Wrong.
The word hit Elias the moment his horse's hooves touched Academy grounds. Not a thought—a certainty. Bone-deep. Immediate.
Wrong.
Beside him, Aldric went still.
Not the normal stillness of an old man on a horse. Battle-stillness. Predator-stillness. The kind that meant a Transcendent was reading the air itself, parsing threats invisible to everyone else.
His geometric patterns flickered—just once. Blue light stuttering like a candle in wind. Elias had never seen Aldric's Aspect falter. Ever.
"Headmaster?" Raphaël's voice. Careful. Controlled.
Aldric didn't answer immediately. His eyes—pale, ancient, too knowing—swept across the Academy grounds with surgical precision. Reading. Calculating.
Finally: "It's started."
Two words. Quiet. Absolute.
Elias felt ice slide down his spine. "What's started?"
But Aldric was already dismounting. Smooth. Efficient. A man half his age wouldn't move that fast. "I need to find Kieran. Immediately." He turned, and for just a moment, Elias saw something in those ancient eyes.
Not fear. Worse. Confirmation. Like he'd been expecting this. Dreading this.
"Listen carefully." Aldric's voice dropped. Command-voice. The one that expected absolute obedience. "Split up. Investigate. But be discreet—" He emphasized the word like it was the difference between life and death. "No confrontations. No accusations. Just observe. Gather information. Meet me in my office in two hours."
"Sir, what—"
"Two hours." Aldric cut Dante off. Not harsh. Final. "And Elias—" He met Elias's eyes directly. "Trust no one. Do you understand? No one except the people standing beside you right now."
Then he was gone. Striding toward the main building with purpose that made other disciples scatter from his path. Not running. A Headmaster didn't run. But moving with an urgency that said: everything is on fire and I'm the only one who can put it out.
The team stood in the courtyard, watching him disappear.
"That was..." Kaël trailed off.
"Bad," Seraphina finished. "That was very, very bad."
Because if Aldric—ninety-year-old Transcendent who'd seen everything, survived everything, sealed demons that would make Class 3 Authorities look like children—if Aldric was worried?
They should be terrified.
***
No demon presence. His golden flame stayed quiet, no spiritual corruption singing against his senses. But something had shifted. Like coming home to find furniture moved just slightly—not enough to name what's different, but enough to know someone's been there. Doors ajar that should be closed. Windows open that were shut. The wrongness of violated space.
Students clustered along the main path. Tight groups. Defensive circles. Their conversations didn't fade as Elias's team approached—they died. Abrupt cuts mid-sentence. Eyes that looked, then looked away too fast.
Whispers followed. Not loud enough to catch words. Just loud enough to know they were being discussed.
Dante pulled his horse alongside Elias's. "Is it me—" His voice pitched low, controlled, but something underneath wasn't. "Or does everyone look like someone just walked over their grave?"
"Not just you."
Elias's hand drifted toward his solar plexus. Where the flame lived. Nothing threatening them—not directly. But every instinct honed in three years of Trial and six weeks of missions was screaming: danger danger danger.
The training grounds.
Should be full. Morning training—always packed. Disciples sparring, instructors shouting corrections, the clash of practice weapons, Aspects flaring in controlled bursts.
Today? Maybe twelve students. Moving wrong—distracted, nervous, like they were waiting for something to jump out. And the senior disciples who normally ran drills?
Gone.
"Where is everyone?" Kaël's question came out sharper than usual. His eyes were doing that thing—darting, tracking, reading threat patterns in empty spaces.
Elias had no answer. Just that word again, pulsing in his skull like a second heartbeat.
Wrong wrong wrong.
***
The stables smelled like fear.
Elias had learned to recognize that smell, in that Royal hospital. This was different. Not death. Fear. Prey-animal fear. The kind that said predators were close and escape was impossible.
The stable hands weren't just quiet. They were silent. Deliberately, carefully silent. Working with exaggerated focus on mundane tasks. Don't look up. Don't make eye contact. Don't be noticed.
Elias dismounted. His boots hit cobblestone too loud. The sound made two stable hands flinch.
"Thomas." He kept his voice soft. Friendly. The young first-year had always been cheerful—waved every morning, asked how missions went, treated Elias like he mattered.
Now Thomas's eyes went wide. Deer eyes. Rabbit eyes.
He turned and practically ran into a stall. Disappeared. Gone.
Elias stood there holding his reins, watching the empty space where a friend used to be.
"What did we do?" The words came out before he could stop them.
"Nothing." Seraphina's voice had gone clinical. Doctor-voice. The one that meant she was diagnosing something she didn't like. "That's what makes this terrifying. We did nothing, and they're scared of us anyway."
They moved toward the main hall. More clusters of students. More abrupt silences. More eyes that slid away.
Elias tried approaching. Once. Twice. Three times.
Each time: conversations stopped, people found urgent elsewhere to be. Not hostile. Scared. Like he was contagious.
Then—"Is that Dorian?"
Kaël sounded confused. Actually confused. Because this didn't make sense.
Dorian. The bully. The one who'd made Elias's first weeks at Aspencrest hell—or try to at least. Who postured and threatened and loved an audience.
That Dorian stood near the library entrance with his usual cronies. But his shoulders were hunched. Defensive. His head kept swiveling—checking corners, scanning faces, looking for exits.
Predator turned prey.
Elias changed direction. Walked straight toward him.
Dorian saw him coming.
Went pale.
Actually pale. Color draining like someone had pulled a plug.
"Dorian." Elias kept his voice neutral. Calm. Non-threatening. "Can we talk?"
Dorian's jaw clenched so hard Elias heard teeth grinding. His cronies shifted—not aggressive. Nervous. Like they wanted to run but couldn't without permission.
For three seconds, Dorian looked like he might actually answer. His mouth opened. Started forming words.
Then his eyes flicked over Elias's shoulder.
Elias turned. Nothing there. Just empty courtyard, distant students, afternoon shadows.
But Dorian had seen something. Or someone. Something that turned his fear from prey-terror into absolute panic.
"Stay away from me, Kane." His voice cracked on the last word. "Just—stay away."
He shoved past his cronies, nearly tripped on the library steps, disappeared through the doors. His friends followed like they'd been released from a spell.
Elias stood in the empty courtyard. The word echoed.
Kane. Not Elias. Kane.
Formal. Distant. The way you'd address a stranger. Or a threat.
"That was—" Dante materialized at his shoulder, voice tight. "Dorian doesn't run. From anything. Ever."
"He wasn't running from a fight." Raphaël's tone had gone flat. Battle-flat. The voice he used when assessing threats. "He was running from being seen. With us."
The weight of it settled over Elias like ice water.
He turned. Slow circle. Really looked this time.
Students watching from windows. Not curious. Careful. Like observing something dangerous from safe distance.
Faculty members who saw them and found other hallways to walk. Immediate. Automatic. Avoid.
The training grounds. Too empty.
The stables. Too quiet.
The whispers. Too careful.
"We need to know what happened." His voice sounded distant to his own ears. "Split up. Gather information. Dante—library archives. Kaël—training grounds. Raphaël—faculty quarters."
They dispersed without question. Good. Trust. Still had that.
Elias headed for the instructor's wing. Find Maren. She'd tell him the truth. She always told him the truth, even when it hurt.
The corridors felt longer than they should. Emptier. His footsteps echoed wrong—like the walls were listening.
Around a corner. Voices.
Two second-year students. Girls. Talking in urgent whispers that carried in the stone space.
"—not safe to be seen with them, I'm telling you—"
"But they didn't do anything—"
"Doesn't matter! You heard what happened to the others who—"
Elias stepped around the corner.
Both girls froze. Actual freeze—muscles locked, eyes wide, mouths open mid-word.
Then they ran. Not walked. Ran.
Past him. Around him. Away.
Elias stood alone in the corridor.
The words echoed in the empty space.
Not safe to be seen with them.
What happened to the others.
Understanding settled over him. Not revelation. Just pieces finally clicking into place.
The enemy wasn't at the gates. The enemy was already inside.
And people who associated with Elias's team?
They got hurt.
That's why Thomas ran. Why Dorian looked hunted. Why the training grounds were empty and the stables smelled like fear.
They weren't avoiding Elias's team.
They were trying to survive.