The fortress shook.
It began as a low tremor beneath the stone, subtle enough to pass as mountain wind until the vibration deepened, growing louder, stronger, until dust rained from the rafters above Thalen's bed. He sat up in an instant, half-dressed, blade already in hand.
Outside, a siren wailed low and mournful, not like the usual alert bells. This one was older. Forgotten. A relic for emergencies that hadn't happened in decades.
Thalen yanked his coat on and sprinted into the hall. Other trainees burst from their rooms, confusion etched into every face. Aura flickered like scattered embers down the corridor as initiates scrambled for their weapons.
Iselle appeared at his side, blades already strapped to her back. "You felt that too?"
"Hard not to," Thalen muttered. "What's going on?"
"Emergency alarm," she said grimly. "One of the outer sentry banners was destroyed."
Thalen froze. "You mean the protective sigils?"
Iselle nodded. "One of them shattered. Something got through the boundary."
The fortress had dozens of aura-infused banners that hung in the skies around the mountains each a ward of protection, powered by a combination of magic and aura. These banners repelled minor threats and warned of major ones. For one to be shattered meant something had entered the range of the stronghold with the force of a declared war.
The blade in Thalen's hand hummed faintly, as if even it could sense what approached.
Moments later, a deep voice boomed through the halls. "All initiates, report to the war chamber. Do not delay."
It was Varos.
Thalen and Iselle exchanged a glance before breaking into a run.
The war chamber looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. Dust clung to the edges of the domed ceiling, but the center a massive circular table embedded with moving maps flared with living aura. SSS Hero Varos stood at its head, flanked by two others Thalen had never seen before.
One was a tall woman in deep violet robes, silver veins running up her arms, her hair like starlight caught in water. The other was short, wide-shouldered, clad in crimson armor with a heavy axe strapped to his back. His beard was braided with silver rings, each etched with unfamiliar runes.
"The Blade Sovereign. The Wind Regent. The Ember Fang," Iselle whispered. "Three of the Nine. All in one room."
Thalen felt his heart tighten.
Varos didn't waste words. He gestured toward the map, where one of the protective banners labeled Banner 4E flickered red, its runic energy now a splintered, jagged edge.
"Two hours ago," he began, "Banner 4E was destroyed. Not frayed. Not weakened. Shattered."
A murmur ran through the initiates. Thalen remained silent, gaze fixed.
The woman in violet robes stepped forward. Her voice was serene, but distant. "This is not a creature. The fracture was too exact. Too purposeful. Something intelligent crossed the barrier."
The armored man grunted. "If it's another Shade Prince, I'll break it with my axe."
"It's not," she replied. "We would've sensed the necrotic aura. This is something else."
Varos turned to the trainees. "Listen closely. All training is suspended. You will remain within the central keep. The Tyrant Spirit candidates"
His eyes landed on Thalen.
"are to be watched closely. This event may be connected."
Thalen blinked. "Connected? How?"
"We don't know," the woman said. "But for a Tyrant Spirit to awaken for the first time in two decades, and then this... it's too sudden. Too aligned."
Thalen swallowed hard. Iselle moved closer to him, aura shifting uneasily.
Varos looked around the room. "We're deploying a Vanguard squad to investigate. If it escalates, all of you will be evacuated."
The words chilled the room.
"Evacuated?" someone echoed. "The fortress has stood for centuries"
"And it will continue to stand," Varos snapped. "Because we'll break whatever did this before it reaches the gate."
Hours later, Thalen stood atop one of the watchtowers, wind tugging at his coat. From this height, the mountains stretched into infinity, jagged and silent. But tonight, the silence felt... wrong. As if something old and hateful slithered just beyond the reach of light.
He gripped the railing.
He could feel it again that low hum in his chest. The Tyrant Spirit.
Ever since the awakening, it hadn't spoken, hadn't surged. It simply watched. Waited.
"What do you want from me?" he muttered to the wind.
There was no reply.
But a shadow moved behind him.
He spun, blade drawn only to find Iselle lowering her hands.
"Easy," she said.
"You should know better than to sneak up on someone whose aura's still raw."
"Sorry." She approached the edge beside him, gazing into the dark. "Something's coming, Thalen. And I don't think it's the kind of thing you can just train against."
He nodded. "Then why did it come now?"
"Maybe it's not about now," she said. "Maybe it's about you."
The words struck him.
Ever since the examination, he'd been asking himself the same question. Why him? Of all the candidates stronger, faster, more talented why had the Tyrant Spirit chosen the weakest in his group?
"I don't want to believe I was chosen," he said slowly. "I want to believe I earned it. That all the hours, all the blood meant something."
Iselle tilted her head. "Then prove it. Because I've seen tyrants born of ego. They burn fast. But tyrants born of conviction they endure."
A pause.
"You've still got time to figure out which one you are."
She left before he could reply.
That night, Thalen couldn't sleep.
He stood in the courtyard alone, the simple sword in hand. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, summoning his aura. The Blade Aura shimmered faintly around him blue-silver arcs tracing his limbs like a second skin.
He moved through the drills. Each strike, each parry, an echo of his journey. Of being weaker. Of being left behind.
He would not be left behind again.
As he spun through the final movement, his sword struck the training post with a resounding clang and something shifted.
A pulse erupted from his blade, the silver-blue light deepening into crimson-black. The post split clean down the center.
The aura flared.
And for the first time since the awakening, the Tyrant Spirit whispered.
"You are beginning to understand."
Thalen staggered back, eyes wide. His aura shimmered both types intertwining for a single heartbeat before fading.
He stood alone in the dark, chest heaving.
Something had broken through the border.
The fortress would soon be under siege.
And the Tyrant Spirit was no longer sleeping.
It was watching.