Time passed like a silent tide.

When Altharion opened his eyes, the world seemed to breathe again.

The ceiling of Azalith's infirmary greeted him—or what remained of it. The cracks had been sealed with healing mana, and the air was heavy with a faint scent of herbs, mixed with the metallic touch of purifying incense. There was a soft, constant sound of stabilization spells being recited somewhere in the distance.

He blinked a few times, trying to understand.

The last thing he remembered was the Core pulsing in despair. The sound of collapse. The pain burning in his chest. The dark figure of Kael walking towards him.

And then—nothing.

At first, he thought he was dead.

But the weight of his body contradicted that. The cold of the floor beneath the bed. The rough texture of the sheet.

He was alive.

It took a few seconds before he noticed the detail.

His arm.

His left hand.

He raised it, trembling. The arm he had lost—torn off by the very energy of the Core—was now there.

Perfect. Firm. Alive.

Not a mana prosthesis. Not an illusory reconstruction.

Real flesh. Real blood.

He touched his face, his chest, the air.

The mana within him flowed in a… pure way. Silent. Stable.

No trace of the red corruption. No arcane scar.

It was as if he had been reborn.

"...was it a dream?" he murmured, his voice hoarse and raspy.

"Or a punishment?"

The sound of a chair scraping answered before the silence swallowed him again.

Kael was there, sitting in the corner of the infirmary, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees.

The shadows of the room seemed to bend around him, as if breathing at his rhythm. The golden eyes watched the director in silence, fixed, unhurried.

"It wasn't a dream," he said, finally. His voice was low, controlled, almost too calm.

"Unfortunately for you, you're still alive."

Altharion turned his face, surprised by his presence.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say.

Part of him was relieved. Another part… ashamed.

"Kael…" he murmured, trying to sit up. His body responded slowly, but he realized the fatigue was more spiritual than physical.

"How… did I get here?"

Kael didn't answer immediately.

He just watched.

His fingers lightly tapping on the armrest of the chair, his gaze distant, as if he were still hearing the echoes of the battle.

"You fainted right after the Core collapsed," he said at last.

"I brought you here. The part of the Academy that's still intact. I used the Umbral to purify the rest of the corruption and stabilize the structure."

He paused, his tone slightly acidic.

"Congratulations, director. Your school didn't turn to ashes. Just a smaller tomb."

Altharion took a deep breath.

Even weakened, he managed to look at the young man—the same boy he had once called an abomination.

"You… saved Azalith?"

Kael gave a half-smile.

"No. I just prevented it from exploding faster."

The silence that followed was heavy.

The sound of the healing runes filled the space, along with the faint crackling of mana stabilizing the air.

Altharion looked around, trying to understand the scope of it all.

The spells around him were familiar—but there was something different.

The flow, the texture of the mana… it was too clean.

"This energy… isn't mine," he murmured.

"Nor Azalith's. What did you do, Kael?"

He got up from the chair, slowly, and walked to the window. The sun was beginning to rise over the broken towers of the Academy. The golden morning light struck the fragments of crystal, making the ground gleam like shattered glass.

"I used the Threshold to absorb the corruption from the Core," Kael replied, without turning around.

"I converted the degenerate mana into vital energy through the blessing of the World Tree."

"That's impossible," Altharion interrupted instinctively.

His voice carried the echo of old authority, the old professor who still believed in rules.

"Not even Yggdrasil itself is capable of restoring a corrupted Core of that level without—"

Kael interrupted him.

"—without dying in the process?"

He turned around, and there was something dark in his smile. "Yes, I know. I can't stand hearing about impossible things that always happen anymore."

The director remained silent.

"Anyway, right now the city is purified and many people were saved after you teleported everyone out of it, so for now, let's leave things as they are." Kael said…

Kael remained silent for a few moments, watching the sunrise outside.

The sky was tinged with shades of copper and red, reflecting the chaos that Azalith had faced.

The necromancer took a deep breath and turned back to the man in the bed.

"Alright," he said, crossing his arms. "So, let's get straight to the point. What do you remember happening before the Core became corrupted?"

Altharion closed his eyes for a moment, trying to reorganize his memories.

His face contorted—not only in effort, but in pain.

When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse, tired, as if each word was an effort to break through the fog of his mind.

"Little… very little," he admitted. "My memory is flawed. There are gaps I cannot fill."

He paused for a long time, his gaze lost on the ceiling, as if searching for answers in the cracks.

"But I remember the beginning. It all started with Lyra's disappearance."

Kael narrowed his eyes.

"Lyra?"

"Yes," Altharion replied with a sigh. "The elf. My personal assistant. She worked with me on the stabilization rituals and maintained the records of the research tower. One day, she simply… vanished. None of the teleportation seals were activated, and the internal barrier didn't detect any evasion. She disappeared inside Azalith."

Kael remained silent, but his sharp gaze betrayed his calculations.

"And nobody found it strange that a rune specialist disappeared precisely when a corruption ritual appeared inside the Academy?"

"Do you think I didn't investigate?" Altharion replied, raising his voice for the first time. "I searched all the laboratories, the catacombs, even the sealed towers. She simply… ceased to exist. No trace of mana, nothing. As if she had been erased from reality."

Kael took a step forward.

"Or hidden," he said, his tone sharp. "And you never thought she might be involved?"

The director looked at him with a mixture of indignation and pain.

"Lyra wouldn't be capable of that. She was my student before she was my assistant. One of the few I truly trusted."

He looked away, muttering more softly. "She saved me during the siege of Mirdal, when I lost half of the arcane council. She stayed until the end, when everyone else fled."

Kael took a deep breath, his expression impassive.

"Loyalty is a funny word, Director. It usually lasts until someone offers something more valuable."

"You speak as if you know," Altharion retorted, his voice firm.

Kael smiled wryly.

"I learned from the best."

The silence that followed was heavy—an exchange of glances between master and student, between past and present, between faith and cynicism.

Umbra, silently observing near the wall, looked away, as if she didn't want to be involved.

The air seemed to compress between the two.

"Anyway," Kael said, breaking the moment, "if she disappeared shortly before the corruption began, she is the main suspect. Even if she didn't do it alone, she could have been manipulated. Or replaced."

Altharion shook his head.

"You don't understand. She wasn't just my assistant—she was an elf of ancient blood, bound by a life oath to Azalith. If she had betrayed the pact, the city itself would have felt it. The barriers would react. But there was nothing. No sign."

Kael scoffed, impatient.

"The barriers that you yourself admitted have been failing for weeks?"

The answer came quickly, but without force.

"Because there were no resources."

Kael raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Resources?"

The old director leaned back on the bed, exhausted, and looked at the ceiling, as if speaking more to himself than to Kael.

"After the incident with you and the others, I proposed to the Council of Realms a complete reform of Azalith's arcane defenses. A reinforcement of the containment seals, expansion of the monitoring towers, replacement of the old cores… everything."

He sighed. "But the rulers refused. They said it would be 'a waste of funds,' since we were useless in their eyes. They cut the Academy's budget in half. I can barely keep the teachers paid, let alone renew the protections."

Kael slowly turned to him, his gaze hard.

"So you're telling me you left the greatest arcane center on the continent vulnerable… because politicians wouldn't open their wallets?"

"It wasn't a choice," the director replied, frustrated. "I tried. I wrote reports, I begged the Council, even the Dwarves and the Witches personally. Nobody wanted to listen. They thought Azalith was useless after being invaded. That the name and the ancient glory were enough to ward off any threat."

Kael crossed his arms.

"And now they're all dead because of it."

The old man looked away.

The truth sounded like a physical blow.

For a few seconds, the infirmary was completely silent.

Only the sound of the healing runes filled the space, pulsing like a weak heart.

Kael took a step closer.

"You always said that knowledge without action is weakness. That the price of a magical mistake is paid in lives. And yet, you let Azalith fall due to lack of funding."

Altharion looked at him with regret.

"And what would you have done, Kael? Risked facing the kings alone? Raided Eldorion's coffers? The Academy is not an army."

Kael smiled, but without humor.

"Don't try to put your incompetence on me, there were several paths, such as simply leaving the academy aside, and the rulers would act to at least maintain it…" Kael said and sighed, "Well, I'm going." He said, standing up.

"Rest well, because I'll be back with someone later. And she wants to see you." he said and walked away.