The Anomaly's Path

Cordelia walked through the narrow street, her ears ringing in the heavy quiet left behind by the gate’s closing. Elian had told her to wait. Sylvia had promised that a search unit would be sent the second the area was safe.

But waiting felt like doing nothing.

She had spent her whole life letting royals, guards, and teachers tell her where to stand for her own safety. If she sat for another hour drinking warm tea while Marius bled out in an alley, she would never be able to look at herself again.

So, while the guards were busy with the wounded from Headmaster Vega’s portal, she slipped past them and walked out alone

Now she was running through the lower district. Every step she took down the slope felt like dragging her boots through mud.

A cold, twisting fear tightened in her throat, growing heavier with every yard, until breathing felt like swallowing glass. Her heart pounded against her ribs, caught between desperate hope and crushing terror.

She forced her feet to keep moving, terrified of what she would find at the end, yet even more terrified of stopping.

He’s there, she told herself. He has to be. He’s going to complain about his clothes. He’s going to look at me with that stupid, arrogant tilt of his head and pretend he wasn’t scared.

”Marius?” Her voice sounded thin and weak, swallowed immediately by the broken walls around her. She didn’t stop.

”Marius! Hey... fool, where are you hiding? Answer me!” Her voice echoed off the empty walls, returning to her only as a hollow sound. No reply came back. No sound of boots scraping against the ground. Just the cold wind blowing through broken windows.

She picked up her pace, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The street turned sharply to the left, opening into a residential alley. The smell hit her first, the thick, heavy scent of blood mixed with the foul, sour stench of dead monsters.

Cordelia rounded the corner and froze.

The narrow passage was a graveyard. Dozens of lower-tier beasts lay piled over one another, their hides split, their skulls crushed by heavy, brutal strikes. The walls were gouged down to the bare brick, stained with wide, dark arcs of dried blood.

In the shadows at the far end of the alley, propped against the brick wall, sat a figure.

Cordelia’s breath caught. Her knees buckled, her boot slipping on a patch of dried blood, but she caught herself against a broken doorframe. Her chest heaved, her eyes wide as she stared into the dim alley.

”Marius...”

He didn’t move. He didn’t turn his head.

He sat slumped in a deep pool of dark, dried blood, his right shoulder torn open, his clothes shredded into bloody rags. His left arm hung useless at his side, his ribs visibly caved in beneath his chest. His sword lay on the ground beside him, its gold-plated guard stripped clean, the blade notched, bent, and dulled down to bare metal.

The morning light, pale and weak, sloped over the rooftops and fell across his face.

His face was still. His eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly toward the open sky above the alley. The hard, arrogant line of his jaw was gone, replaced by a strange, quiet calm. On the right side of his torn, bloody lips, the faint ghost of a smile remained.

Cordelia took a step forward.

Then another. Her legs felt hollow, like dry wood about to break.

She stumbled over the severed leg of a dead beast, her hands scraping against the rough wall to break her fall. She didn’t feel the broken brick tearing into her palms. Her whole world had narrowed down to the silent figure at the end of the passage.

She forced her shaking legs to move, closing the distance inch by inch until she dropped to her knees right in front of him. The cold mud and dried blood soaked through her clothes, but she didn’t care.

She sat there for a long, silent moment, her breath stuck in her throat, afraid that touching him would break whatever fragile hope she was holding onto. Slowly, her hands shaking so badly she could barely keep them still, she reached out.

She touched his cheek. His skin was freezing.

”Hey...” Cordelia whispered, a small, breathless huff escaping her lips. ”Hey, get up. The... the gate is closed. Elian’s squads will be here soon. We can go back now.”

Marius didn’t answer. His head leaned slightly further against her touch, cold and heavy.

”Stop playing around, Marius,” she said, a small, desperate laugh bubbling up in her throat, a raspy, unstable sound that immediately broke into a dry sob. ”It’s not funny. Look at you... you ruined your sword. Your father is going to lose his mind...”

She pressed her thumb against his cheek, trying to wipe away a smear of dried blood, but her own hand was shaking so badly she only smeared it further.

”Open your eyes,” she begged, her voice dropping into a broken whisper. ”Look at me, Marius. Please... just open your eyes. I’m right here. I came back for you. I didn’t leave you... I promise I didn’t leave you...”

Silence answered her. Cold, unyielding silence.

She pulled her hand back slightly, staring at his unmoving chest. She waited. One second. Two seconds. Three. She was praying for the tiny rise of a breath, for the faint beat in his neck, for anything.

There was nothing. No mana flickering inside him. No warmth left under his skin. No air moving past his bloodied lips. The truth hit her chest like a blade, shattering what was left of her calm. Her breath caught sharply, a choked gasp tearing from her throat.

Cordelia leaned forward, sinking against him and burying her face into the crook of his cold, blood-soaked shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his back, her fingers clutching the torn, stiff fabric of his coat with a desperate grip, pulling his still body against hers as if she could force her own heartbeat to restart his.

”I’m sorry...” she choked out, her voice muffled against his chest, her chest heaving with slow, agonizing shudders. ”I’m so sorry, Marius... I shouldn’t have run... I shouldn’t have left you in this dark alley alone...”

The tears came then, not as a quiet stream, but as a violent flood that burned her eyes and choked her lungs. She cried openly, her forehead pressed hard against his cold shoulder, her body shaking in the silent alley.

She remembered him as the loud boy in the palace gardens who had promised to be her knight. She remembered him at the academy gala, humiliated and bitter, and how he had slowly, painfully stripped away his noble pride to become someone genuine.

He had spent his entire life chasing status, trying to prove he was worthy of standing at her side... only to die alone in the dirt, surrounded by monsters, holding the line so that strangers and the girl he loved could survive.

”You idiot...” she sobbed, her fingers digging deeper into his coat. ”You stupid, brave idiot... You didn’t have to prove anything to anyone... to me... to Leo... You were already a knight... You were always my knight...”

Her tears soaked into his collar, washing clean lines through the dark, dried blood on his neck.

The morning sun slowly rose higher, casting pale golden light over the narrow passage.

It illuminated the quiet alley, the broken sword on the ground, and the Princess of the Human Domain kneeling in the mud, clutching the lifeless body of her oldest friend, a noble who had entered the alley as a foolish lord... and left it as a knight.

_

In the western part of the Central Plaza, the air carried no peace. The violent chaos of the gate breach had faded, replaced by a heavy, unbearable silence.

Supply carts and medical transports cut deep marks into the ground as Union reinforcements flooded the area. Headmaster Vega’s presence had already cleared the outer area, while teams scrambled to open paths to the main medical wards.

The academy had survived.

But the cost was carved into every broken wall and hollowed-out face.

Morgana dragged her feet through the mud near the western medical area. Her dark purple eyes were empty, sunken with an exhaustion that went far deeper than just being tired. Damon had left her minutes ago, rushing toward the eastern shelter to check on others.

She didn’t care about the Union officers giving orders. She didn’t care about the leftover remains of the monsters. She walked past the crowded stretchers, past students crying for lost squadmates, until she saw a tall, silver-haired figure standing outside a small medical room.

Vice President Helene Draven stood motionless outside the door, her arms crossed over her chest, staring blankly at the floor. Morgana stopped a few feet away. Her breath hitched in her throat, her chest tightening as she stared at the closed entrance to the medical bay.

She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a rough, dry whisper. ”Helene...”

Helene didn’t turn around right away. Her sharp grey eyes stayed fixed on the ground. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat, tired, and heavy with an unbearable truth.

”...He’s breathing,” Helene said quietly.

Morgana hesitated for a fraction of a second, her jaw tightening before she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room smelled of strong medicine, and blood.

Vance lay on a narrow bed in the center of the room. His face was pale and waxy, almost see-through under the bright lights hanging from the ceiling. Both of his arms were wrapped in bandages, black and scorched underneath. His chest rose and fell in tiny, shallow breaths.

Morgana slowly walked across the room. Every step felt heavy, her boots dragging on the floor until she stood right beside his bed. She stared down at his broken body, her teeth grinding so hard her jaw ached.

She knew Vance.

She knew him better than anyone in this damned academy.

Vance hated pain. He hated fighting. He was the kind of man who flinched when a training blade clattered too loudly on the floor, the kind of scholar who spent his whole life tucked away in quiet rooms reading old books because the real world was too loud, too violent, too painful for him.

He had told her once, with a nervous, shy laugh, that he would rather write a thousand pages than fight.

Yet, when the Grade 8 Gate tore open, that same man had walked straight into the corrupted mist on the western ridge. He had stood inside the relay tower alone, surrounded by screaming monsters, and forced corrupted mana through his own body until his channels burned.

He had chosen to face the exact thing he feared most, excruciating, body-breaking pain, just to keep the barrier from falling on everyone.

”His core is completely shattered, Morgana,” Helene’s voice came quietly from the doorway. ”The feedback destroyed his channels beyond repair. He’s in a deep sleep. The healers don’t know if he’ll ever wake up... and even if he does, he will never use mana again. He will never cast a spell.”

The words hung in the quiet room, cold and final. A terrible, heavy lump formed in Morgana’s throat, choking the air out of her lungs.

Vance.

A man who had no talent for fighting. A man who had given his whole life, every waking hour, to studying mana, the very thing that held the world together. He had given up his body, his health, and his future to master something he loved.

...And that exact same mana had stripped him of everything, leaving him a powerless shell, trapped in a silent dark.

Life really is a cruel, mocking bitch, Morgana thought. Her teeth ground so hard her jaw ached.

She reached out, her shaking hand hovering over Vance’s cold forehead. She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to grab his collar and scream at him for being an idiot, for playing the hero when he was just a scholar.

Instead, her hand gently touched his messy brown hair. A single, quiet breath escaped her lips, a sound that almost broke into a sob, before she pulled her hand back and turned her face away, refusing to let the tears fall.

_

High above the wreckage, on the edge of the broken ridge looking down at what was left of the Sealed Valley, the wind blew sharp and cold.

Zephyr sat on a jagged piece of rock, his coat draped over his knees, his huge black steel sword resting across his lap. He leaned his back against the cracked rock, his ocean-blue eyes watching the quiet smoke rise from the valley floor.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs behind him. Headmaster Vega stepped onto the ledge, his coat swirling around his ankles as he walked to the edge. His golden eyes scanned the scarred land below.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

”...How is the brat?” Zephyr asked quietly.

”Leo is stable,” Vega replied, his deep voice carrying a tired weight. ”Unconscious. His channels took heavy damage, but the healers say his core is still intact. He needs time to rest. His mother and sister are with him now.”

Zephyr grunted, a faint smile flickering across his face before vanishing. He turned his gaze back toward the sky. ”Good. If my grandson died from a simple rift after everything I put him through, I would have dragged his soul back just to beat him myself.”

Vega glanced sideways at the Sovereign High powerhouse. ”He fought well, Zephyr. Far better than many students.”

”Of course he did,” Zephyr snorted, though his voice lacked its usual arrogant bite. ”He’s a Celestial. We don’t die easily.”

Vega closed his eyes briefly, letting the cold morning wind brush against his hair.

”The casualties are severe, Zephyr. We lost over forty students in the residential sector alone. Dozens of support staff, research assistants, and veteran teachers were killed. The Union is already preparing a public statement, calling it a rift anomaly...”

”Let them call it whatever helps those fuckers sleep at night,” Zephyr cut in flatly. ”A gate broke open. People died. No amount of words changes the bodies in the ground.”

”We will hold a collective memorial in two days,” Vega continued softly, ignoring the sharp interruption. ”Once the rubble is cleared and the missing are fully accounted for. It is the least we can offer to those who stayed behind.”

Zephyr didn’t answer.

Below them, the sky was slowly changing. The dark purple clouds of the gate breach were finally breaking apart, scattered by the wind, letting the first rays of dawn spill across the eastern mountains.

The pale light touched the broken roofs of the academy, the bloodied plazas, and the long shadows of the surviving students walking through the ash.

Some had lost the friends they grew up with; others had lost the mentors who had guided them into battle.

Some had lost their dreams, their homes, or the very ability to ever hold mana again. The golden morning light did not feel like a blessing, it felt like the dawn of a cold, unforgiving era, casting pale beams over a world that would never be the same.

They did not know what this new daylight would bring, or how many more lives the world would demand of them. But as the wind swept across the ruined grounds, carrying the scent of ash and cold stone, one truth remained carved into the minds of everyone left standing:

They would remember this day. They would remember every fallen friend, every shattered blade... and the silence left behind when the sky fell.