtle gusts of wind.

With each movement, his cloak flapped, leaving a dark trail that mingled with the smoke.

Leaping higher, Kael reached the top of a broken tower.

From there, he saw the heart of the city—and for the first time, the mountain seemed to pulse.

The rock surface glowed, blue and purple veins of energy spreading through it like living roots.

The Academy, at the top, emanated a gold and black aura, an impossible contradiction.

It was beautiful… and terrifying.

Kael stood there, motionless, the wind whipping against his body.

His eyes reflected the light of the living mountain.

"So this is it…" he murmured. "The heart of Azalith."