The cold morning wind blew across the fields south of Azalith, carrying the scent of burnt earth and extinguished magic.

The horizon still shimmered with the remnants of the collapse—fragments of pure mana dissolving in the air like luminous ashes.

Among the hills, hundreds of people huddled under makeshift tents, hastily conjured by support mages and clerics.

It was the evacuation point.

The last refuge of those who had survived.

Kael walked in silence, his black cloak still stained from battle.

Umbra hovered beside him, silent, observing the expressions of the people as they passed—tired, dirty faces, but alive.

Some recognized him, but looked away. Others simply followed him with a silent reverence, as if they instinctively knew they owed him their lives.

"They still think it's the end of the world," Umbra murmured.

Kael didn't answer.

He just watched.

Between the rows of tents, a familiar voice called out to him:

"KAEL!"

He turned quickly.

Amelia came running, her hair tied in a disheveled ponytail, her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep.

Behind her, Sylphie floated amidst small sparks of mana, her bare feet touching the air as if dancing, and Irelia walked further behind, her battle uniform torn and her expression severe.

For a moment, Kael simply stood there—watching the three approach.

They were alive.

Amelia reached him first and, without hesitation, hugged him tightly.

"You're alright! Thank the Goddess, I thought I had..."—her voice faltered—"that I had lost you too."

Kael was slow to return the gesture, but he did.

The touch was strange. Too human after so long in the shadows.

"Calm down," he said softly. "It's all right now. I'm here."

When Amelia stepped away, Sylphie was already by his side, her green eyes shining with that mixture of curiosity and relief.

"You have to stop doing that," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You made us worried."

"Sorry, I'm fine now," Kael gave a tired half-smile.

"And the director?" Irelia asked, approaching.

Her voice was firm, but her gaze betrayed genuine concern.

Kael took a deep breath before answering.

"He's alive. Injured, but recovering. I managed to stabilize him before the corruption consumed him."

Irelia crossed her arms. "Typical. The old man always survives. Even when everything else crumbles."

Amelia gave her a reproachful look.

"Irelia…"

"I'm just telling the truth," she replied, emotionlessly. "As long as he lives, we're the ones who have to deal with the consequences."

Kael simply looked at the ground, the shadow flickering beneath his feet.

"Let's not start with that now," he said, in a calm but firm tone. "The important thing is that most of the population is alive. Azalith can be rebuilt. People, not so much."

Sylphie looked around—at the hundreds of survivors, at the children sleeping in the arms of exhausted mothers, at the wounded mages conjuring small healing runes in sequence.

"Rebuilt…" she repeated softly. "You talk as if it were simple."

Kael looked at the horizon, where the broken silhouette of the Academy still smoldered.

"It's not. But it's possible."

A brief silence settled. The sound of the wind, the distant crying, and the healing spells filled the space between the words.

Amelia was the first to break the silence. "It was a stroke of luck," she said, her voice still trembling. "The civilians… most of them were already out of the city when it all started. The tournament in Eldarion had drawn a lot of people there. If it hadn't been for that…"

She didn't finish the sentence.

Kael nodded slowly.

"A stroke of luck, yes. But not enough."

His gaze swept across the refugee camp—the lost expressions, the weary bodies.

"Even so, we'll have hundreds of homeless people. The chaos destroyed entire neighborhoods around the Academy. The houses were consumed by the magical instability."

Irelia let out a heavy sigh.

"And, as always, the Council will pretend it's not their problem."

"We've already sent messages to the neighboring kingdoms," Amelia said, trying to maintain a positive tone. "The temples of Hevria and the Sons of the Flame have sent healers. They should arrive by the end of the day."

Kael nodded, but his gaze remained distant.

He saw the scene and, at the same time, remembered what was inside the Academy—the voices, the bodies, the burned runes.

The weight of it still vibrated within him.

Umbra, noticing his silence, spoke softly, only for him to hear:

"You saved enough, Kael. That's more than many would do."

He replied in an almost imperceptible whisper:

"It wasn't enough."

Sylphie heard him and frowned.

"You can't carry everything alone," she said, in a tone that mixed reproach and affection. "Nobody expected you to—"

"I expected this," Kael interrupted.

The words cut through the air like a blade.

For a moment, no one said anything.

The wind swept by, carrying the scent of smoke and residual mana.

Then, he took a deep breath and softened his tone.

"But now is not the time for that. We need to organize shelter, food, and security. There are still creatures remaining from the corruption roaming the city limits. I will clear the borders before nightfall."

Irelia nodded, already adopting a military tone.

"I will gather the combat mages. If there are still fragments of corrupted energy remaining, we cannot let them infiltrate the evacuation lines."

Amelia looked at the two of them, then at Kael.

"And what about you? Are you going back there? After everything?"

Kael looked at the horizon, where Azalith's broken tower rose against the reddish sky.

"I have unfinished business with the past. And answers to find."

Sylphie raised an eyebrow.

"Answers about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"About who opened the gate."

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating.

Not even the wind dared to cross that space.

Amelia stared at him, serious.

"Do you think someone from within—"

"I'm sure," Kael cut in.

"But I don't know who yet."

Umbra looked at him, her spectral eyes glowing deep blue.

"Then it's time to return to the shadows, Kael. The light has already done what it could."

He nodded slightly, without taking his eyes off the ruined city.

The dawn light bathed the refugee camp, revealing wounds and hope in equal measure.

Kael inhaled the cold air, his cloak fluttering in the wind.

"Take care of them," he said, looking at Amelia, Irelia, and Sylphie. "I'll be back before sunset." And without another word, his shadow stretched across the ground—swallowing the light little by little, until his body completely dissolved within it.

The three stood there, watching the spot where he had disappeared.

Amelia crossed her arms, trying to contain her anguish.

"He never learns to rest, does he?"

The sound of the wind faded as Kael moved away from the camp.

The open field gave way to hills covered in darkened grass, and further on, the forest—a living wall of twisted trunks and cold mist.

The air there was different.

Heavy. Saturated with ancient mana and remnants of residual magic.

With each step he took, Kael's shadow lengthened, pulsating in response to the energy of the environment.

Umbra appeared beside him, materializing as a translucent figure, her body sculpted from ethereal smoke.

"You're really going back to work, huh? Aren't you even going to pretend you need to rest?"

Kael glanced around the forest, attentive to the distant sounds.

"As long as there is active corruption, the work isn't finished."

Umbra sighed. "You talk as if the whole world is your responsibility."

"It's not," he replied, coldly. "But this part is."

He stopped before a clearing. The ground there was scorched—the roots exposed, the smell of putrid mana spreading among the trees.

Kael knelt down, touching the earth.

The contact was enough for the shadow beneath his feet to expand in all directions, like a living liquid flowing across the ground.

"Umbra."

"Yes?"

"Open the seals. I want all the shadows in the field."

Umbra hesitated. "All of them?"

Kael looked up, and the expression on his face was unbreakable.

"All of them."

Umbra raised her hands. The air trembled. A deep echo reverberated through the forest—a sound that didn't come from the ears, but from the very soul.

The shadow beneath Kael fragmented into dozens, hundreds, thousands of forms.

First, human figures. Then, beasts. Stalkers. Skeletons. Deformed spirits.

In a few seconds, the entire forest was alive—a silent army emerging from the darkness, obeying a single command.

Kael stood in the center of the clearing, the dark aura flickering around him like a black flame.

"Spread out," he said, his voice echoing like contained thunder.

"Search for any trace of corrupted energy. Nothing must escape."

The creatures dissolved into the gloom, running like a living wave among the trees.

The sound of footsteps, of bones, of shadow wings mingled with the wind.

In a few moments, he was alone again—except for Umbra, who watched, uneasy.

"You treat them as an extension of yourself," she murmured.

Kael kept his gaze fixed on the forest. "That's what they are."

Minutes passed. The silence was absolute, except for the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.

Then, a pulsation.

A faint but unmistakable touch echoed through the veil of shadows—a feeling of something...wrong.

Kael raised his head.

Umbra felt it at the same time. "You felt it too?"

"Yes."

He extended his hand, and one of the shadows—a slender specter—emerged before him, kneeling.

The creature's eyes glowed deep red, transmitting the vision.

Kael saw what she saw.

An opening.

Small, hidden beneath the roots of a gigantic tree, in an ancient part of the forest.

A faint light emanated from the crevice—purple, pulsating, alive.

And the air around it vibrated with the same kind of corrupted mana he had encountered at the Academy.

Umbra narrowed her eyes. "That's not natural."

Kael closed his hand, and the vision faded.

"Take me there."

He began to walk, the shadow gliding behind him like a river.

The forest seemed to bend to his presence—branches moved aside, leaves withered, the sound of birds ceased.

It didn't take long until they reached the location.

The tree was colossal, old enough to have witnessed the birth of Azalith.

But now, its roots were corrupted—stained black, pulsating in sync with the glow escaping from the crevice.

Kael knelt down, analyzing.

The energy emanating from there was dense, almost physical.

Each pulse seemed to push the air in invisible waves, and the ground around it trembled slightly, as if the heart of the earth beat within that opening.

Umbra looked down from above. "It's not a natural source of mana. It's a channel. Something is flowing from the inside out."

Kael ran his hand over the ground, feeling the rhythm of the energy.

"A remnant of a ritual. Probably one of the anchoring points of the Core."

"But the Core collapsed," Umbra argued. "This should have been extinguished."

Kael was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the purple glow.

"Unless someone kept it active on purpose."

Umbra floated to his side.

"Do you think someone survived inside the corrupted network?"

"No. But someone reactivated it."