Sign Of The Infernal Root

The nights in the Canopy had felt longer ever since the second wave of demon attacks. The rift near Lynden, though contained by the Wardens on the frontlines, remained unstable. Energy from the Hellroots seeped into the air, filling the world with an invisible pressure. Even in the Canopy, Yggraeth's usually safe uppermost layer, people could feel it.

Aren sat at the edge of his dorm bed, breathing heavily. The Silent Mark on his left hand pulsed erratically—sometimes slow, sometimes fast, as if responding to something deep below. Since the tragedy at Lynden, the mark had never truly been still. Each throb made the world feel closer to the Hellroots, and each one brought back the haunting memories of Lyra, Finn, and Marin.

"Why… why now again?" he muttered.

He clenched his hand, but the pulsing did not stop. Outside the window, the Canopy was bathed in the pale glow of the moon, the shadows of colossal branches swaying in the drifting mist.

Tension crept into every corner of the Wardens Academy. Training continued as usual, yet the atmosphere was taut. Reports from the Middle Trunk arrived constantly: demonic activity rising, rifts widening, and several outposts already lost.

In the dining hall, whispers spread like wildfire.

"I heard all this started because of that kid from Lynden…" a cadet's voice carried.

Aren, who had just sat down, froze with his spoon in hand. Kael, seated beside him, shot the speaker a sharp look. "Stop blaming people without proof."

"I'm just saying—the rift appeared after they found him, right? And now that mark on his hand keeps glowing and pulsing. You're not suspicious?"

Thalen growled, the fur along his neck bristling. "Say that again, and I'll tear your throat out."

The table fell silent instantly. The cadet paled and quickly turned away. Elira, sitting across from Aren, snorted while stirring her soup. "Idiot. If he were the cause, do you think the Wardens would let him sit here with us?"

Aren said nothing. He'd heard it all before, and the guilt inside him made it hard to deny. Kael patted his shoulder lightly, offering a hint of comfort, but Aren only lowered his gaze, focusing on his untouched plate.

The large portion he always took—something ingrained from his orphanage days—remained barely touched. Even hunger was no match for the crushing weight around his heart.

That night, the nightmares returned. He stood amidst the ruins of Lynden, the stench of blood thick in the air. The screams of his friends echoed in the distance. Among the chaos, a whisper coiled into his ear:

"Power… more power… all you have to do is let us in…"

Aren looked at his hand. The Silent Mark burned with a dark crimson light, its pulse matching the frantic beat of his heart. The voice grew louder, tempting and terrifying all at once.

"With our strength… no one else will be lost… no one else will slip through your fingers…"

"Shut up!" Aren shouted, but the dream-world began to crack.

He awoke gasping, cold sweat dripping down his brow. The voice lingered faintly, real enough to make his skin crawl. He stared at the Silent Mark, dread twisting in his chest. If they could speak to me… can I really control this power?

The next day, Serin Elthrae stood before the class, his gaze sharp. Behind him, a magical projection board displayed a map of the Middle Trunk, red markers clustered around Lynden's rift.

"The second wave was successfully repelled," he said. "But the rift remains open, and Hellroot activity in the surrounding area is increasing. Understand this—this isn't just another war. This is a battle for every inch of our world."

He tapped the map with his staff. "Your primary duty as Novitiates is to learn. Coordination, logistics, evacuation—those are your responsibilities. The frontlines are not your concern. Not yet."

Aren listened, though his mind kept drifting back to last night's whispers. The scale of this war was far greater than he'd ever imagined.

"Each rank of the Wardens has its own role," Serin continued. "Vanguards and trainees hold the demon waves, while we full Wardens keep the Great Seal stable. If the Seal collapses, our world ends."

Later that afternoon, a new report arrived from the Middle Trunk: energy activity around the rift had spiked dramatically. The Primarch Wardens were being deployed—a sign that the threat was greater than anyone had anticipated.

Aren's Silent Mark flared with searing heat, the burn spreading through his arm. He clutched it, breath catching in his throat. Something stirred deep within the roots, something far worse than before.

Kael noticed and hurried over. "Aren, are you okay?"

Aren nodded quickly, though sweat dripped down his face. "I… I don't know. But something's coming. Soon."

That night, the four of them—Aren, Kael, Thalen, and Elira—stood together on the dormitory balcony. Far below, the Middle Trunk stretched out like a sea of mist, occasional flashes of light and distant rumbles breaking the stillness.

"That rift again…" Kael muttered, his face tense.

Elira crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "The next wave… it feels like it'll be worse."

Aren gripped his pendant tightly, the Silent Mark pulsing in time with the dark energy rising from below.

"The next wave…" he whispered, almost to himself. "It will be different."