"That's w—"
Alaric's words halted mid-sentence.
His head turned sharply toward the banquet hall, eyes narrowing as an ominous, corrupt energy rippled faintly in the air like a whisper of doom. His expression hardened instantly.
The soft composure that usually framed his face was gone. What replaced it was the fury of an Archon.
The marble beneath his feet cracked, unable to endure the sudden surge of mana radiating from him.
A killing intent swept through the corridor.
"How dare these vile things step into the sacred academy?" His voice was low, calm, but every word carried the weight of a storm.
And then—he vanished.
Only the trembling of the air remained in the space where he once stood.
"Did they use a barrier?" asked the fairy Archon Yellindra, her delicate wings flickering faster in alarm as her eyes followed the direction he had gone.
"That is the most possible answer," the elven Archon replied, his deep voice steady but grim.
