The door to the lounge creaked open once more as Caspian stepped in, his expression already weary, as if he'd sensed the trouble the moment the General's boots hit the island.
Albus didn't even turn around. "Pack your kit, Caspian. You're coming too."
Caspian opened his mouth to protest, his hand instinctively going to the bridge of his nose, but Henry beat him to the punch.
"Oh, don't even try it," Henry said, a sharp, mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "We need someone to do the actual paperwork while I'm busy defying existence. Besides, the 'Two Shadows' of Mnemos aren't much of a duo if one of them is back here grading midterms."
Caspian let out a long, defeated sigh that seemed to deflate his shoulders. "Fine. If only to make sure you don't burn the continent down just to stay warm. I'll help."
The group—the three wide-eyed students and the four veterans—navigated the darkened paths of the Academy. Above them, the Aegis Barrier pulsed with a frantic, rhythmic light, signaling that the outside world was already beginning to scream.
They reached the Grand Archway at the edge of the cliffs. Morgana stepped forward, her hands weaving a complex sequence of Ichor-threads that bled gold into the stone. The air between the pillars didn't just shimmer; it tore open, revealing a swirling vortex of white noise and starlight.
Albus stopped at the threshold, his massive frame silhouetted against the blinding light of the portal. He looked back at Serena, Claire, and Wanda, his expression as hard as granite.
"Listen closely," the General rumbled. "From the second you step through this fold, your lives as students are over. Everything you see, hear, or breathe from this point on is Level Red Classified. If you speak of it to anyone outside this circle, the High Council won't just expel you—they will erase you. Do you understand?"
The girls shared a look of sudden, sharp terror, but they nodded in unison. One by one, they stepped into the white.
"This is the organization that works directly under the High Council," Albus continued, his voice echoing in the vast plaza. "This is where the real wars are fought—the ones the history books aren't allowed to print. If you wanted to see where the world is saved, you're standing on its doorstep."
Henry stared at the spire, a look of profound distaste on his face. "Still smells like bad decisions," he muttered.
The atmosphere inside G.U.A.R.D.I.A.N.S. headquarters was a stark contrast to the quiet halls of the Academy. Here, the air thrummed with the mechanical whir of magi-tech and the synchronized boots of soldiers who looked like they were carved from granite.
As they bypassed a high-security checkpoint, Morgana slowed her pace, falling in line beside Henry. Her usual playful mask slipped for a moment, replaced by a soft, heavy regret.
"I'm sorry, Henry," she said, her voice barely audible over the bustle. "I'm sorry for dragging you back into this hallway. I know what this place costs you."
Henry let out a short, dry chuckle, not looking at her. "It's alright, Morgana. We both knew this day had a reservation. Don't go beating yourself up over the inevitable."
Morgana sighed, her shoulders slumping. "If I wasn't so tied up in the politics of the High Council, I could have shielded you. I could have done more."
Henry finally glanced at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're seven hundred years old and you literally built the Council from the dirt up. Don't start playing the 'helpless politician' card now."
Morgana's expression shifted instantly from guilt to a sharp, mock-outraged frown. She delivered a lightning-fast, albeit gentle, punch to his ribs. "How many times have I told you? We do not discuss the actual numbers of my age in public!"
"Right, right," Henry muttered, rubbing his side. "secret. Got it."
They reached a set of massive, reinforced blast doors that hissed open to reveal the Command Situation Room. In the center of a holographic display stood a woman who seemed to command the very air around her.
She was striking—a defined jawline and high cheekbones that gave her the look of an apex predator. Her piercing hazel eyes were framed by wavy brunette hair streaked with honey-blonde highlights, and her posture was as sharp as a glass shard.
Caspian took one look at her and winced. "Oh, boy. This is going to be spectacular."
The woman turned, her eyes sweeping over the group until they landed on the General. "What did you do, grandpa?" she demanded, her voice like cold silk. "I told you clearly bring Caspian. Why is he standing in my room?"
Albus offered a calm, grandfatherly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now, sweetheart, don't be like that. You know as well as I do that he's one of the best."
She ignored her grandfather and marched straight toward Henry. The three girls—Serena, Claire, and Wanda—shrank back, feeling the sudden spike of tension in the room.
"Hey there, Hayley," Henry said, his tone expertly neutral. "Long time no see."
"That's it?" she snapped, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and something that looked dangerously like hurt. "Two years of silence, and 'Long time no see' is all you have to say to your fiancée?"
Henry let out a slow, tired breath. "I believe 'Ex-fiancée' is the technically accurate term, Hayley. Let's keep this civil."
Hayley's jaw tightened. She turned her venomous gaze toward Morgana, who was watching the exchange with an amused, hand-over-mouth smile.
"And Grandpa," Hayley added, her voice dripping with disdain, "why is this old hag still hanging around?"
Morgana didn't miss a beat. Her smile widened, radiating a terrifyingly polite aura. "Oh, my. Aren't you just the sweetest little rude mongrel? I see the breakup hasn't done anything for your manners, dear."
Albus cleared his throat, a sound like grinding stones that finally cut through the bickering. "As much as I enjoy this reunion, we have a Serial Summoning to deal with. Hayley, tell them what came through the summoning."
Hayley's professional mask remained intact, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as she tapped the holographic table. The lights dimmed, and a massive, flickering projection of Dredge City materialized in the center of the room.
The sight was sickening. What was once a thriving industrial hub was now choked by a nightmare. Thick, pulsating red vines—resembling a network of exposed veins—crawled over the skyscrapers and bridged the gaps between shattered houses. A faint, crimson mist hung over the streets like a toxic veil.
"The summoning was successful," Hayley began, her voice clinical and cold. "Two entities were manifested. The first is code-named Viroth. Her power signature fluctuates, but our analysts have pegged her as an Anomaly-rank threat."
She paused, flicking a hand to zoom in on a shadowy, towering figure at the city center. "The second entity is... a mystery. It stays in her shadow. We can't gauge its rank, and we can't even get a clear image. It's as if the light itself refuses to touch it."
Hayley pulled up a microscopic view of a jagged, crystalline spore.
"When Viroth landed, she didn't just attack; she breathed. She released a high-density viral spore cloud that has already blanketed ninety percent of Dredge City. This isn't just a sickness—it's a psychic tether. The citizens are still alive, their hearts are still beating, but their minds belong to her. They are a living, breathing extension of her will."
Henry let out a short, dark chuckle. "Fantastic. So you're telling me a zombie apocalypse is finally nigh upon us? I didn't have that on my retirement bingo card."
Hayley's eyes flashed with annoyance. "They aren't zombies, Henry. They are hostages. And that is exactly why you and Caspian are standing here."
"Why us?" Caspian asked, leaning forward. "We're Stage Ⅳ. If this thing is an Anomaly rank, it'll peel us like grapes."
"Because you're 'weak' enough to be invisible," Hayley countered. "Viroth has a Hair-Trigger Response. If she senses a Stage six or higher entering her domain, she will perceive it as a threat and instantly kill every infected citizen in the city. She'll detonate the virus in their blood. We'd be the ones who triggered a genocide."
Hayley brought up a final image—a massive, shimmering Red Dome of energy that completely encased the heart of the city.
"You don't have to defeat her," Hayley explained, her gaze softening just a fraction as she looked at Henry. "Technically, you just have to get close enough to inject her with this. It's a chemical and magic-based disruptor we've called The Purge. Once the link is severed and the hostages are safe, we'll move in the Stage Ⅶ Ascenders to finish the job."
Caspian rubbed his jaw. "So, we walk into a city of mind-controlled puppets, dodge an invisible monster, and stab a goddess with a needle? Sounds like a Tuesday."
Henry stared at the red vines in the hologram, the starlit void in his eyes churning. He knew the math. Stage Ⅳ was the sweet spot—strong enough to survive this, but small enough that Viroth wouldn't notice them until the needle hit her skin.
"And what happens if that 'Unknown' second entity sees us?" Henry asked quietly.
Hayley didn't answer immediately. She just looked at him, the silence in the room stretching until it became uncomfortable. "Then you pray that your 'Ex-fiancée' is fast enough to get the extraction team to you before it decides what you taste like."