SOMEWHERE IN THE BARREN LANDS OF MYRHALLIS
The lands of the shattered continent, where life was not welcomed.
But endured.
A place far beyond the beautifully lit towers of Valoria, beyond the clean bridges of Elyndra's noble capitals, beyond the rivers where Aether flowed in visible blue currents, stood a collection of floating islands and crumbled ancient kingdoms, remnants of wars in the form of an archipelago. Myrhallis stretched beneath a dead red sky like a deep wound that never healed. Its ground was cracked with black, brown stone and ash-coloured dust. Its mountains stood like broken teeth, only seen from the horizon. There were violent winds that scraped across the plains in long, empty breaths, carrying sand, heat and the faint taste of rusty old magic.
There were no birds in the sky.
No majestic beasts that roamed openly.
The only thing that remained was the constant, strange movement of Aether.
Never absent.
But always cautious.
It was as if the world itself remembered the tumultuous events that occurred in these lands and did not wish to stir them too deeply.
Beneath one of the ruined black bridges, hidden behind a cliff face that looked no different from the thousand others surrounding it, a chamber waited.
A particular instrument was not carefully carved.
Nor shaped by ordinary spellwork.
The walls were smooth, dark, and slightly reflective. It was shaped from stone that held no visible edges, with seven pillars that stood tall in a wide circle around the centre of the room. Each pillar bore a different mark, though none glowed openly. They weren't there as decorations. They were there as statements.
Sygils that represented the unknown.
A chain.
A veil.
An eye.
A thorn.
A mirror.
A gate.
A crown.
Within this chamber stood six figures, one at each pillar.
The seventh pillar remained empty.
No one sat beneath the crown.
It was clear that no one dared.
At the centre of the room was a shallow circular depression that had been cut and engraved onto the floor. Its shape resembled a broken seal, though no complete pattern could be read on it. Line began, then became fractured, split, and ultimately stopped, as if the design had once been whole, but had been torn apart by history itself.
The six mysterious figures remained still for a long, suspenseful moment.
Then the one beneath the mark of the chain spoke.
"The next mission," said The Chain, "is the Island of Leyre."
His voice sounded like iron being dragged slowly over stone. Fierce and firm.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, but younger than the title he carried, his build solid, his presence sharp rather than heavy with age. A dark mantle hung from his frame, clasped at the throat with a chain insignia, the metal catching only the barest hint of light. His hair flared back in wild, swept spikes of pale red, and a thick beard framed the lower half of his face, giving him a harsher, almost feral edge. The upper half of his face was hidden behind a half-mask of dull steel, worked with the symbol of a chain across its surface, leaving only his mouth and beard exposed. Even without seeing his full expression, there was something severe in the way he stood. When he spoke, the others listened.
Not because they liked him or followed him.
But because he had the kind of presence that made disobedience seem like a heavy task before it was even attempted.
The chamber remained silent.
The Chain raised one of his gloved hands, and a thin strand of Aether blossomed above the broken seal on the floor. It formed a projection, a distant island surrounded by dark, murky water, its shape segregated by mist and storm.
"One of the seven pieces is located there."
The words settled throughout the room.
The Chain's words weren't loud or dramatic.
But every figure in the room changed its posture slightly.
The Mirror leaned back against its pillar.
The Eye tilted their head.
The Thorn smiled.
The Gate did not move.
The Veil remained so still that it was difficult to tell whether they had reacted to the information at all.
The Chain continued.
"The island will soon be used for the first-year midterm examination of Aetherion Academy. Their students will be transported there under faculty supervision. The island's outer protection barriers will be active, but opened in some intervals to allow supervised entry, extraction, and monitoring."
The projection shifted.
Lines appeared over the island. Wards. Routes. Observation points. Professor stations. Hidden ruins.
"The plan is simple. We infiltrate during the exam."
The Mirror scoffed.
"Ha. Simple," he repeated, voice smooth and cold. "A comforting word usually spoken by people who are about to make everything more complicated for those actually doing the task."
The Chain ignored him.
"Hollowspawns will be supplied to cause disruption across the island. Their purpose is not victory. Their purpose is to create noise. They will draw attention, agitate the beasts, scatter the students, and force the faculty to divide their response and create confusion."
His gaze moved across the chamber.
"The Gate will retrieve the piece."
The Gate gave no visible reaction.
He stood beneath the pillar marked by an open doorway, tall enough that the space seemed to narrow around him. He carried a strong build beneath layers of black robes cut in the same clean, formal style as the others, though his were worn more fully closed, with heavier folds and an extra drape of cloth that covered him from throat to shin. His skin was tanned, his frame solid, and his long, dark hair hung straight past his shoulders in a menacing, unbroken fall. Unlike the others, he wore a mask of dark, laced metal, shaped in the same smooth, expressionless style as the one The Chain wore, only it covered his entire face. A deeper, more ominous finish replaces its pale simplicity, and the darkness of it only made him harder to read. Looking at him felt like trying to remember a doorway from a dream: familiar for an instant, then gone the moment you tried to grasp hold of it.
"The Thorn will accompany him."
The mood in the room immediately changed.
It was a small change, but still immediate.
The Mirror's expression twisted with open disgust.
"You've got to be joking."
The Thorn's smile widened.
He stood beneath his pillar with the lazy poise of someone who found other people's fear amusing. Average in height and almost elegant at first glance, he had the kind of lean, wiry build that looked more suited to a performer, until you noticed the hunger in the way he smiled. His hair flared out in wild, theatrical layers, dark at the roots and brightening to vivid green, with streaks of crimson and violet threaded through it, giving him the look of a jester painted by something malicious. His face was worse. Sharp-featured and unnervingly handsome, his face bore two sharp, mismatched, vividly coloured markings beneath the eyes, decorative in the way venomous creatures sometimes are. His golden eyes gleamed with a sick, delighted fascination. Around one wrist, black thorn markings curled like living tattoos, faintly shifting beneath the skin as if something underneath was trying to bloom.
The Mirror pushed himself away from his pillar.
"Are we seriously giving the responsibility of retrieving one of the seven pieces to that psycho?!"
The Thorn placed one hand over his chest and acted as if he were wounded.
"Ooh."
His voice was soft.
Far too soft.
Soft enough to make some of the figures in the room feel sick.
The Mirror pointed towards The Gate without looking away from The Thorn.
"Look, The Gate, I understand. He'll most likely be needed for entry and extraction, but him??" His face tightened. "Why him?! He's an awful choice."
The Thorn sighed with theatrical sadness.
"Now, now," he said dramatically, tilting his head. "Let's be nice, Mirror. I'm all for the cause as much as you are, but even I can't help but be upset if you keep saying harsh things to me."
The Mirror's lips quivered.
"Shut up, you freak."
The Thorn's eyes lit up.
"Oh," he whispered. "How I do wish you'd make me."
The air sharpened in pressure.
A faint light began to crawl from The Mirror's body first. Light blue, cold and clean, flickering outward in thin reflective shards, as if pieces of glass were forming and breaking around him. His Aether did not roar. It shimmered like glowing glass, layered and precise, each pulse containing a dozen warped reflections of his silhouette.
Then, The Thorn answered in kind.
Pink Aether seeped from him like blood through silk.
A vivid, fleshy pink that wrapped around his shoulders and arms in thin thorn-like tendrils. The markings beneath his skin darkened, spreading up his wrist and forearm as he exhaled with visible pleasure.
The chamber groaned.
Dust lifted from the floor.
The Mirror's reflection fractured across the air.
The Thorn took a single step forward.
The Mirror's hand twitched.
Then, The Chain slammed his fist against the table in the middle of the room.
"Enough!"
The word struck like a commandment.
The chamber's pressure buckled.
The projection above the seal flickered violently, then stabilised. The Mirror's light-blue aura shivered and receded by inches. The Thorn's pink tendrils paused in the air, spasming like living things that were denied a meal.
The Chain's voice dropped lower.
"This was The Crown's decision."
Everything stopped.
Those words were enough.
The Mirror's gaze shifted away first in frustration.
The Thorn's smile remained, but the aura around him withdrew, slowly and reluctantly, as if obeying against its nature.
The Gate had not moved.
The Veil had not moved.
The Eye had finally spoken.
"If The Crown has said so," they said, "then so be it."
The Eye stood beneath the pillar marked with an open eye inside a broken ring. Their face was hidden by a smooth black mask with a single vertical slit glowing faint silver. Their voice carried neither fear nor approval. Only assessment.
"However," The Eye continued, "I must ask why, in particular, The Gate and The Thorn were chosen for this mission."
The Chain turned toward them.
"Hm. A fair question."
The Thorn clasped his hands together, smiling brightly.
"Oh, goody! I do enjoy being the topic of discussion."
"No one enjoys discussing you, Thorn," The Mirror muttered.
The Thorn sharply looked toward The Mirror with affection that felt almost rotten.
"Oh, how you wound me again!"
"Not enough, clearly."
The Chain's gaze silenced them both.
"The Thorn has already prepared part of the route for the success of this mission."
The Mirror's expression acuminated as his eyes narrowed.
The Gate remained silent.
The Chain continued. "We have sent someone who has infiltrated Aetherion Academy. A first-year student. He carries a fraction of The Thorn's power."