We sent the drivers back.
Not injured. Not threatened. Fed, hydrated, escorted to the edge of the portal and returned exactly where they came from.
"Tell them what you saw," Kazim said before the last portal closed. "All of it."
They didn't look relieved.
They looked shaken.
Back at camp, life continued.
Shelters became homes. Stone and wood replaced tents. People worked together—not because they were ordered to, but because they wanted to. Some trained with Ren and Aira. Some helped the smiths. Some simply rested for the first time in years.
Monisha spent most mornings teaching summoners how to stabilize portals without fear. At night, laughter carried through the camp—quiet, careful, but real.
We were building something.
Far away—
They were preparing to destroy it.
The broadcast reached every academy.
Every screen. Every hall. Every luxury chamber and training ground.
The Director of the Academies stood alone on a raised platform, dressed in white and gold. Calm. Composed. The kind of man who never raised his voice because he never needed to.
Behind him, images played.
Burned corridors.
Shattered walls.
Guards falling.
The Oni—white armor soaked in blood—standing amid bodies.
He waited until the silence became uncomfortable.
"My children," he began, voice smooth and warm, "today I speak not as your teacher—but as your protector."
The images shifted.
Smiling students.
Green fields.
Orderly cities.
Children training.
"For years since, the portal stabilized, the academies have stood as the last wall between humanity and extinction. We took in the gifted, the dangerous, the unpredictable—and we gave them purpose."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"And now, that purpose is under attack."
The footage returned—edited carefully.
Portals opening.
Guards disappearing.
Fire spreading.
The Oni striking first.
"A violent faction," the Director continued, "has chosen to reject harmony. They call themselves liberators."
He paused.
"But look at their methods."
Another clip played—slowed, zoomed. A guard falling. A scream cut short. A body dragged into darkness.
"They slaughter our defenders. They destabilize our food supply. They sabotage peace, then hide behind children and civilians."
A murmur rippled through Academy 1's grand hall.
"They claim to save the weak," he said softly. "Yet everywhere they go, death follows."
His voice rose—not loud, but firm.
"Ask yourselves—if they truly wanted peace, why do they wear masks?"
Oni's face filled the screen.
"Why do they strike from the shadows?"
Another pause.
"Why do they never stay to face the consequences?"
The Director stepped forward.
"These are not heroes."
His voice sharpened.
"They are extremists who believe their suffering justifies everyone else's."
Academy 2's audience nodded. They had never gone hungry. Never been taken. Never been forced.
"This group threatens the balance that keeps our world alive," the Director declared. "If we allow them to continue, there will be no academies. No order. No safety."
He spread his hands.
"Only chaos."
The final images showed rebuilt academy halls. Clean. Bright. Safe.
"We did not start this war," the Director said quietly.
"But we will end it."
The broadcast cut.
In Academy 1 and 2, applause followed.
Not because they hated us.
Because they were afraid.
And fear, when dressed as peace—
Is the most powerful weapon of all.