The decree was delivered at dawn.
Within the white marble halls of Cindralis's high court, King Altheryn Viremont stood before a gathered assembly of nobles, guild representatives, and robbed magi whose sigils marked them as crown-bound. His voice carried without strain, calm and measured, never raised, never hurried.
"By royal authority," he declared, "The ancient dungeon known as Eldraxis is hereby placed under immediate Crown Sealing."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
"The site is to be restricted" the king continued. "No adventurer, scholar, cleric, or noble entourage is permitted entry without written sanction bearing my seal. Any violation will be treated as treason."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Altheryn lifted a hand, forestalling questions before they could form, "Should the dungeon resist full containment" and here his gaze flicked briefly toward the gathered magi "The crown will instead enact Obfuscation Protocols"
Several robed figures inclined their heads in unison.
"The awakening will be erased," the king said plainly. "Residual mana will be dispersed. Guild records amended. Witness testimony- corrected. To the public, Eldraxis will remain what it has been for centuries: dormant, failed, unworthy of notice."
No one spoke.
The king's expression did not change, but the weight behind his next words sharpened.
"This is not denial," he said. "It is restraint. The kingdom will not invite panic, nor will we provoke forces we do not understand."
His eyes passed briefly over the noble benches- lingering just long enough on those aligned with the church.
"Any institution acting independently in this matter," King Altheryn finished, "will answer to the crown." The royal seal struck the stone floor once final, unquestionable.
Outside the palace walls, mages already moved.
Circles were drawn. Leylines were dampened. The air around Eldraxis grew quiet once more, it's crimson pulse smothered beneath layers of carefully crafted illusion.
To the world, it looked like nothing had happened.
But deep beneath stone and spellwork, the dungeon endured- awake, watching and waiting for the moment when silence would no longer be enough.
The garden of Quiet Benediction lay veiled in early afternoon stillness, its stone paths washed pale by winter light. White lilies bordered the reflecting pool, their petals unblemished, their fragrance heavy with sanctity. No wind stirred the prayer banners. No birds dared settle.
It was a place meant to inspire calm.
Malrec Thalos stood at the pool's edge, one hand resting lightly upon his prayer staff, the other folded behind his back as though carved there by habit. Though he had seen more than five decades pass beneath Mireldis's gaze, his appearance betrayed fewer years. The god's blessing had slowed the hand of time upon him, smoothing the lines that should have etched his face more deeply.
His hair was white as consecrated ash, pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. Olive-toned skin stretched clean and unweathered across sharp features, and his dark green eyes keen, calculating reflected the water's glassy surface. A gold-rimmed monocle rested over his left eye, its chain disappearing into the folds of his robes, catching the light whenever he turned his head just so.
A young deacon approached along the stone path, steps careful, breath held too long. He knelt and extended a sealed parchment with trembling hands.
"Your Eminence," the boy said. "A royal decree."
Malrec accepted it without a word. The crimson wax bore the royal sigil, already marred by the faintest crack careless, or perhaps rushed. His thumb brushed the seal before breaking it, his gaze skimming the contents with practiced ease.
For a moment, nothing changed.
Then the water in the reflecting pool rippled.
"The dungeon," Malrec said quietly, folding the parchment with deliberate precision. "They mean to bury it."
The deacon swallowed. "The Crown claims the awakening has been… contained. Their mages will see to it. No record. No witnesses."
Malrec exhaled through his nose, something close to amusement flickering across his face before vanishing. "Of course they will."
He turned away from the pool and began walking, his robes whispering across the stone. The lilies bowed slightly as he passed, heavy with silence.
"They fear what they cannot name," he continued. "And what they cannot name, they pretend does not exist."
The deacon dared to speak. "And the child, Your Eminence? The rumors—"
Malrec stopped.
The garden seemed to shrink around them.
"An eyesore," he said flatly.
He adjusted the monocle with a single gloved finger, his gaze sharpening as though focusing not on the present, but on a future already half-written. "A stain upon doctrine. A reminder of a goddess best forgotten."
The deacon nodded quickly. "His Holiness has expressed… concern."
Malrec's expression softened at the mention of the Pope. Reverence not faith, but loyalty settled into his posture.
"His Holiness saved me," Malrec said, voice low. "Pulled me from obscurity. Gave my life purpose." He turned his gaze skyward, toward the cathedral spires rising beyond the garden walls. "If this child offends him, then the child offends the will of Mireldis himself."
A pause.
"We will not act yet," Malrec said at last. "Let the Crown hide their shame. Let the dungeon sleep, or pretend to."
He looked back to the deacon, eyes cold and measuring.
"Watch," he commanded. "Listen. The girl will surface somewhere guild, city, battlefield. Power always leaves a trail."
"And when she does?" the deacon asked.
Malrec smiled then, thin and controlled.
"Then," he said, "we will remind the world what happens to heresies that refuse to stay buried."
The bells of the cathedral rang once clear, measured, and final.
Malrec Thalos bowed his head in prayer, already certain that when the time came, he would not hesitate.
Not for a child.
Not for a goddess.
Not for blood.
The carriage rocked gently as it rolled along the stone-paved road toward Meridian, the beating heart of the Adventurers' Guild within Cindralis. Sylvara sat quietly across from Varien, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the window as the city walls rose higher with every passing moment. Sunlight spilled through in pale ribbons, too open, too exposed. No stone ceiling. No comforting dark. Her eyes almost hurt from the brightness of a world she is unused to.
This world was louder than Eldraxis.
Even from inside the carriage, she could feel it hundreds of heartbeats, restless magic, voices layered atop one another like static. Monsters breathed slowly. Humans rushed.
Varien watched her from beneath his brow, saying nothing until the carriage slowed.
"There's someone you should meet," he said at last.
The shadows inside the carriage shifted.
They did not move, they peeled back.
A figure detached herself from the darkness near the rear door, as though she had always been there and only now decided to be seen.
She was a black cat beast-kin, tall and lean, her tail flicking once behind her. Midnight fur framed sharp, intelligent eyes the color of pale gold. Light armor hugged her form, every piece matte and unadorned, built for silence, not spectacle.
Sylvara's gaze snapped to her instantly.
"This is Nyx," Varien said. "Gold-ranked adventurer. Stealth specialist."
Nyx inclined her head slightly, eyes never leaving Sylvara.
"I'll be your shadow," she said simply. "For now."
Sylvara tilted her head. "You were listening the whole time."
Nyx's lips twitched, not quite a smile.
"Yes."
Varien cleared his throat. "She'll remain nearby during your adjustment period. You won't always see her. That's the point."
Sylvara considered that, then nodded once. She did not object. Shadows were familiar things. Comfortable.
The carriage came to a halt.
The Meridian Guildhall loomed like a fortress of stone and glass, banners bearing the guild's sigil snapping in the breeze. Adventurers moved in and out constantly steel boots, leather armor, laughter and tension mixed together in equal measure.
Sylvara stepped down from the carriage and immediately felt it.
Eyes.
Some curious. Some dismissive. A few sharp enough to make her spine tighten. This was unlike Eldraxis and Sylvara is not used to all these eyes on her, it will take some getting used to.
"She'll be registered first," Varien said, already leading the way inside.
The interior opened into a massive hall dominated by a towering crystal embedded in the floor translucent, faintly glowing, lines of runic light shifting beneath its surface.
"The Guild Appraisal Crystal," Varien explained. "It measures base stats and magical potential. Everyone starts the same."
Sylvara approached without hesitation.
The crystal flared.
Light crawled up its surface, forming a floating pane of runes that resolved into readable text.
Name: Sylvara
Race: Unregistered
Adventurer Rank: Copper
Status: Active
A murmur rippled through the nearby adventurers.
Copper rank.
The lowest rung.
Sylvara felt… nothing.
If anything, it grounded her.
Varien signed the final parchment, sealing it with the guild mark. "You're officially registered."
Nyx's voice drifted from somewhere behind her. "Copper on paper. Dangerous everywhere else."
Varien shot her a look. "Nyx."
She shrugged unseen.
They did not linger.
Sylvara was shown the dormitories clean, functional rooms for students and novice adventurers. The academy wing followed, where instructors drilled young recruits in combat basics, magic theory, monster taxonomy, and survival law.
"This is required," Varien said as they passed through. "Understanding how humans think. How they fight. How they fear."
Sylvara absorbed everything silently.
The private receiving chamber overlooked the Meridian Guild's central courtyard, its wide arched windows opening onto a training ground alive with motion steel flashing, magic flaring, voices calling drills into rhythm. It smelled faintly of polished stone and cold air, warded against noise despite its height.
Sylvara felt it the moment she stepped inside.
Cold.
Not the biting chill of the dungeon depths, nor the living heat of Obsidryx's presence but something sharper. Controlled. Disciplined.
At the far end of the chamber stood Duke Caelren Vaust.
He did not turn immediately when Varien entered, though Sylvara knew he had heard them. His posture alone gave that away straight-backed, hands clasped behind him, weight balanced as though he stood on a battlefield rather than a marble floor.
When he did turn, Sylvara understood why Varien had chosen his words so carefully.
Caelren Vaust looked every bit a general of the crown.
His hair was a deep, storm-dark blue, worn long and tied neatly at the nape of his neck, not a strand out of place. His eyes were pale—white, almost silver—sharp and unreadable, like frostbound steel. They flicked briefly to Varien, then to Nyx, before settling on Sylvara with a scrutiny that made her spine straighten instinctively.
He wore no crown, no ceremonial robes. Instead, he was clad in a tailored military coat of midnight blue trimmed with silver embroidery subtle sigils worked into the fabric that hummed faintly with restrained magic. Ice magic, Sylvara realized, feeling the temperature dip just slightly as his attention lingered.
This was a man accustomed to command.
And not unused to war.
"Duke Caelren Vaust," Varien announced. "Commander of the Northern Legions. Acting representative of the crown in matters concerning Eldraxis."
The duke turned, eyes sharp and assessing.
This was not warmth. This was obligation.
"So," Caelren said, voice even. "You are the girl."
Not monster. Not threat. Just girl.
Sylvara met his gaze without flinching, crimson eyes steady. She could feel Tharion's presence like a distant anchor at her back, Obsidryx's voice a low, patient hum in her thoughts.
Stand as you are.
"I am Sylvara."
A pause.
"You are now under the sponsorship of House Vaust," he said. "Not because I wished for this responsibility but because abandoning a child would stain my name far worse."
Caelren studied her for a moment longer than was polite. Then, almost imperceptibly, something tightened in his jaw.
He already had a child, Sylvara realized suddenly. A son, most likely. Someone groomed for command, for legacy.
And now she was here another responsibility, one he had not asked for.
Varien spoke before the silence could harden.
"By royal discretion, Duke Vaust has agreed to act as your sponsor while arrangements are made. This includes your registration with the Meridian Guild, your enrollment at the academy, and" he paused, "your protection."
Caelren's silver eyes flicked back to Varien.
"I am aware of the terms," he said coolly. "And I will honor them. I do not abandon obligations given by the crown."
He stepped forward then, closing the distance between them. Up close, Sylvara could see faint scars along his hands old ones. Soldier's scars. Not ceremonial.
He reached into his coat and withdrew a brooch.
It was heavy silver, worked into the shape of a white unicorn clad in armor, its horn angled forward as if charging. Cold magic radiated from it, clean and sharp.
"The Vaust sigil," Caelren said, pressing it into Sylvara's palm. "While you wear this, you are under my household's protection. Any who move against you move against me."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"That includes the church."
Sylvara closed her fingers around the brooch. It felt… solid. Anchoring.
"I won't fail," she said quietly.
Caelren studied her again, this time not as a burden, but as a variable.
"We'll see," he replied. "You'll be registered as a Copper-ranked adventurer. Like any other student. Advancement is earned. Power alone is not enough."
Nyx, leaning casually near the doorway, flicked her tail once, golden eyes glinting with approval.
"Shopping tomorrow," Varien added. "Gear. Clothing. Books. She's… starting from nothing."
Caelren exhaled slowly.
"Then we begin properly," he said. "Welcome to Cindralis, Sylvara of Eldraxis."
Outside, steel rang against steel.
Above, the blood moon waited.
Nyx's voice brushed Sylvara's ear, soft as breath.
"You did well."
Sylvara watched the guild courtyard below — humans training, laughing, striving.
Copper rank.
Dungeon heart.
Sponsored by a duke.
Guarded by a shadow.
Her new life had begun.
As Sylvara made her way to the dormitory a smirk played on her lips as she thought of her new dream becoming a recognized dungeon master by these people lawfully. She made her way to her own designated room thankful that Varien gave her a space of her own, a regular sized room with the bare minimum: a bed, a desk with a chair, a dresser and a wardrobe. As she lay down on the unfamiliar soft texture of the bed she sent out a message to her dear guardian back home.
Obsidryx my new journey has begun, watch me start my slow climb towards my new dream.