Three weeks later, Varncrest.
The North Tower's observation chamber was lit only by the cold glow of mana lanterns, their pale blue light casting long shadows across the rune-etched floor. A faint hum of anchored wards vibrated in the silence as Bellarine adjusted the projection array's focusing crystal, her fingers moving with precise, mechanical grace.
"Greetings, your highness," Bellarine and Belisarius said in unison, bowing as the door's silent mechanisms folded away to admit their guest.
"You can drop the honorifics," Letra Marlo, the Iron Feather of the Marlo Empire, waved dismissively. Her ceremonial armour shifted with quiet clicks, feather-like metal plates curling back to reveal her stern, sharply beautiful face framed by ashen hair braided with black-gold thread. "I'm not here for courtesy."
"Is it ready?" Headmaster Woldamort's voice rolled out from the shadows beyond the projection array, calm and resonant like a gravebell tolling through deep water.
"Yes," Bellarine replied, sliding a sealed parchment from her satchel and placing it upon the array pedestal. With a flick of her wrist, she broke the black wax rune. A dome of violet light rose, expanding into a globe projection that hovered midair – a floating topographic map of the entire continent and surrounding seas.
"Show me," Letra commanded.
Bellarine's slim fingers danced across floating glyphs, zooming in until a blinking red dot glowed brightly on the ocean's western fringe. Its pulsing light sent thin ripples through the mapped leyline grids projected beneath it.
"The tracking with the soul contract is proceeding well," Bellarine said, her voice clipped and devoid of emotion.
"Is it accurate?" Letra asked, golden eyes narrowing.
"Yes," Bellarine replied without hesitation. "The error margin is within six meters."
"Then why is he there of all places?" Letra frowned, leaning closer. The glyph overlays flickered across her angular features like ghost-script.
All of them leaned in, observing the map's readout. The blinking dot sat at the edge of Valack Island, an isolated black crescent floating on the projection's sea surface, labelled only with a faint warning rune.
"That island of all things…" Belisarius's voice tightened, dark brows drawing together. His hand closed into a fist atop the table's edge. "That area is classified as a dead zone."
"After the Hydra and Sodagui took residence there," Woldamort murmured, his eyes hooded beneath the shadow of his ceremonial hood. "Even the maritime guilds have abandoned the surrounding routes. No one goes near that place anymore."
"What is he doing there?" Letra asked quietly.
"Do you think he's trying to defeat them?" she added after a pause, turning to Woldamort with a faint frown.
"No chance," Bellarine said flatly. Her usually neutral voice carried an almost dismissive edge. "Both of those creatures are in the country-class. Even if he triggered his Destruction Mortar and Dread Shroud simultaneously, it wouldn't be enough to kill either."
"Agreed," Belisarius said grimly. "He needed a city-wide spell array and environmental amplification just to stalemate me. Against beings that can cause mass-scale extinction events? He wouldn't last a minute."
The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the soft flicker of mana stabilizers humming along the chamber's upper rafters.
"You look concerned, my princess," Woldamort observed quietly, glancing at Letra from beneath his deep hood. The rune threads of his robes gleamed faintly with shifting sigils, whispering secrets in dead languages.
"I am," Letra said, folding her gauntleted arms. Her fingers tightened subtly against her vambraces. "If his meddling causes a territorial shift in either the Hydra's or Sodagui's hunting grounds, it could trigger an international incident. The Valack sea routes border three neutral nations. Any disruption there would cripple their economies. The other Empires will be on our throats demanding compensation."
"Then we can deny it," Belisarius said.
"How?" Woldamort turned slightly, his voice sharp with curiosity and faint challenge. "He is a registered citizen. His signature is on the Academy's archives. His spell arrays bear Varncrest cipher work. Some will try to pin it on us."
"He isn't," Belisarius said quietly.
The words dropped into the chamber like cold iron into water. Everyone stilled.
"What do you mean?" Letra's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I lied on the report," Belisarius admitted, voice calm but his knuckles were white where they rested on the projection pedestal. "I never filed his citizenship registration with the Imperial mage registry. He was categorised under 'external affiliate' for his entire tenure."
The room fell silent.
"That's… new for you," Woldamort said after a pause. His lips twitched faintly, though it was unclear if it was amusement or approval. "You never leave paperwork incomplete."
"It wasn't an accident," Belisarius said quietly, "I knew… that his presence here would end in this. Either his death or exile. It was better for Varncrest to remain unbound to him by law."
Letra closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. When she opened them again, they gleamed with faint gold mana-light. "Then we can deny accountability."
"Indeed," Woldamort murmured, nodding faintly. "But the question remains…"
His gaze turned back to the flickering dot floating above Valack Island's coastal reef. The projection showed swirling mana anomalies around the region – dark whirlpools of null-field distortion where even ambient leylines failed to stabilise.
"What is he doing there?" Letra asked softly.
No one answered. Even the projection array seemed to quiet, its glyphs pulsing slower in the stillness.
Far beyond the Empire's western horizon, the Valack Sea lay flat and glassy under an oppressive grey sky. Black rain clouds pressed low, stirring the ocean with long threads of static lightning that crawled silently across the surface.
In that infinite grey vastness, a small ship sailed alone.
The hull was ironwood darkened with salt, bearing no crest or flag. Faint glyph arrays glimmered across its keel, warding off storm winds and shielding the deck from lethal mana distortions that boiled and churned the sea around it.
Martin sat on the prow, knees drawn up to his chest, coat whipping around him in the cold spray. His red eyes stared unblinking at the looming silhouette of Valack Island ahead.
A jagged crescent of black volcanic rock rising from a sea that steamed with toxic gas vents and eldritch currents. Atop its cliffs, towers of twisted stone rose like the bones of some colossal, long-dead leviathan.
Martin tilted his head slightly.
'Hydra. Sodagui,' he thought, a faint smile curling the corner of his lips. 'Country class or not…'
He lowered his hand to the deck and traced a rune in the wet wood, feeling the world beneath his palm shift in subtle resonance.
'Let's see if death itself is worth dissecting.'
The ship sailed on, silent and alone, toward the island that even nightmares had abandoned.