The main corridor of the Azalith Academy received him like a marble tomb.

With each step Kael took, ancient echoes mingled with the real sound of destruction—memories of student voices, laughter, heated debates about magic and philosophy.

Now, only the sound of blood dripping from the walls and the air cracking under the pressure of distorted mana remained.

His shadow stretched across the floor like a living river, touching the walls, the ceilings, the doors.

Each time he crossed a room, a deformed creature appeared—torsos of mages sewn together with arcane roots, eyes burning with blue flames, mouths begging for help that would never come.

Kael did not hesitate.

A single step.

A single blow.

The black blade cut through the air without making a sound—steel and darkness mingled in an almost serene movement.

The monsters disintegrated, turning into smoke.

No resistance, no confrontation. Only the inevitable march of the necromancer.

Ahri followed him in silence, floating with a tense gaze.

She wanted to speak—something, anything—but words seemed useless in that place.

Umbra walked behind him, her feet not touching the ground, her spectral form oscillating between the real and the ethereal.

Even for her, a spirit of shadows, that environment was suffocating.

The corridors, once golden, were covered in makeshift necromantic inscriptions—as if someone had tried to stabilize the chaos and failed.

There were cracks that glowed bright red, spitting sparks of mana, and the distant sound of a bell rang incessantly, distorted, irregular, as if time within the academy had broken.

Kael passed through a room.

The desks were overturned, the blackboards burned, and the smell of iron and ozone was so strong it seemed sharp.

He stopped for a moment. On the floor, he saw a familiar symbol—hastily drawn.

The seal of the Arcane House, the necromantic research division that the director had banned years ago.

Kael's fingers slowly closed around the hilt of his sword.

"The old bastard..." he muttered. "He brought back what he swore to destroy."

Umbra floated to the center of the room and placed her fingers on the symbol, analyzing the runes.

"These marks... they aren't recent. Someone carved them weeks ago. Maybe months. And used them as a containment channel. This was a control chamber."

"Control of what?" Ahri asked.

Umbra hesitated. "Of the corruption. This was one of the last internal barriers. They tried to contain the ritual within the smaller buildings before it reached the central core."

Ahri looked around—the blackened walls, the burned runes, the bloodstains.

"And they failed."

Kael ran his hand along the wall, feeling the texture of the stone he knew so well.

He remembered when everything here was bright, when the sound of students echoed through the stairwells, when the main tower seemed like the very heart of knowledge.

Now, that heart was rotting.

And in the center, the man who shaped it still beat—the director of Azalith.

"He knew this was going to happen," Kael said, emotionlessly. "He knew and he let it get to this point."

Umbra watched him from the side. "You speak of him as if you hate him. But you still call him director."

"Because that's what he is," Kael replied. "Altharion may be the director, but he's still a pretty... idiotic man for letting this happen twice in a year. This is the second time Azalith has been invaded."

Ahri perched on a broken table and swished her nine tails, restlessly.

"If you find him... what will you do?"

Kael didn't answer immediately. He stopped before the double doors leading to the corridor of the upper wing—the one that led to the headmaster's office.

The same doors he had passed through countless times as a student—and later, as an academic prisoner, when he dared to use necromancy for the first time.

Now, they were open.

The staircase beyond was covered in a thick mist, permeated with corrupted mana.

Lights moved within—not from torches, but from living spells, pulsing, breathing, like eyes watching every step.

Umbra spoke softly.

"Something is waiting for you up there."

Kael simply replied:

"I know."

He climbed the first step.

The shadow beneath his feet shifted, like a crouching animal ready to pounce.

The air grew heavier.

Each step seemed to require willpower, not physical, but spiritual—as if the building were resisting his presence.

The walls pulsed red, and muffled screams echoed at distant intervals, coming from the upper floors.

When he reached the intermediate landing, something moved ahead.

A body—or what remained of one—fell from the ceiling, held by strands of mana.

It was a mage, the Academy's emblem still on his chest, but his face was absent—replaced by a mask of living energy that pulsed with despair.

"Help… we tried to contain it…"

The voice was a formless whisper, coming from within the very flesh.

Kael raised his sword and, without hesitation, plunged the blade into the creature's chest.

Silence.

Umbra looked at him, tense. "Don't you even want to hear what they have to say?"

"There's nothing left in them to hear," Kael replied, climbing another step.

"Only echoes."

When he reached the last flight of stairs, the director's corridor opened before him.

The carved wooden doors were broken down, and a red glow pulsed from within, casting long shadows across the walls.

Ahri landed beside him, looking at the glow. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

Kael tightened his grip on his sword. "The old man is in there."

The air trembled.

The runes that decorated the ceiling began to fade one by one, and the energy of the barrier protecting the interior of the academy converged on that point.

Kael took the first step into the room — and the world seemed to stop.

The director's hall was unrecognizable.

The ceiling had disappeared, replaced by a rift in space, from which streams of red and black light descended.

Runes covered the floor in concentric circles, and in the center, suspended by ethereal chains, was an immense crystal pulsing like a living heart.

Pure mana — condensed, vibrating in despair.

Umbra paled.

"That's a Blood Core… a necromantic catalyst. He's channeling the souls of the entire city through the Academy."

Ahri approached, her gaze fixed on the center. "And someone is keeping it active."

Kael advanced slowly. The sound of his footsteps was swallowed by the magical pressure.

And then he saw him. Behind the crystal, sitting on the floor, missing one arm and filled with negative energy trying to kill him, was the director of Azalith… Altharion Von Drakhar.

The air in the room seemed alive—dense, oppressive, vibrating with a force that did not belong to that world.

Kael took a step forward. The sound of his boots against the stained marble echoed like muffled thunder.

Umbra and Ahri stayed behind, silent, observing the scene with a mixture of reverence and unease.

The Blood Core pulsed, illuminating the hall with a crimson light that spread through the cracks in the floor.

Each pulse made the air crackle, and the remaining structure of the room trembled in response.

And there, behind the crystal—bent over, exhausted, with sunken eyes and skin almost translucent from so much drained mana—was he.

Altharion Von Drakhar.

The last Director of the Azalith Academy.

Kael watched him for a moment, without moving.

Time seemed suspended—between what remained of respect and the weight of resentment.

"So this is what the Academy has become," he said, his voice grave, controlled.

"A pulsating hole of death."

The director raised his head with effort. The veins in his neck glowed red, the corrupted mana burning him from the inside out.

Even so, he still maintained that arrogant look, even on the verge of collapse.

"Kael?..." his voice was weak, hoarse, but carried authority. "You... shouldn't be here."

Kael took another step.

"You should be grateful, you know? I'm a difficult person to get back after feeling betrayed."

Altharion coughed, spitting blood. The liquid fumed, melting the floor.

Umbra took a step forward, analyzing the flow of mana around him. "The corruption has taken almost everything. The Core is draining the rest of its vitality. If it continues, it will disintegrate even its soul."

Kael stared at him. "Why are you still alive?"

The director tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a wheeze. "Because I'm not finished yet. Someone… inside Azalith… betrayed us. The ritual I tried to contain was redone. The corruption came from within."

He took a deep breath, his voice faltering. "I used what little remained of the barrier to teleport the students and survivors to the edges of the city. That was the most I could do. Azalith… was already doomed."

Umbra looked at Kael, her expression grave.

"He's not lying. I can feel the signature of the large-scale teleportation in the mana web. He sacrificed almost all of his own essence to do it."

Ahri, over Kael's shoulder, murmured with a sorrowful tone. "He drained his own soul to save others. What irony."

Kael remained still.

His golden eyes observed the director, now almost unrecognizable.

The same man who expelled him for daring to use necromancy—now neck-deep in it himself.

"Ah… what a pain," he murmured. "I should be grateful, at least this time he protected those three," he muttered, thinking of Irelia, Amelia, and Sylphie before turning back to the director.

Altharion tried to speak, but his body trembled. The crystal behind him pulsed violently, emitting a high-pitched sound, almost a scream.

The mana around them began to vibrate chaotically.

Umbra looked around. "The Core is collapsing. If it explodes, it will take half the city with it."

Kael slowly moved his hand. The shadow beneath his feet expanded, covering the ground and climbing the walls, gradually swallowing the red glow.

"I'll handle this."

Umbra's eyes widened. "Kael, if you try to absorb that kind of energy—"

"I won't absorb it."

He extended his hand. "I will tame it."

The air trembled.

The shadow rose like a living tide, enveloping Kael and merging with the environment.

The ethereal currents supporting the Core broke, and the crystal began to spin slowly, releasing streams of pure mana.

Kael took a step forward, and the ground cracked beneath his feet.

Umbra screamed: "You'll be torn apart!"

But he had already touched the crystal.

The impact made no sound—it made the world stop.

The red light instantly extinguished, replaced by a deep black that consumed everything around it.

Kael's shadow spread like an inverted ocean, absorbing every particle of corrupted mana.

There was no pain, only the feeling of infinite weight—like holding hell itself on his shoulders.

Umbra fell to her knees, feeling the echo of that force within the spiritual bond they shared. "He's... pulling everything in..."

Ahri, with wide eyes, whispered: "He's using the Umbral... to convert the corruption."

From within the darkness, Kael's voice echoed, low, firm, commanding:

"Umbra. Amplify the veil. Purify the structure. Now." The entity responded instinctively, opening its hands and expanding its spiritual domain. The shadow around Kael became a vortex, spinning in a spiral.

The Core, previously red, began to change color—the crimson transforming into silver, then white, and finally into a pure, golden-green glow, like the world's original mana.

Umbra gasped. "That is... primordial mana..."

Kael approached Altharion, now unconscious, and knelt before him.

The corruption still consumed him from within, his veins burning like live coals.

"You still owe me answers," Kael murmured. "But first... you will live long enough to give them."