Six weeks. That's how long peace lasted.
The first sign was Rhea again. Cocky kid sparring partner mid-morning. Her Void sparked wrong—a sudden ripple froze her opponent's blade mid-swing. Metal rusted instantly and flaked to powder. Partner collapsed, coughing black flecks, meridians shredded.
Liriel dropped everything and sprinted across the yard. Pushed Void steadily into him, reversing damage thread by thread. Felt it though—the ambient Void thicker now, like breathing soup instead of air. Unstable.
The kid lived but shook badly. "Didn't mean to—it just grabbed me—"
"I know," Liriel said gently, helping him sit. "Happens when the world's full of it. We'll adjust training."
That night, three more cases. The girl warped space under her feet and blinked ten feet into a solid cliff wall. Cracked ribs, screaming. Two boys dueling—both pulled Void instinct and tore each other's cores half-open. Blood everywhere.
Kael found her in the healing ward past midnight, charts scattered. Eyes ringed black from no sleep. "We need structure," he said, handing tea. "No more freeform. Pair mandatory. No solo work till cores stabilize."
She nodded, throat tight. "Start tomorrow. But Kael... the seal's leaking faster."
Reports piled daily. Outer sects are panicking—cultivators are going feral, calling themselves "Void saints," and promising transcendence. One valley was wiped clean overnight; every tree, animal, and human aged to dust. No survivors.
The wedding high faded fast. Disciples whispered at meals. Elders called emergency meetings. "Close the mountain," one growled. "No more Void teaching till contained."
Liriel shut that down hard. "Hide it and it festers. Teach control, we survive."
But doubt crept in. Her own Void hummed restlessly, reacting to ambient soup. Dreams turned sharp—Kessian's face laughing, the seal cracking wider.
A week later, market day blew up. The sect market is buzzing—disciples trading herbs, weapons, and gossip. Then scream and cut the air.
Rhea again. Standing center square, Void erupting uncontrolled. Ripple hit fifty feet—stalls crumbled to dust, traders withered to husks. Ten dead before Liriel reached the containing blast.
Rhea dropped, sobbing. "Tried to levitate the cart—it just took everything—"
Liriel held her while she shook. Damage done, though. Disciples split—half blaming Void lessons, half blaming weak wills. Fights broke out in barracks.
That night, twenty walked. Took oaths to reject Void forever, packed bags under moonlight. Liriel watched from the tower, chest aching.
Kael wrapped arms around. "We failed them."
"No," he said fiercely. "We're learning at the same time. Keep teaching."
But root doubt grew. What if Kessian is right? What if Void is too wild for humans?
Seraph stormed in the next dawn, face thunderous. "Crimson Flame scouts at the border. Armed heavy. Want words."
Liriel straightened. Party over. War is knocking.
Training shifted hard. Mandatory pairs only. Void-dampening weaves before every session. Casual use banned. Disciples grumbled but obeyed—fear was bigger than pride now.
Still, accidents happened. Boy warped training dummy into glass statue—beautiful, deadly. Still, the girl aged her own hair white overnight. Small terrors adding up.
Kael caught Liriel practicing alone one night, Void coiling fingers. "Hey."
She startled, and the girl startled and dispersed it. "Can't sleep. Feels like swimming upstream."
He pulled close. "We're upstream together."
Their cores hummed steadily. steadily. Anchor in a storm. a storm.
But a storm is building. Southern sects massing delegates. Northern rumors: Kessian sighted, teaching ferals. Ambient Void thickening daily.
Moonveil cracking—not stone, but people. Liriel felt every stare, every whisper. Queen of mercy turning jailer with rules.
She gripped the dagger above the door. Reminder: sharpening to warning.