Ashes to Empires

The Circle's Echo

The buried city beneath Blackstone Academy thrummed with a restless energy, its black-gold runes pulsing like veins under strain. The eighth Pillar's awakening had fractured the Final Veil further, sending tremors through the ley-lines that echoed beyond the academy's borders.

Mark Wilde stood in a new chamber, a forgotten archive deep beneath the western quad, its walls lined with shelves of crumbling grimoires and fading runes. The air was heavy with mana, thick with the weight of secrets stirring from centuries of silence.

His allies—Elira, Vrix, Silas, and Lysa—stood nearby, their faces lit by the faint glow of a crystal orb Lysa had found in the archive, its surface etched with a map of the remaining Pillars.

Lysa held the orb carefully, her journal tucked under her arm. "The Last Circle," she said, her voice steady despite the tension in her eyes. "The journal mentions them as the Accord's first enforcers, mages who bound their souls to the Veil's creation. They're not just guardians—they're its architects. If they're waking, it's because the Veil's on the verge of collapse."

Mark's gaze fixed on the orb, its map showing the ninth Pillar's location—a sunken crypt beneath the Azure Lake, a shimmering body of water at the academy's edge. The Forbidden Tier magic coiled beneath his skin, sharp and cold, urging him forward. "Then we hit the crypt," he said. "The ninth Pillar's our next step. If the Last Circle's moving, we need to move faster."

Elira leaned on her staff, her wards casting a soft glow across the archive's dust-covered shelves. "The Azure Lake's not just a pretty view. It's a mana nexus, layered with wards older than the academy. The Last Circle won't be like the First Sin—they're not a single entity. They're a collective, and they'll fight like one."

Silas, inspecting a grimoire with a skeptical frown, tossed it aside. "A collective of ancient soul-bound mages? Great. Just what we needed. My Rune breakers are stretched thin after the Spire assault, Wilde. We've got numbers, but the Accord's got power. What's the play?"

Vrix's stone-like skin glinted as she leaned against a shelf, her fingers tracing a glyph in the air. "The Archives mention the Azure Lake's crypt as a prison, not a vault. The ninth Pillar's sealed inside, but so's something else—something the Last Circle bound when they forged the Veil. If we go in, we're not just fighting wards. We're fighting history."

Mark's mind raced, weaving together fragments of his past life as Maximilian Wilde—strategies that toppled empires, risks calculated to the last detail—and the instincts of this new body, now a conduit for the Crownless legacy. The Last Circle wasn't just a threat; they were the architects of the world he was dismantling. "Lysa," he said, turning to the girl. "Does the journal say how to face the Last Circle?"

Lysa set the orb down, flipping through her journal to a page of spiraling runes, their edges sharp like shattered glass. "It's not direct," she said. "But there's a passage: 'The Last Circle guards the Veil's origin, their will woven into its threads. The Crownless must face them with unity, for their strength is in division.'"

Elira's wards flickered. "Unity? That's vague. The crypt's underwater, Mark. We'll need to bypass the lake's wards, navigate a submerged maze, and face a collective of ancient mages who built the Accord's power. We're good, but we're not that good."

Mark's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "We don't need to be better than them. We need to be smarter. Vrix, can your glyphs disrupt the lake's mana nexus? Weaken its wards without triggering a full lockdown. Silas, your Runebreakers can stage a feint at the eastern gate—draw the enforcers away. Elira, Lysa, you're with me. We'll dive into the crypt and awaken the ninth Pillar."

Vrix nodded, her fingers sketching a complex glyph that shimmered faintly. "I can destabilize the nexus, but it'll ripple across the campus. The Accord will notice. You'll have a tight window—maybe thirty minutes."

Silas twirled his cane, his grin returning. "Thirty minutes to storm an underwater crypt? I like a challenge. My team'll make the eastern gate look like a warzone."

"That's enough," Mark said. His eyes glowed faintly, the Forbidden Tier magic stirring. "Let's tear their history apart."

The Azure Lake shimmered under the storm-torn sky, its surface reflecting the violet-black rain in fractured patterns. Mana lightning crackled, illuminating the campus in eerie flashes. Vrix's glyphs had struck the lake's nexus, sending faint tremors through the water, weakening the wards without fully alerting the Accord.

Silas's Rune breakers had turned the eastern gate into chaos, their illusions conjuring spectral beasts and collapsing spires, drawing enforcers and drones away from the lake.

Mark, Elira, and Lysa stood at the lake's edge, clad in mana-woven suits Vrix had crafted to withstand the pressure and cold. The water glowed faintly, its depths hiding the sunken crypt. "This feels like a bad idea," Elira muttered, her staff pulsing with protective runes. "The lake's alive with mana. One wrong move, and we're done."

Mark's hand hovered near the spiral glyph on his wrist, the Forbidden Tier magic thrumming in sync with the city's pulse. "Then we don't make mistakes," he said. "Lysa, guide us."

Lysa clutched her journal, its runes glowing faintly blue as she whispered a counterspell. The lake's surface parted, revealing a stone staircase descending into the depths. They dove in, the water closing around them like a living thing. The crypt's entrance loomed below, a massive stone arch carved with a spiral rune that pulsed with a sickly, crimson light.

Mark placed his hand on the rune, and the arch shuddered. The water sang, a low, mournful note that vibrated through their suits. The arch parted, revealing a submerged chamber lit by a faint, silvery glow. At its center stood the ninth Pillar, a crystal spire pulsing with a rhythm that felt like a plea.

But it wasn't alone.

Figures emerged from the shadows—five of them, cloaked in robes of woven mana, their forms shimmering like mirages. Their eyes glowed with a cold, unified resolve, their presence a pressure that threatened to crush Mark's mind. The Last Circle.

"You are the Crownless," they said, their voices a single, resonant hum that echoed inside their skulls. "But you are divided. The Veil endures because we are one."

Mark stepped forward, the Forbidden Tier magic flaring in his chest. "Your Veil's a lie," he said. "You built it to chain the world. I'm here to break it."

The Circle's forms flickered, their robes rippling like liquid light. "The Veil is order. You bring chaos. Step away, or be unmade."

Elira's wards surged, forming a barrier around them. "Mark, they're not fighting as individuals—they're linked. Break one, and the others adapt."

Lysa whispered runes from her journal, her voice steady despite the pressure. "Unity… the journal said the Crownless must face them with unity."

Mark nodded, stepping past Elira's wards. The Circle moved as one, their hands weaving a spell that twisted the chamber's mana into a net of crimson light. Mark didn't meet it with force—he met it with precision. The Forbidden Tier magic wove entropy around his hands, unraveling the net's threads. The chamber shook, runes flaring as the Pillar responded to his presence.

Visions flooded his mind—the First Circle, mages who forged the Veil with their blood, binding their souls to its power. They weren't protectors; they were jailers, sacrificing their humanity to control the Veins. But Mark saw their weakness: their unity was their strength, but also their flaw. They couldn't adapt to division.

"Together," Mark said, his voice cutting through the hum. He reached for Elira and Lysa, their mana linking with his through the city's resonance. Elira's wards merged with Lysa's runes, forming a counterspell that fractured the Circle's unity. The figures staggered, their forms flickering as their link weakened.

Mark lunged for the Pillar, his hand touching its surface. The chamber erupted in light, the Pillar's song rising to a deafening cry. The Last Circle screamed, their robes unraveling as the light burned through their forms. The chamber stabilized, the ninth Pillar's resonance joining the others in a harmony that shook the ley-lines. The Veil cracked further, its fractures spreading like wildfire across the crypt's walls.

Elira exhaled, her staff dimming. "You're going to give me a heart attack one day, Wilde."

Lysa clutched her journal, her eyes wide. "The Veil… it's almost gone. Three more Pillars, and it's over."

Mark turned to the ley-line map in the orb, now glowing brighter, its veins stretching further. "Nine down. Three to go."

Above, in the Maw's sanctum, the shattered mirror's fragments trembled, reflecting only darkness. Her voice was a hiss, her rage a living thing. "The Last Circle is broken."

A warlock in crimson robes stepped forward. "The Veil is failing. If he awakens another Pillar, the truth will flood the world."

The Maw's mask glinted, her fingers tracing a rune of exile. "Then we unleash the Shattered Sovereign. The Crownless will fall, or the Veins will consume us all."