The disturbance reached the capital at midmorning.
Not as panic, but as an interruption—an abrupt halt in the city's outer watch rotation, followed by a single flare of emergency light from the western district.
Atelion Abdryth Maetyr Aurelion was in the council antechamber when Corven Blackmark arrived, expression stripped of ornament.
"Outer ward breach," Corven said.
"Minor.
But irregular."
Atelion rose at once.
"Source?"
"Unconfirmed.
No monsters recorded in that sector."
That alone was enough.
The western district lay beyond the noble quarter, close to merchant lanes and common housing.
When Atelion arrived, knights had already formed a perimeter.
No screams.
No fire.
Only a collapsed street and a fractured mana signature lingering in the air.
Elyndor Vaelis knelt near the epicenter, fingers hovering just above the stone.
"This was not a spell cast outward," he said.
"It was… triggered."
Atelion looked at the broken ground.
A hidden structure.
Old.
Buried deliberately.
"A dormant gate?" Rhydan Stormvale asked.
Elyndor shook his head.
"No.
A pressure seal.
Something was meant to remain closed."
As if summoned by the words, the ground shifted.
Stone split.
And something crawled out.
It was not large.
Not dramatic.
A twisted thing of bone and shadow, its form incomplete, as though reality itself rejected it.
No roar followed. No grand emergence.
Just hunger.
Knights moved instantly.
Aura flared—three stars, four, five.
Steel struck.
The creature did not die.
It adapted.
Its shadow thickened where blades passed through.
One knight was thrown back, armor dented inward.
Another screamed as cold burned through his arm.
Atelion stepped forward before orders were given.
Rhydan's voice snapped.
"Prince—"
"I will not overreach," Atelion said calmly.
He drew his sword.
No aura flare.
No mana surge.
He moved between strikes, precise, controlled, observing.
The creature reacted to pressure, not force.
Its core—if it had one—shifted location with every impact.
Pattern.
Atelion adjusted.
On the next exchange, he reinforced his blade with a whisper of aura, barely enough to matter.
The strike landed not where the creature was—but where it would be.
The shadow split.
The thing collapsed into ash without sound.
Silence followed.
No cheer came.
Only breathing.
Elyndor looked at Atelion sharply.
"You did not draw mana."
"No," Atelion said.
"It wasn't required."
Rhydan studied the ground.
"That thing does not belong near a capital."
"No," Atelion agreed.
"Which means it wasn't meant to be seen."
Someone, somewhere, had tested the city.
Not to conquer.
To measure.
That night, far from Aurelion, Morvessa Noctyra traced a sigil in the air and watched it fade.
"A response," she murmured.
"Quicker than expected."
Behind her, shadows shifted—listeners without faces.
"The prince?" one asked.
Morvessa smiled faintly.
"Not yet."
Princess Eniola heard of the incident hours later.
No details.
No names.
Only that the city had been tested—and survived.
She stood at the window, gold eyes reflecting torchlight, and for the first time since arriving in Aurelion, she felt something unfamiliar stir.
Not hope.
Curiosity.
Above, unseen and unrecorded, the first move had been made.
And Atelion Abdryth Maetyr Aurelion understood the truth with quiet certainty:
The story he remembered was already unraveling.