I always knew something was off about the guy in charge. Maybe it was the way everyone spoke of him like he was a divine algorithm, or the fact that no one had actually seen him in years. Maybe it was the way the central tower pulsed like a slow heartbeat every time you said his name.
Or maybe I just have good instincts for evil administrators. I went to public school.
We were summoned at dawn.
An enchanted scroll appeared mid-toast, nearly giving me a heart attack. It unfurled, glittered with gold script, and politely informed us that Director Halos Drenn was ready to "receive" us.
The word receive made it sound like we were diplomatic dignitaries. Or possibly sacrifices.
Velis looked... unreadable. That wasn't new. But this time her shoulders were tenser, and her staff hummed with something more than ambient smugness.
"I didn't think he actually existed," she said flatly.
Iria, already armored, adjusted her cape with solemn pride. "If the divine calls us to face kings or liches, we will not falter."
"Please stop saying that word so casually."
We were escorted up the central spire by a pair of silent automatons—statues made of porcelain and gold, gliding without sound. The higher we went, the colder the air got. The tower didn't just overlook Velvenhold—it watched it, like a lighthouse built for observing mistakes.
At the summit, we passed through a series of shimmering archways, each more ornate than the last. Glyphs whispered around us in tongues I couldn't translate.
And then we reached the chamber.
It was... pristine.
Too pristine.
A white-marble dome with no dust, no warmth, and no soul. The floor glowed faintly with active spellwork. Every tile was etched with formulas. The walls were lined with illusionary windows displaying pleasant skies that probably didn't exist.
And in the center of it all, seated upon a chair made of hovering rings of stone and light, was Director Halos Drenn.
He looked... normal. Middle-aged. Silver-streaked hair. Sharp features. Calm eyes that glowed faintly—not with menace, but with precision. His robes were layered in rich sapphire and gold thread, not flamboyant but undeniably expensive.
He did not rise.
He did not blink.
"Ah," he said, voice smooth, measured, and perfectly indifferent. "The anomaly. The knight. The researcher."
I opened my mouth.
He raised a hand. "Allow me."
"You have no doubt noticed the instability across our systems. Floating objects, spell misfires, ritual bleed. These are unfortunate, but expected. They are not flaws—they are symptoms."
He rose, slowly, and began to pace across the floor. Glyphs lit beneath his feet like obedient fireflies.
"This city was built atop a trifold leyline convergence. A source of extraordinary potential. However... the foundational matrix employed during the city's rise was constructed using pre-standardized aetheric bindings—what most of you would call ancient magic."
He smiled faintly. I hated it already.
"In short, the city's core systems were built with unstable, outdated spells. Impressive at the time. Impractical now."
Velis shifted beside me. Her staff twitched.
"And so," Drenn continued, "we must evolve. Rewrite. Resequence the magic that sustains Velvenhold."
I crossed my arms. "And that's where I come in, right?"
Drenn turned his head. "Correct. Your aura is anomalous. Interfering. Yet... harmonically disruptive to old magic. A paradox—uniquely suited to break flawed threads so that we may reweave the pattern."
I frowned. "You want me to disrupt the old magic—so you can 'fix' it."
"Yes," he said simply. "You would be... integrated into the core during this process. Not permanently conscious, of course. But your signature would anchor the rewrite."
"So I die."
"You are... reassigned."
"Funny," Velis said, voice razor-sharp, "you never mentioned the rewrite would kill him in your last public report."
Drenn tilted his head. "The general public does not need the full equation. They trust us to solve it."
"That's not solving," she said. "That's erasure."
He looked at her, longer this time. "You always did struggle with the cost of innovation."
"You always enjoyed hiding it."
I stepped forward. "You're lying about the cause. We've seen the glyphs. They aren't old. They're spliced in. Deliberately."
"An observation."
"More like a damn fact. Someone's hijacked the leyline systems. Rewiring things beneath the city. We saw your signature embedded in the feedback loops."
Silence.
Then Drenn smiled again. It didn't reach his eyes.
"You've been clever," he said.
Iria's hand went to her sword.
Velis lowered her staff.
And Drenn... sighed.
"I built this city," he said quietly. "Not in stone, but in soul. In persistence. I am the rewrite."
He raised his arms.
The illusions on the walls shattered.
The runes in the floor surged.
And his form... changed.
The glamour peeled back like silk burned by lightning. His flesh faded, replaced with golden bone, etched with moving runes. His robes fluttered around a frame too skeletal to stand—but he did.
His eyes weren't eyes anymore. They were spinning rings of runes and light, orbiting black pits of logic and absence.
His voice didn't grow louder. Just heavier.
"I did not refuse death. I refined it. I removed expiration from the formula. You call it a lich. I call it optimization."
Iria stepped forward. "You desecrate what was sacred. You rule through deception."
Drenn regarded her like a bug on a chalkboard.
"I am no tyrant," he said. "I maintained order. I gave this city peace. Power. Legacy. All I ask... is one anomaly."
"You're not getting him," Velis said.
Drenn turned to her.
"I taught you," he said. "I saw your potential. You could have led this place."
"I could have," she said, "if I hadn't found out my mentor was a corpse running the reactor like a personal immortality charger."
Drenn made a small motion with one hand. The room shifted.
The walls flickered. The air buzzed. The floor began to tremble.
"Then I will take the anomaly myself."
The glyphs around the chamber exploded in light.
I felt the artifact on my hip scream—a rising whine in the bones of my skull.
A pulse shot through the tower—down into the city below.
Somewhere, I knew, a stabilizer rune failed.
A walkway collapsed.
A fountain froze mid-spray.
And the reactor—the glowing core beneath the city—began to destabilize.
The spire shuddered.
Drenn vanished in a swirl of runes, retreating down into the tower depths.
We stood in the ruins of the chamber, surrounded by fractured magic.
The city hummed beneath us.
Velis looked at me, pale but composed.
"He's fused to the reactor," she said. "That's why he can't be destroyed. He is Velvenhold."
Iria raised her sword. "Then we sever the soul from the city."
I looked at them both.
Then at my bracelet, which was starting to melt.
Then at the window, where the sky had begun turning red.
"You know what?" I muttered. "I really miss goblins."