The violet hum of the Siphon Stones had reached a bone-shaking frequency. In the Grand Ballroom, the chandeliers vibrated with a deadly light, while in the Plaza below, the commoners' laughter was slowly turning into a strange, lethargic silence as their life force began to drain.
Seraphina gripped Eveline's arm, her eyes darting to the shifting shadows of the ceiling. "We can't stop this, Eveline. Not alone. We don't have the raw magical capacity to neutralize a city-wide ritual."
"Then what do we do?" Eveline asked, her voice trembling. "Alaric and Killian are only two men against thousands of stones."
Seraphina looked toward the obsidian spire on the horizon—the Magic Tower. Unlike the Cathedral, it was a place of isolation and bitterness. "We need the Magicians. They are the only ones who understand mana-circuitry well enough to rewrite the ritual on the fly."
Eveline's face went pale. "The Tower? Seraphina, the church has shunned them for centuries. The Inquisition branded their natural magic as 'unholy.' Most of those mages were children abandoned by their noble families or cast out by their villages the moment they showed a spark. They hate us. They hate the Empire."
"Then we give them a reason to stop hating," Seraphina said, her jaw set. "If we don't get them to intervene, there won't be an Empire left for them to spite."
The history of the Magic Tower was a dark stain on the Empire's golden facade. For generations, the Church of the Light had enforced a monopoly on "divine" power. Anyone born with independent magic was taken from their homes and "donated" to the Tower—essentially a gilded prison where they were forbidden from interacting with society.
The Noble Outcasts: Second and third sons of High Lords who were erased from family trees to avoid "scandal."
The Commoner Exiles: Children feared by their own parents, who grew up seeing the Church as their jailer.
Seraphina didn't wait for a carriage. She and Eveline used a secret servant's passage to exit the Palace, racing toward the outskirts where the Tower loomed. As they reached the massive iron gates, they were met not by guards, but by a wall of shimmering, hostile energy.
A voice hissed from the stones themselves. "The Saintess and the Duchess. Have you come to check on your prisoners? Or has the 'Light' finally burned out?"
"We have come to ask for your help," Seraphina shouted against the rising wind.
"The High Priest's cult has turned the city into a pyre. If you don't help us stabilize the mana flow, the Tower will be the only thing left standing in a city of corpses!"
"Why should we care if the Empire burns?" a young mage appeared on the battlements, his eyes full of cold fury. "You threw us away. You called us mistakes. Let the 'pure' people of the plaza fuel the ritual. It is a fate you designed for us first."
Eveline stepped forward, dropping her hood. She didn't use her "Saintly" authority. She let her mana bleed out—not as a threat, but as an offering of peace. "I am the Saintess, and I am telling you that the Church was wrong. I will spend the rest of my life dismantling the laws that imprisoned you, but I need you to give me that chance. Please. Help us save the people who didn't know any better."