"They said they were Heralds of the First Crown," the guard repeated, still pale.
Alaric didn't move. He just stared at the cracked mirror above the gate. It was still pulsing faintly—like the air itself hadn't decided whether to calm down or break further.
Kaelion turned sharply. "You're sure they said First Crown?"
"They said it more than once."
"How many of them?"
"Four. Maybe five. They walked right through the wards. No resistance. The Academy didn't even sound an alarm."
Alaric looked at Kaelion. "That shouldn't be possible."
"No, it shouldn't," Kaelion muttered. "The east tower's locked behind two royal-class enchantments and a spell circle that can melt bone."
Seraphine folded her arms. "Unless someone let them in."
Alaric nodded slowly. "Or unless the wards recognized them."
The silence that followed was long.
Finally, Kaelion sighed. "Alright. I'll say it. We're not dealing with rogue cultists. We're dealing with people who have access to imperial security."
