"Get dressed. Now. We leave immediately."
Elise's words fell like a hammer against Elian's breath. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and left the room. Her hurried, heavy footsteps echoed through the sleeping house like muffled thunder — a dark omen that reverberated through the walls.
But before gathering her things, she changed course.
She pushed open the door to her own room with a firm hand, fingers trembling with urgency. Her heart — long trained for control — now beat with an ancient unease. A feeling she had learned, after so many years, never to ignore.
The room was spacious, wrapped in quiet and understated order. A double bed rested beneath the arched window, draped in dark sheets still tangled from recent sleep. On the oak desk, ancient grimoires sat stacked like sentinels, exuding the scent of ink and aged leather. A vase filled with dried lavender and monkshood adorned the corner — magical and mildly poisonous blooms, chosen not for beauty, but memory. The air carried a soft perfume of melancholy.
She knelt by the desk and hurriedly pulled out a small locked box. Her hands were steady, but her eyes… her eyes already knew what they would hear.
Inside the box lay the Eye of Vaatir — a golden amulet shaped like a triangle, with a glass eye set in its center, glinting. Every magical Order had its version, attuned to its own arcane frequency, serving as a living link between its members. This was the lifeline of the Tower of Wisdom — a current of magic and communication pulsing with the presence of the living… and falling silent with the dead.
She pressed it to her chest and whispered the activation word. The eye glowed amber.
"Marduk."
The response came almost instantly, as if he'd been expecting her.
"Elise. Everything seems in order from here…"
But then the voice faltered.
"Wait… something's off. Movement near the back. Four men. Coming out of the forest… silent… heavily armed."
Elise's blood froze. Her thoughts spiraled.
"So it wasn't just a dream."
"Marduk, listen carefully. Stall them as long as you can. Do not engage. I'm on my way with backup."
"Understood."
The connection went silent. But she had no time to breathe.
She pressed the amulet again, adjusting the frequency to the Tower's central relay. The eye pulsed brighter, and a deep, bureaucratic male voice filled the room.
"Elise?"
"I need reinforcements. Immediately. Send two mages, now."
Her voice was quiet, but it overflowed with an urgency bordering on despair.
"They're going to attack my apprentice's home."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Then the reply came — cold as stone:
"Elise, you know the protocol. Deployments follow specific criteria. Your apprentice is not a member of the Order. You are not, officially. Without noble involvement or institutional threat, we can't allocate mages."
Elise clenched her jaw. A cold fury rose in her throat like bile.
"So you only act if it's a noble?"
She spat the words like blades.
"Our priority is to uphold formal alliances and recognized contracts. Protecting civilians outside Tower jurisdiction is not our direct responsibility."
"I don't know yet if they're thieves… or if there's a name behind this," she growled.
"But if there is… and you delay… you'll answer for every corpse."
Silence. Calculating.
"I'll pay. Two mages. Now. No protocols."
A few more seconds.
Then the voice of the Grandmaster of the Brumaria branch overrode the central relay, cutting through the air like a verdict.
"Two mages are available in Brumaria. You may summon one. The mission will be recorded as unofficial. Responsibility falls on you."
"So be it."
She ended the connection with a sharp, final gesture.
Without hesitation, she crossed the room and opened the wardrobe. From within, she pulled the ceremonial robe of the Tower of Wisdom — the sacred garb worn only when magic had to be more than knowledge. When it had to become a blade.
The fabric was black, thick as enchanted leather, yet flexible and strong. Golden embroidery traced geometric patterns along the sleeves and high collar — ancient symbols representing the pillars of the Order: reason, vigilance, memory, and power. At the center of the chest, the triangle with the eye gleamed in metallic thread — a vow to protect, even if the night bled.
She dressed quickly. Fastened the silver clasps. Slid three vials of magical essence onto her belt. Pulled on the cloak, which fell over her shoulders like a living shadow. The hood still rested behind her head, but her posture now was that of a warrior.
Downstairs, Elian was already waiting.
He paced the center of the room like a caged animal, the floor groaning beneath his anxious feet. His golden eyes — now swollen and red from tears — quivered. His face was damp, his breathing ragged.
He wore his gray tunic — the one his mother had lovingly sewn before his departure, embroidered at the collar with the initials: M.A.A.E.
Maria, Arthur, Anthony, and Emanuelle. The names that gave meaning to his existence.
When he saw Elise descending the stairs, he froze. His eyes widened further.
She no longer wore the healer's tunic.
The black and gold battle robe of the Tower of Wisdom flowed around her like a prophecy. The eye-inscribed triangle seemed to stare straight through him, its weight pressing against his chest. This wasn't normal. This wasn't routine. This was war.
His heart surged.
"…It's really happening," he whispered, breathless.
"They're in danger. They really are…"
Elise stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were cold and sharp — but behind them, something else shimmered: urgency. Protection.
"We still have time," she said.
But the weight in her voice was like an anchor in the void.
Deep down, they both knew:
Time was bleeding.
In that instant, a noise outside made them turn.
A whinny pierced the night.
The door swung open with a dry snap.
At the threshold, a man stood like a wall. He wore the same black and gold battle robe as Elise, the runes on his sleeves glowing beneath the torch he held. Sharp green eyes, slicked-back black hair, a face honed like a blade — sheathed only out of courtesy.
"I came as fast as I could," he announced, his voice deep.
"The Grandmaster briefed me. Direct order: accompany you… and the apprentice."
Elise nodded, skipping formalities.
"Second horse is outside. Ready yourself. We leave now."
The mage bowed slightly and turned on his heel.
And then, the three of them were gone.
No words.
No guarantees.
Only urgency in their eyes and the night as their witness.
Three shadows on horseback, racing down the road toward the place where reality would begin to burn.
---
★★★
The road was a chasm of shadows.
Dawn had not yet broken, and the dark veiled them like a suffocating cloak. Each hoofbeat struck the dirt like a cursed heartbeat. Elise guided the horse with unflinching hands, and Elian rode behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, his whole body tense. The night's cold didn't touch him. Or perhaps it was the fire of fear burning inside.
He said nothing.
But inside, he screamed.
The dream-images still throbbed in his mind like open wounds: the scarecrow with Arthur's hanging body, head dangling like a grotesque toy; Anthony crawling through flames, skin peeled, begging; and Emanuelle — his little sister — being dragged, fingernails tearing the earth, Maria's face twisted in blood and grief.
Elian clenched his eyes shut. He tried to banish the visions.
But a memory from a former life sliced through him.
Luciana.
That cursed night. The dry snap of a gunshot. The warmth of blood running down his stomach. The unbearable pain. And then her face. Luciana, kneeling beside him, screaming for help, pressing the wound as if bare hands could stop death. She didn't run. She didn't flee.
She stayed.
And because of that, she died.
Another shot. Another body.
Two worlds died that night — hers… and his.
"No…" Elian murmured, eyes wet, but tearless.
"I won't lose anyone else…"
Elise didn't reply. But she felt the trembling in his hands as they gripped the hem of her robe.
She knew this wasn't just fear.
It was trauma.
It was guilt.