Virelle glanced toward a device placed on the wall, which helped to predict the time.
"We should head back before Jorran returns looking for us," she said firmly. "The magic academy recruitment is just five days away. After breakfast and your chores tomorrow, we'll come back here to train."
Kael nodded, still absorbing the reality-shifting magic he'd witnessed. His mind raced, but he kept quiet as Virelle carefully gathered a handful of smooth, symbol-etched stones — the rune stones.
She spread the stones in what seemed like a haphazard scattering across the ground, but her voice cut through the silence:
"Each stone goes to a node point—places where the space formation's power is anchored. These stones vibrate in opposition to the ones already holding the formation in place. That's what makes the shift possible."
Kael watched, fascinated, as the glowing nodes pulsed in counter rhythm. The shimmering space began to warp again, twisting and folding as if the world itself was a living fabric.
When they finally stepped out of the formation, Virelle crushed the scattered rune stones beneath her foot.
"If I didn't destroy these," she explained, "the reality inside the formation wouldn't stay hidden. Someone could detect it."
Kael's eyes followed every move, every word, his mind piecing together the impossible. The idea that reality could be bent and concealed by something as delicate as carved stones was staggering.
As they walked the familiar path back to the house, Kael's curiosity broke through the quiet.
"Virelle," he began hesitantly, "can you really teach me to control the world-breaking magic?"
Her smile was small, tight. The uncertainty in her eyes betrayed the hope she tried to project.
"It's... difficult. That magic isn't like any other — it's volatile, destructive by nature. Control is a heavy burden."
She hesitated, choosing her words with care.
"Honestly, I don't know if it's possible to fully control it. My goal is to help you suppress it enough that it won't tear you apart or put others in danger."
Kael's jaw clenched. The weight of that admission pressed down on him, yet it also lit a stubborn fire in his chest. Suppression wasn't enough — not for him. But he didn't say this aloud yet.
Virelle's voice softened, almost a whisper.
"Controlling the world-breaking magic... that's wishful thinking. But we'll try."
The silence between them wasn't empty. It was filled with the unspoken battle ahead — a battle of wills, power, and survival.
---
As Kael and Virelle drew near the house, they spotted two figures moving cautiously around the yard—searching, almost furtively. The man's brisk gait and the young woman's careful glances quickly registered: Jorran and Saria.
Before they could say a word, Jorran's eyes locked onto them. His face hardened, and without hesitation, he stormed forward, voice sharp and demanding:
"Why are you out here? I told you to stay inside! What were you thinking?"
Virelle and Kael remained silent, absorbing the barrage of questions, letting the storm rage while they held their ground.
Saria, by contrast, watched Kael with a worried but quieter expression. Her gaze softened as she noticed a subtle smile on his face—a small beacon of reassurance. Relief flickered across her features.
Virelle stepped forward, her voice calm but firm:
"We only went to check on the crops at the farm. Nothing more."
To Kael, it was almost astonishing how effortlessly Virelle's steady, unassuming nature defused Jorran's anger. Years of careful acting had forged a mask so convincing that even Jorran's suspicion faltered.
Jorran harrumphed, shooting a sharp glance at Kael, muttered something under his breath that was half annoyance, half resignation, and turned back toward the house without another word.
Saria moved closer to Kael, her voice gentle yet filled with concern:
"Are you alright?"
Kael nodded, returning the concern:
"And you?"
She smiled faintly, answering Virelle instead as she reported quietly:
"The village's situation has mostly settled. Sir Walter Grefen called a mandatory meeting at the village square—midday today. Everyone has to attend."
Kael noticed the unmistakable tone of respect and even awe in Saria's voice when she spoke to Virelle, a reminder of the silent power she wielded beneath her humble guise.
As they turned to head inside, Saria's face brightened slightly as she filled Kael in on more pressing news:
"Tilly and his gang were found by the village militia. They're at the clinic now. Their condition is unknown, but it seems serious."
Kael's chest tightened with a mix of satisfaction and a deeper, lingering unease. The danger was contained for now, but the shadow of what had happened—and what was coming—loomed large.
---
The heavy clang of the summoning bell echoed across Thormans Village like a silent order, its grim tone dragging villagers from their homes and fields. The sun stood lazily overhead, casting stretched shadows across the square as people poured in, murmuring like a restless tide. Tension hung in the air — not only from the official summons but from the lingering dread of the morning's strange events.
A crude platform stood at the center of the square — cobbled together from aged planks and secured with rope and nails. Its surface groaned under the boots of guards who climbed to check its stability, while villagers formed a loose semicircle around it. Among them were whispers: "Is it about the golem?" "Maybe a new tax?" "Do you think they'll mention the mysterious spell?"
Behind the platform, five chairs were set — two slightly more ornate for the knights. Sir Raleigh sat with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd with a mixture of calculation and unease. Beside him, Sir Walter Grefen wore the rigid stoicism expected of a local leader. The other three chairs were filled by town scribes — bureaucrats from Thornmere with ink-stained fingers and sour expressions, representatives of the law, but rarely of justice.
From the east side of the square, Kael arrived with Jorran, Virelle, and Saria. As usual, Jorran's grip on Kael's upper arm was rough, almost possessive. With a grunt and no explanation, he pulled Kael away from Virelle and Saria.
"Come, boy. You'll stand with the militia," Jorran growled, as though dragging a son to the slaughter.
Kael tensed, instinctively resisting the pull, until his eyes caught Virelle's calm smile. She gave him a small nod, filled with silent encouragement — or warning. Kael sighed inwardly, releasing his fist and allowing Jorran to pull him toward the cluster of the so-called militia. They stood near the front, a ragtag bunch of older teens and weary men gripping rusted spears and wooden shields as though rehearsing for a play they barely understood.
Behind them, Saria stood beside Virelle, her hands folded before her chest as her brows furrowed in annoyance.
She hated that man — Kael's stepfather. There was something animalistic about the way he treated Kael, like a beast dragging a cub into the wild. Saria didn't say anything, but her fingers clenched tighter. Ever since Virelle had told her the truth — of Kael's fallen nobility, his stolen birthright, and the weight of his bloodline — she had begun to see him in a different light.
But it wasn't just admiration. It was fascination. A quiet thrill that made her breath hitch when she glanced at him. He was always different — serious, sharp-eyed, withdrawn — but now it all made sense. That quiet, brooding aura wasn't aloofness. It was control. Suppression. Power held back.
The truth stirred something deep in her — wonder, perhaps. Or something dangerously close to longing.
As Kael stood at the edge of the militia group, his posture slouched in defiance, he briefly turned and met her gaze. For the briefest moment, his eyes softened. Saria blinked — startled by the warmth beneath his stoic expression. Then he turned away, back to the square, just as Sir Raleigh rose from his chair and stepped forward onto the platform.
The murmurs died into a hush.
Sir Raleigh looked down upon the crowd, his expression grim and his voice steady.
"People of Thormans. I stand here today, not to issue threats, but to give order — and perhaps, understanding — after what transpired this morning…"
Kael's fists tightened at his sides.
He didn't care about the speech. Or the militia. Or the damned rules.
His thoughts were elsewhere — in the void-space where swords waited in endless rows, in the glint of Virelle's eyes as she trained him, in the pulse of something ancient sleeping in his blood.