Stone and wood detonated inward like someone had fired a cannon at point-blank range.
Debris filled the air—chunks of wall the size of a man's head flying like shrapnel.
Ethan threw himself flat.
A piece of stone whistled past where his head had been, close enough that he felt the displaced air.
Yama rolled behind a fallen beam, his silver eyes wide with shock.
Dust choked the corridor, turning the air into a thick, choking haze.
And through the hole in the wall—
Large enough to drive a cart through—
Stepped a figure.
Tall. Perhaps fifty years old. Deep green robes that seemed to absorb the light around them, making the edges of his form blur into shadow. His face was angular, sharp, with high cheekbones and a nose like a blade. His eyes glowed with a faint emerald radiance that cut through the dust like lanterns in fog.
Power radiated from him like heat from a forge.
Not the raw, explosive intensity of the fighting wizards above.
Something more refined. More controlled.
More dangerous.
Like the difference between a wildfire and a surgeon's scalpel.
[ALERT: EXTREME THREAT DETECTED. ENERGY SIGNATURE MAGNITUDE: OFF SCALE. SURVIVAL PROBABILITY IF ENGAGED IN COMBAT: 0.00000003%]
Nori.
Level 3 Wizard.
Ethan recognized him from above—the one in green robes who had been negotiating with Renjo. The one whose Dean wanted the beacon to breakthrough to Level 4.
And now he was here.
In the vault corridor.
Between them and escape.
How did he get down here so fast?
[HYPOTHESIS: SPATIAL MANIPULATION MAGIC. SUBJECT LIKELY TELEPORTED DIRECTLY TO VAULT LOCATION.]
Nori's gaze swept across the scene with the clinical precision of a predator assessing wounded prey.
The destroyed wall, dust still settling.
The three fallen crimson fighters—two dead, one unconscious.
The open vault door, its magical protections spent.
The beacon on its pedestal, glowing softly with that familiar blinking light.
And Ethan and Yama—two sixteen-year-old boys with a crossbow and a sword—standing between him and his objective.
His lips curved into a smile.
Cold. Amused. Utterly confident.
"Children," he said, his voice smooth as silk and just as soft. "How brave. How... foolish."
Ethan's hands tightened on the crossbow.
He was already loaded. Already aimed.
The golden targeting line appeared in his vision—NEXUS providing optimal strike points even as his logical mind screamed that this was suicide.
Throat. Between the eyes. Heart.
Pick one and fire.
Do something.
[ANALYSIS: TARGET POSSESSES ACTIVE MAGICAL BARRIERS. ESTIMATED STRENGTH: CAPABLE OF DEFLECTING ARTILLERY ROUNDS. PROBABILITY OF CROSSBOW BOLT PENETRATING DEFENSES: 0.002%.]
[ADDITIONAL ANALYSIS: EVEN IF BOLT PENETRATES, SUBJECT POSSESSES LEVEL 3 HEALING CAPABILITIES. NON-FATAL WOUNDS WILL REGENERATE IN SECONDS.]
[RECOMMENDATION: RETREAT. IMMEDIATE EVASIVE ACTION. SURVIVAL PRIORITY.]
I can't retreat. The beacon is right there. If I let him take it—
Yama's voice came from beside him, low and tight with fear.
"Ethan. We need to run. Now."
"He'll take the beacon."
"He's going to take it anyway! We can't—"
Nori raised one hand.
Casual. Effortless.
Like swatting a fly.
His fingers flicked forward in a dismissive gesture.
The air itself became solid.
Ethan felt it—a wall of invisible force, harder than steel, moving faster than thought.
It hit him like a giant's palm.
CRACK!
His back slammed into the far wall with bone-rattling force.
All the air left his lungs in a single explosive gasp.
Pain exploded through his ribs—at least two cracking under the impact.
[IMPACT TRAUMA DETECTED. DAMAGE ASSESSMENT: TWO FRACTURED RIBS (LEFT SIDE, 7TH AND 8TH). SEVERE CONTUSIONS ACROSS BACK AND SHOULDERS. MINOR CONCUSSION. ACTIVATING PAIN SUPPRESSION.]
The world spun.
Colors bled together.
He slid down the wall and hit the floor in a heap, his crossbow clattering from nerveless fingers.
Beside him, Yama landed with equal force.
His sword flew from his hand, skittering across the wooden floor to disappear into the dust and debris.
The boy gasped, tried to rise, managed to get to his knees before his strength gave out.
"Stay... down..." Yama wheezed. "He'll... ignore us... if we stay down..."
Ethan tried to push himself up.
His arms trembled.
Gave out.
Get up.
Get UP.
The beacon—
Nori didn't even look back.
He'd already dismissed them as threats.
Swatted aside and forgotten like insects.
He walked toward the vault with measured, unhurried steps.
Each footfall echoed in the damaged corridor.
His green robes swirled around his ankles.
Three steps.
Two steps.
One step.
He crossed the threshold into the small vault room.
His hand reached out toward the pedestal.
Toward the beacon.
No.
No no no—
Ethan's vision blurred.
His ribs screamed.
He tried to crawl forward, to do something—
Too slow.
Too weak.
Too late.
Above deck, Renjo was dying.
Rafel's white flames had finally broken through his weakened defenses, searing across his left arm from shoulder to wrist. The flesh was blackened, blistered, smoking.
Nori's energy tendrils—still controlled even while the wizard himself was below deck—had wrapped around his legs, pulling him off balance, dragging him toward the deck's edge.
The two blue-robed wizards had coordinated a devastating strike—twin beams of crackling energy that converged on Renjo's staff, his focus, his primary weapon.
CRACK!
The ancient wood—carved from a tree that had grown for three hundred years—shattered.
Fragments exploded outward, each piece dissolving into motes of purple light before fading to nothing.
Renjo fell.
Not gracefully.
He collapsed to one knee, his burned arm hanging useless at his side, his legs still tangled in magical bindings.
Blood ran from a cut above his eye.
More blood seeped from his nose.
His robes—once pristine purple and silver—were torn, burned, soaked with crimson.
He was finished.
Everyone knew it.
Rafel descended, landing on the deck with the confidence of inevitable victory.
His white flames danced around his hands, casting harsh shadows across his face.
"It's over, Renjo." His voice held triumph and disdain in equal measure. "Your staff is broken. Your barriers are down. Your apprentice is below deck, unable to help you."
He gestured at the ruined ship around them.
"Where is the artifact? Tell me now, and I'll make your death quick. Refuse..."
The flames intensified.
"...and I'll make it last."
Renjo looked up.
Blood obscured half his vision.
His breathing was labored.
His good hand trembled with exhaustion.
And he laughed.
Not a sound of madness.
Not hysteria.
Genuine, honest amusement.
A laugh of pure relief.
"Heh... hehehe... HAHAHAHA!"
Rafel's expression shifted from triumph to confusion.
"What's so—"
He stopped.
Mid-word.
Mid-breath.
Froze completely.
Below deck, Nori's hand stopped moving.
Inches from the beacon.
His confident smile vanished.
His face went pale.
On the two attacking ships, every fighter, every servant, every apprentice wizard stopped what they were doing.
Weapons lowered.
Spells dissipated.
Even the children on Renjo's ship—those still fighting, still defending—felt it.
A presence.
Not arriving.
Not approaching.
Not teleporting in.
Simply... present.
As if it had always been there, existing in a space adjacent to reality, and they were only now capable of perceiving it.
The air grew heavy.
Not oppressive. Not threatening.
Just... aware.
Like standing in a room and suddenly realizing someone else has been watching you the entire time.
The temperature dropped.
Not dramatically. Just a few degrees.
But everyone felt it.
The warmth leaving the world.
And standing on Renjo's deck—
Where nothing had been a moment before—
Where no spell had flashed, no portal had opened, no dramatic entrance had occurred—
An old man stood.
He was ancient.
Easily ninety years old, perhaps far older.
Time seemed to have carved his face from weathered stone—deep lines radiating from eyes that had seen too much, a strong jaw softened by age, skin like old parchment stretched over sharp bones.
His robes were simple.
Dark gray. Unadorned. No decorations, no symbols of rank, no ostentatious displays of power.
Just plain cloth that hung loosely on a frame that had once been strong but was now reduced by the passage of years.
His hair was white as fresh snow, long and flowing past his shoulders, moving gently in a wind that didn't seem to touch anyone else.
His beard was equally white, neatly trimmed, giving him the appearance of a kindly grandfather.
But his eyes.
His eyes destroyed any illusion of fragility.
They were the pale blue of ancient glaciers.
The blue of the deepest ocean trenches where light never reaches.
The blue of the sky at the edge of space where atmosphere gives way to void.
Cold.
Eternal.
Infinite.
And utterly, completely aware.
[ALERT: UNKNOWN ENTITY DETECTED.]
[ATTEMPTING ENERGY SIGNATURE ANALYSIS...]
[ERROR: MAGNITUDE EXCEEDS SENSOR CAPABILITY.]
[ATTEMPTING THREAT LEVEL ASSESSMENT...]
[ERROR: INSUFFICIENT DATA. UNABLE TO QUANTIFY.]
[RECOMMENDATION: EXTREME CAUTION. SUBJECT EXHIBITS CHARACTERISTICS CONSISTENT WITH POWER LEVELS BEYOND CURRENT ANALYTICAL FRAMEWORK.]
That's the most terrified I've ever heard NEXUS sound.
Below deck, through the hole in the wall, Ethan could see a sliver of the deck above.
Could see the old man standing there.
Could feel the weight of his presence pressing down like atmospheric pressure before a storm.
Nori had turned.
Slowly.
Like a child caught stealing sweets.
For the first time since appearing, the Level 3 Wizard's confident expression cracked.
His face went pale beneath its natural color.
His glowing green eyes dimmed slightly.
His hand—still extended toward the beacon—began to tremble.
"Dean... Victor?"
The words came out barely above a whisper.
The old man—Victor—smiled.
It was a grandfather's smile.
Warm. Gentle. The kind of expression that spoke of fond memories and unconditional affection.
It was also the most terrifying thing Ethan had ever seen.
"Nori," Victor said.
His voice was soft. Quiet, even.
But it carried.
To every corner of all three ships.
Through walls and barriers.
Into the minds of everyone present as clearly as if he'd whispered directly into their ears.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?"
Silence.
Complete. Absolute.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Nori's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"I... Dean Victor, I was merely—"
"Attempting to steal my property," Victor finished for him.
The smile never wavered.
"In broad daylight. From a ship carrying my student. While I was away on Academy business."
He tilted his head, the gesture almost curious.
"You are quite daring, aren't you?"
Nori's face had gone from pale to ashen.
"Dean Victor, I can explain—"
"Can you?" Victor's tone remained pleasant. Conversational. "Please. I'm listening. Explain to me why you're in my student's vault, reaching for an artifact that I claimed weeks ago, surrounded by your faction's fighters and my student's blood."
He waited.
Nori said nothing.
"No? No explanation?" Victor's smile widened fractionally. "How disappointing."
Above deck, Rafel was backing away.
Slowly. Carefully.
His white flames had extinguished.
The two blue-robed wizards had descended to their ship's deck and were very deliberately not making eye contact with anyone.
Victor's gaze swept across them.
Lingered.
"Rafel. Darnok. Myron. Still here?"
The three wizards flinched at the sound of their names.
"I suppose you have similar explanations for your presence? Similar justifications for attacking a ship under my protection?"
None of them spoke.
Victor nodded as if they'd answered.
"I thought not."
He reached into his robe.
His movements were unhurried. Casual.
Like reaching for a handkerchief.
He pulled out a small stone.
Smooth. Gray. Unremarkable.
The size of a thumb.
He held it between thumb and forefinger, examining it as if seeing it for the first time.
"You know," he said conversationally, "when I was your age—and that was a very, very long time ago—we had a saying. 'Touch the bear's cub, lose your hand.' Simple. Direct. Everyone understood it."
He looked at Nori through the hole in the wall.
"But perhaps modern wizards need more... visual instruction."
He threw the stone upward.
Gently.
Almost lazily.
It rose.
Ten meters.
Twenty meters.
Fifty meters.
Rising far higher than any thrown object had a right to travel.
And at the apex of its arc—
It stopped.
Hung suspended in the air for a single heartbeat.
And changed.
The single gray stone split.
Not cracking or breaking.
Dividing.
One became two.
Two became four.
Four points of light now hung in the sky above the three ships.
And the light—
Pure white.
Brighter than the suns.
Brighter than lightning.
Light that hurt to look at directly but was impossible to look away from.
Rafel's eyes widened.
"No—"
The four lights shot downward.
CRACK!
Four beams of white energy lanced from the sky like the wrath of an angry god.
Each one perfectly targeted.
Each one impossibly precise.
No warning. No defense. No chance to dodge or raise barriers.
The first struck Rafel on the deck.
Right through the center of his chest—no, through his hands.
Both hands simultaneously.
Where white flames had danced moments before.
The second struck Nori in the vault corridor.
His hands—reaching for the beacon.
Both palms.
Dead center.
The third and fourth struck the two blue-robed wizards on their ships.
Same targeting.
Same precision.
Hands.
The source of their power.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Four wizards screamed as one.
Rafel's cry was anguish incarnate.
His hands—his beautiful, powerful hands that commanded white flames hot enough to melt stone—turned green.
Not painted green.
Not stained green.
Corrupted green.
Like flesh rotting from within.
Like poison spreading through living tissue.
Like death given color and form.
It started at the impact points.
Small circles of emerald corruption in the center of each palm.
Then it spread.
Crawling across skin like living moss.
Consuming.
Transforming.
Fingers turned green from tip to base.
Palms became entirely emerald.
The corruption crawled up wrists, past the joints, reaching toward forearms.
And stopped.
Precisely at mid-forearm on both arms.
The same happened to Nori.
To Darnok.
To Myron.
Four Level 3 Wizards—among the most powerful magic users in Tera—reduced to screaming, clutching their corrupted hands to their chests, falling to their knees in agony.
Victor's voice cut through their screams.
Still soft.
Still gentle.
"A little punishment is important, don't you think?"
He smiled.
"Hehehe."
Rafel looked up, tears of pain streaming down his face.
"You... you can't... this is—"
"Justified?" Victor supplied. "Proportional? Fair?"
He considered.
"Perhaps not. But when one is as old as I am, one stops caring about fairness. One cares about effectiveness."
He gestured at Rafel's green hands.
"The poison will fade in... oh, three years? Four? I forget. Somewhere in that range."
Nori gasped through his pain.
"Four years?! Dean Victor, please—"
"Of course, that's only if you don't use magic," Victor continued as if Nori hadn't spoken. "Any significant spell-casting will cause the corruption to spread. Past the forearms. Past the elbows. Eventually reaching the heart."
He tilted his head.
"I estimate you have... perhaps twenty moderate-level spells before that happens? Thirty if you're careful. But who's counting?"
The implications were clear.
Four years without casting any serious magic.
For a Level 3 Wizard, that was a career death sentence.
No research. No teaching. No advancement.
No power.
"Consider it a reminder," Victor said. "What is mine stays mine. Touch it again..."
The pleasant smile remained, but his eyes turned colder.
"...and I'll take more than your hands."
Rafel tried to speak.
To argue.
To threaten.
To do something to salvage his dignity.
But one look at Victor's eyes—those ancient, infinite blue eyes—and the words died in his throat.
He bowed his head.
"...Understood, Dean Victor."
Nori, still on his knees in the vault corridor, clutched his green hands to his chest.
His face was pale with pain and fury—but also fear.
Deep, primal fear.
"Yes, Dean Victor. My... my apologies."
"Apologies accepted," Victor said cheerfully. "Now go. All of you. Before I remember other lessons that need teaching."
The retreat was immediate.
Rafel rose shakily to his feet and stumbled toward the edge of Renjo's deck.
He stepped off—and instead of falling, simply flew toward his crimson ship, moving far slower than before, his corrupted hands hanging useless at his sides.
Nori turned and walked back through the hole in the wall he'd created.
Not teleporting.
Walking.
Like a commoner.
His power too compromised to risk even minor magic use.
He climbed through the gap and moved toward the deck above, his green hands trembling.
On the two attacking ships, the retreat was chaos.
Servants and fighters scrambled to withdraw.
Apprentices who had been on Renjo's deck dove overboard, flying back to their own vessels with desperate haste.
Equipment was abandoned.
Wounded were grabbed and hauled away.
Within ninety seconds, every hostile presence had vacated Renjo's ship.
The two attacking vessels began to move.
Not quickly. Not dramatically.
Just... away.
Turning. Accelerating. Putting distance between themselves and Dean Victor as fast as dignity would allow.
No threats issued.
No promises of vengeance.
No parting words at all.
Just silent, complete retreat.
Within five minutes, both ships had vanished over the horizon.
Victor stood on the deck, watching them go with that same pleasant smile.
Then he turned and walked calmly toward the stairs leading below.
His footsteps made no sound.
He descended into the damaged corridor as if taking an evening stroll.
Stepped over the unconscious bodies of the crimson fighters.
Stepped through the gap in the destroyed wall.
Entered the vault corridor.
Ethan and Yama were still slumped against the far wall where Nori had thrown them.
Ethan's ribs screamed with every breath.
Yama was holding his side, his face pale.
Both boys looked up as Victor approached.
Victor paused.
Looked at them.
Really looked at them.
His ancient eyes swept over Ethan—and for just a fraction of a second, something flickered in those glacial depths.
Recognition? Curiosity? Interest?
It was gone before Ethan could identify it.
"Brave children," Victor said softly. "Foolish, but brave."
He gestured at their injuries.
"You'll heal. Youth has that advantage. Rest, and the ship's medical supplies will handle the rest."
Then he continued past them into the vault.
Ethan tried to push himself up.
Failed.
Tried again.
His arms shook with the effort.
Get up.
Do something.
The beacon—
Victor reached the pedestal.
He picked up the beacon with the careful handling of a collector examining a valuable acquisition.
Held it up to the light.
Turned it slowly, examining it from every angle.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "From another world entirely. Carrying energy signatures I've never encountered in four hundred years of study."
Four hundred years.
He's over four hundred years old.
"Different fundamental constants. Different physical laws. Different... everything."
Victor smiled.
"Worth every bit of trouble."
He tucked the beacon into his robes.
It disappeared into an inner pocket as if swallowed by shadow.
Then he turned and walked back out.
Paused beside Ethan.
"You have unusual eyes, boy. Very unusual. We'll discuss that later."
And continued walking.
Ethan's blood ran cold.
He saw something.
The nanobots? The mutation? Something about my origin?
[ALERT: SUBJECT VICTOR EXHIBITED FOCUSED OBSERVATION PATTERN SUGGESTING DETAILED ANALYSIS. POSSIBLE DETECTION OF ANOMALIES IN HOST PHYSIOLOGY. RECOMMEND EXTREME CAUTION IN FUTURE INTERACTIONS.]
Noted.
Victor climbed back to the deck.
Renjo had managed to stand, though he swayed dangerously.
His burned arm hung useless.
His face was gray with pain and blood loss.
But when Victor appeared, he immediately bowed as deeply as his injuries allowed.
"Dean Victor. Thank you. If you hadn't arrived—"
"Save it, Renjo." Victor's voice was kind but firm. "You did well protecting the artifact until I could retrieve it. The ship is damaged but intact. Your students survived."
He glanced around at the destruction.
"That's success enough."
"The artifact is safe now," Victor continued. "I'll take it to the Academy personally. Secure it properly this time."
He looked at Renjo's injuries.
"I'll meet you there. Repair what you can, heal what you must, and bring the children. We have much to discuss regarding this year's Trial candidates."
Renjo bowed lower, wincing. "Yes, Dean Victor. It will be done."
"Good."
Victor's gaze swept across the deck.
Across the exhausted children—many wounded, all traumatized—who were slowly emerging from defensive positions.
Diana still held her blade of light, though it flickered weakly.
The Prince supported younger children.
Glan had collapsed against the mast, his tactical genius finally exhausted.
The Dor assassin girl had vanished into shadows.
Nira was crying in someone's arms.
Victor's expression softened fractionally.
"Brave children," he said again.
Then—
He simply wasn't there anymore.
Not fading.
Not walking away.
Not teleporting with flash or sound.
Just... absent.
As if he'd never existed.
Taking the beacon with him.
For five full seconds, no one moved.
Then—
Renjo collapsed.
His legs simply gave out.
Roma appeared from somewhere, catching him before he hit the deck.
"Get the medical kits! NOW!" she shouted.
Servants scrambled.
Children began to move again, the shock wearing off, the pain and fear rushing back.
Below deck, Ethan pushed himself to his feet.
Every movement was agony.
His ribs grated together—at least one was definitely broken, maybe both.
[CONFIRMED: TWO FRACTURED RIBS. SEVERE SOFT TISSUE DAMAGE. RECOMMEND IMMOBILIZATION AND MEDICAL ATTENTION.]
He ignored the pain.
Ignored NEXUS's recommendations.
Staggered to the vault.
Looked at the empty pedestal.
I was so close.
So close to grabbing it.
To destroying it.
To saving Earth.
And I failed.
His hands clenched into fists so tight his nails drew blood.
The pain in his palms was nothing compared to the crushing weight in his chest.
The beacon is gone.
In the hands of the most powerful wizard on this planet.
A man who's lived for over four hundred years.
Who can appear and disappear at will.
Who can curse four Wizards simultaneously without breaking a sweat.
How am I supposed to get it back from him?