The Glitched Mage

The aftermath of the ascension echoed like a memory—etched into the sky, the land, and the bones of every citizen who had witnessed it.

In the days that followed, the Shadow Kingdom stirred with renewed energy. The altar, now fully awakened and bonded to the Academy's spine, had begun to do more than just sustain the structure—it pulsed with slow, deliberate generosity. Mana, rich and vibrant, seeped outward through unseen channels, threading beneath the stone streets, through the roots of the farmlands, and into the foundations of the Academy itself. Crops near the southern ridge grew taller. Lanterns burned longer. Spellwork cast in the streets felt cleaner, smoother. Even the air shimmered faintly, charged with life.

Word of the Academy's rise had already begun to spread beyond its borders, traveling faster than couriers and more vivid than rumor. There were those who didn't believe it—who couldn't. And there were those who did… and came running.

But first, there was the question of access.

Though the Academy now floated hundreds of feet above the plateau, held aloft by the anchor-spine buried in the altar's core, it could not remain cut off. Stairs and ladders were laughable, and wind-flight was unstable. Riven had anticipated this.

The teleportation array had already begun construction before the ascension.

At the altar's base, where the dragon-spine burrowed into the ground like a living relic, Mal and his artificers had begun inscribing the massive stone ring that would become the Sky Gate—a rune-bound portal connected directly to the Academy's heartstone via ley-threaded veins. The system was not just a transport mechanism. It was a bond, a tether between the people and the floating sanctuary above them.

The Sky Gate took two full weeks to finish.

Runes the size of wagon wheels were etched in concentric circles, traced with silver-dust and stabilized with elemental crystal harvested from the eastern ridges. The portal pulsed with faint light, shifting with the six elemental hues as the altar fed it mana in a steady pulse. Once calibrated, a single touch to the central keystone was enough to trigger the ascent.

Those chosen to visit the Academy were lifted in columns of weightless light, their forms carried upward like leaves caught in a mana-stream, reassembling a breath later within the atrium high above.

For the first few days, only Riven's generals and key personnel used it—testing its reliability, assessing the strain on the anchor. But soon, access widened. Architects. Scholars. Acolytes from Elara's temple. The more they traveled, the stronger the system became—stabilizing itself like a muscle learning to move for the first time.

—x—

The Sky Gate shimmered in quiet pulses for days—never dormant, never demanding. It had become a symbol in itself, just as much as the floating Academy above. A gateway to purpose. A door to possibility.

And the world noticed.

They came.

At first, a slow trickle—messengers from borderlands, rogue scholars from forgotten towers, and exiled mages who had once studied in Solis's hallowed halls. Then came the outcasts. The curious. The broken. And after them, the ambitious. All drawn to the impossible academy in the sky.

The southern roads thickened with foot traffic. The Shadow Kingdom's inns filled beyond capacity. Damon oversaw the construction of temporary housing along the outer ward while Krux doubled the guard rotations and border checkpoints.

The question on everyone's lips wasn't whether the Academy was real.

It was whether they would be allowed in.

—x—

The council met three days after the Sky Gate stabilized.

They gathered in the Eye of the Academy—Riven's tower—at the edge of the highest bridge, surrounded by stained glass that shimmered with refracted magic. The heartstone pulsed far below, a silent presence they all felt through the floor.

Riven stood at the head of the table. Elara and Mal sat to his right, Aria and Damon to his left. Nyx lingered near the far window, arms crossed, half-listening, half-watching the sky. Krux leaned against the doorway, too large for the chair they'd offered him.

And across from Riven—this time not in disguise—sat Crown Prince Kael of the Danu Empire.

He wore no crown. No retinue flanked him. Just a long silver-trimmed cloak and a simple sword at his side. But there was no mistaking who he was. Not here. Not anymore.

"I've come with terms," Kael said, his voice quiet but steady. "Our empire sees what your Academy truly is—not just a school, but a symbol of rising power. A territory with the potential to shape the future. My father is prepared to recognize it formally and he's ready to sign a treaty to prove it."

Riven studied him. "Why now?"

Kael met his gaze without flinching. "Because Solis is watching. And because we want your alliance before they move."

A beat of silence.

"And your price?"

Kael exhaled. "In exchange for a military pact—protection of your borders by our elite mage-knights and the right to station them in your outer provinces—we ask only that our chosen be allowed to study here."

He leaned forward slightly. "Not all. Not many. But those we send will be loyal. Vetted. Talented."

Elara raised a brow. "And how will you ensure their loyalty?"

"They'll swear an oath to the Shadow Kingdom's law while they study. But they won't be asked to forsake Danu. We offer warriors and defense in return."

Riven didn't answer right away. He glanced around the room—at Mal, who gave the smallest nod. At Aria, who offered nothing. At Damon, who stared thoughtfully at Kael. And at Nyx, who only smirked as if she'd known this would happen all along.

Then he looked back at the prince.

"Accepted."

The decision rang through the chamber like a strike against steel.

And that was when the second declaration came.

"No one else will be admitted," Riven said, loud enough for even the wind to hear. "Not unless they come from the Danu Empire—or unless they swear fealty to the Shadow Kingdom."

Mal looked up. "You're sure?"

"I am." Riven's voice was iron. "They want what we've built? They can join us. Or stay beneath us."

Damon gave a low whistle. "You realize that'll make enemies."

"I'm not building this to appease the continent." Riven folded his arms. "I'm building it to change it."

Kael said nothing—but there was something in his eyes. Not surprise. Something deeper. A spark of understanding.

A shadow of agreement.

—x—

The rumor spread like fire through dry grass—impossible to trace, impossible to stop.

The Academy, they whispered, had opened—but only to those who swore loyalty to the Shadow Kingdom, or arrived under the Danu Empire's banner. No invitations. No declarations. Just a shifting truth passed from merchant to mercenary, from innkeeper to scholar.

Some called it tyranny veiled as exclusivity.

Others called it the first act of a new world.

But none dared to ignore it.

Within days, the southern ridge began to stir. Loose gatherings of wanderers grew into organized camps. Tents rose like petals along the hillside. Mages constructed makeshift wards around firepits. Farmers arrived with little more than tools and hope. Mercenaries formed protective rings around carts weighed down with books, scrolls, and strange instruments.

More than a hundred arrived in the first week alone.

Twice that the next.

Some knelt without hesitation, pledging themselves to the Shadow Kingdom in exchange for a chance to ascend.

Others protested—uncertain, angry, or afraid.

Still more lingered at the edge, emissaries in fine robes, former Solis instructors cloaked in shame and pride, watching the Sky Gate shimmer with pale promise. They did not ask to enter.

But they did not turn away.

High above, veiled in the shadow of the spires, Riven watched in silence.

And below, the Sky Gate pulsed with steady, unyielding light—its rhythm like the breath of something ancient and ascending, patient as stone, waiting for the world to choose:

to kneel… or to rise.

—x—

Construction continued around the Academy itself, even as its halls echoed with footsteps and whispered debate.

The teleportation pads expanded—five in total now scattered throughout the Shadow Kingdom. One in the merchant quarter. One near the necromancer temple. One inside the military barracks. One at the foot of the southern farmlands. And the last just outside the palace gates.

Each was linked directly to the Sky Gate's core circuit. Each burned with the soft light of six elements—earth, water, fire, air, light, and shadow. Each allowed those with clearance to reach the Academy in seconds.

Aria ensured each pad was protected by wards keyed to identity.

Mal supervised the mana flow personally—adjusting distribution as needed to maintain stability between the altar, the kingdom, and the floating citadel.

The altar itself remained untouched, buried beneath the reinforced structure built around it. But its presence was impossible to ignore. Mana still bled outward from it, slowly transforming the land.

Riven stood one evening atop the Sky Gate's inner circle and watched as a farmer walked barefoot across the outer fields. Behind her, the crops stood tall—taller than they ever had before. She didn't speak, didn't look up. But she paused, hand pressed to the soil.

A soft glow flared beneath her palm, the light pulsing gently through the soil as if the land itself were breathing.

Riven didn't speak, but he watched the glow for a long moment, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows of the rising Academy. Then, without ceremony, he gave a single, thoughtful nod and turned away—his gaze lifting once more toward the sky.

The kingdom was no longer just rebuilding.

It was becoming something new.

Something bold enough to draw the eyes of the world.

And for the first time, the sky above didn't feel distant or unreachable.

It felt like the next step.