Grandma's calm voice rose, answering the question that lingered in their eyes.
"Oshira," she began gently, "imagine a strong telepath. A really strong one, seated somewhere far away, their command reaching you only through the mind. It's like when you tell your spirit to act without ever saying the words aloud."
She let the idea hang for a moment, watching Oshira's puzzled frown slowly ease. Then she continued, her tone deepening.
"But in shifting reality… it is different. Let me put it this way."
Her gaze swept across the room as though weighing each listener.
"In your mind, you see yourself tied to a tree. The ropes bite into your skin, tightening second by second. You can feel them cutting deeper, feel your breath growing shallow, as though the world itself wants to swallow you whole. To you, the pain is real. The suffocation is real."
She tapped her cane lightly, punctuating her words.
"But to someone standing outside that shifting reality… all they will see is you, standing straight as though bound by something invisible. They will not see the tree, and they will not see the ropes either. But they will see the blood. They will see the struggle written across your body."
A heavy silence followed. The imagery sank in, sharp and undeniable. Oshira's lips parted slightly in shock, her hand hovering near her throat as if she could feel phantom ropes there. Even Drosh shifted, jaw tightening, as though he too felt the suffocating pull.
For the first time, everyone understood. The truth of it settled like a stone in their chests.
But with understanding came a darker question, one that none could easily voice.
How were they doing this… to so many students at once?
The thought coiled in the air like smoke, unspoken yet pressing against every heart in the room.
It was Ms. Zerra who finally broke the silence. Her voice rose, edged with disbelief that cut through the stagnant air.
"There is something I still don't get." Her eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. "What kind of technique is this? Is there really anyone alive who can pull off something this heavy?"
She leaned forward, her hand pressing flat against the table as if to ground herself. "Illusions! Yes, we've seen them before. We even have a student who can scatter images of himself, and distract his opponents with copies. But this…" She shook her head, her tone growing heavier with each word.
"This isn't just misdirection. This is drowning someone in a world of falsehoods: Making them live through it, making their bodies believe it. You're telling me one technique can weave so many illusions and shift the locations too at once? Entire woods, entire crowds, bent under it?"
Her question hung, stark and raw, pulling every eye toward Ms. Vyamranshi.
The impostor's lips twitched into a faint smile, though her gaze slid away for the briefest moment, like a card player holding one lie too many.
Grandma's voice broke in immediately, firm but edged with something colder.
"You know… I don't think this is some kind of technique. Or even if it were, then it must be a forbidden technique. But I've never heard of such a thing before."
Her eyes lowered, her tone shifting quieter, almost reverent.
"But… sixteen years ago. I think you all heard of an entity called Sēndra."
At the name, the monitor room stirred. Even the air seemed to thin.
"It was said to be the Guardian of Sealed Knowledge. That it could steal memories and knowledge and also give. It was manipu If I'm to compare its power…" Her gaze darkened, "I wouldn't begin with Vanik'shur. But it was as strong as anything we've ever known."
Across the table, Valley's eyes widened in recognition.
"Wait—" she interrupted, "Didn't Hunter Varek killed that thing."
A hush followed.
Grandma exhaled softly, a sound like an old wound opening.
"Yeah… maybe that's what we believe." Her voice quieted, as though she spoke more to herself than to them. "But the story… might be very different."
Her tone hid more than it revealed, masking what she truly knew. She didn't want to drag them into that truth yet. So she let her words fall as though they were a slip of the tongue, nothing more.
But within her, the truth pressed heavy.
Before the invasion of the Malgeds, yes, there had been people with Generation abilities. But their strength was shallow. No spirits, no pacts to deepen their essence effectivity on Netherkins, no anchor to the unseen.
And Sēndra, the entity Varek claimed to have slain was no Malged. It was neither demon nor beast. It was something else entirely… a spirit, or perhaps a ghost that had outgrown mortality.
Grandma had long suspected the truth.
Varek had not killed Sēndra. He couldn't have. He had not been spirit-bound. He had swung his blade, yes, cut off what looked like its head. But that was only an illusion. A body that was never truly there.
And if that was so… then Sēndra still lingered.
A guardian of knowledge too vast to destroy.
But she kept it all buried in silence. Her cane rested steady against the floor, her eyes calm as if nothing had passed her lips.
"Hmmm…" Ms. Varrell let out a soft groan, pressing her fingers lightly against her temple as though the weight of it all were becoming too much. Her gaze shifted to the headmaster, eyes narrowing in restless thought.
"But why transference? Did Thalor program it that way because he wanted to make sure his mother would have access, in case he wasn't able to help himself?"
The question hung between them, carrying the name of someone absent yet ever-present.
The headmaster's expression tightened, his jaw stiff as he considered. Then he gave a slow shake of his head.
"I didn't know about the transference programming," he admitted, his voice low, measured. "But… he must've known this day would come. And if so, the only one he would trust… would be his mother. The one who could stand at the barrier and carry out the transference with her spirit's technique."
The words stirred something unspoken in the room.
Grandma's lips curved, the faintest smile. Smart move, Thalor. Now I can get little Ash's spirit inside.
She felt no sting at hearing them call her Thalor's mother. Once, long ago, the title had weighed strangely on her shoulders. But over the years, she had learned to wear it as her own. To accept the bond, and all the expectations tangled with it.
Now, unbothered, she simply let that small smile rest on her lips, her cane tapping once in quiet approval.
The day I was born was the same day my father lost his mother.
Grandma Elunara had been nothing more than a stranger then, just a woman who happened to be near enough to help when another life was on the line. She wasn't family, not yet. She was simply there when my mother's cries tore through the air, labor dragging her to the edge of death.
My father's mother didn't survive. She was swallowed by a colossal right there, in front of him, and in that single moment something inside him broke.
He hadn't awakened yet; his power still slept within him. He was weak, just another fighter in the shadow of the Malgeds threat.
But loss has a way of reshaping a person. Watching his mother die carved a wound so deep it forced open a door he hadn't known existed. His awakening burned brighter than it ever would have, had grief not been the spark.
And yet… if not for Grandma Elunara, I wouldn't be here at all. She was the one who steadied my mother, who fought to keep her alive when death pressed in on every side. If she hadn't stepped forward, if she hadn't taken that burden upon herself, then both my mother and I would have slipped away that day.
So, when I look at her now, I don't see a stranger. I see the reason I exist.
She turned sharply toward the headmaster, her voice laced with suspicion.
"But why would you go out of your way to change the selection rules, rules that had been practiced for years? Were you also… put under shifting reality, while asleep?"
The question cut deep.
The headmaster's lips parted, but no answer came. His eyes flickered, troubled as the thought lingered uncomfortably – that it was possible, that he had been made to believe the change had been his own choice.
A tense silence settled. The room felt brittle, as if the very walls leaned closer to listen.
Then Haldris moved. His expression tightened, his features drawn into sharp lines of alarm. He stared down at the screen in his hands, the glow of his iPad reflecting off his eyes.
"What is it?" Drosh demanded, his deep voice rough with unease, as the others turned toward him.
Haldris' throat bobbed as words failed him. He looked as though he had swallowed something jagged.
Instead of answering, he flicked his fingers, shifting the screen's feed into the air. A hologram sprang to life before them, casting pale light across their stunned faces.
Gasps broke out around the room. Even the headmaster leaned forward, veins showing on his clenched hand.
What flickered on the screen was enough to freeze every breath in the room.