By midday, the trees gave way to stone.
Not walls. Not yet. But the feeling of walls — ancient energy woven into the ground, into the air, like the land itself was bracing for what stood ahead.
Liraen stopped at the edge of the ridge.
"There."
Karl stepped beside her.
Below, half-sunken into the mountain valley, lay a sprawl of towers, silver archways, floating platforms, and walkways made of runes.
And at the center — surrounded by a half-ring of dormant statues — stood a gate.
Valdros Academy.
Karl exhaled slowly.
"It's… bigger than I thought."
"It's not meant to be small," Liraen said.
"It's meant to hold what the world tries to forget."
As they descended toward the gate, Karl noticed more people. Other students, robed in the academy's layered greys and blacks. Some were older. Some younger. All of them paused as Karl passed.
Not because they knew him.
But because something around him shivered.
Like a wind only he could feel — or maybe a beast only he could hear.
One student — tall, sharp-eyed, with hair like blackened steel — lingered longer than the rest.
His gaze didn't carry curiosity.
It carried warning.
And something… familiar.
Karl didn't look away.
Neither did the boy.
Liraen stopped in front of the gates.
"From here, you go alone," she said.
"The Headmaster will decide what happens next."
"You're not coming with me?"
"No."
She nodded toward the silver arch ahead.
"This is your step now, Valen. Not mine."
As Karl walked through the gate, his chest pulsed — faintly. Like his mark recognized something. Or someone.
And somewhere deep within the academy, eyes opened.
Watching.
Waiting.
"So… the Veilwalker has arrived."