Kael's fingers lingered on the grimoire's spine, its malevolent aura prickling his celestial markings even through the shelf. Shadowlands. The name coiled in his mind like venom. For all their infamy, the Holy Synod's archives offered scant countermeasures—a troubling gap in celestial defenses.
He traced the silver scar across his palm, legacy of the Dusk Shard's first awakening. Three months might suffice to master its whispers, but courting the Synod's attention now would be suicide. Better to let Austin's Lava Crystal Mine scheme shield him while he honed—
A presence disrupted his strategizing.
Amelia stood three shelves distant, her knightly plate armor exchanged for scholar's robes. Moonlight through leaded glass haloed her silver-blonde braid as she snapped a tome shut—On Leyline Warfare: Post-Cataclysm Tactics.
"Avoiding acquaintances, Kael?" Her tone carried the crispness of drawn steel.
He schooled his expression into mild surprise. "Respecting scholarly focus, Lady Amelia."
She closed the distance, the faint clink of hidden chainmail betraying her "civilian" guise. "Your skirmish with Jack. Observations?"
Kael leaned against a pillar, feigning nonchalance. "Adequate footwork. Poor mana conservation."
Amelia's gaze sharpened—a falcon assessing prey. At sixth-tier knightly prowess, Jack's brawling tactics must seem child's play to her. Yet here she stood, probing a freshman mage's evaluation.
The Dusk Shard pulsed beneath his tunic. Amelia's eyes flickered to his collarbone, as though sensing its discordant rhythm.
"Curious," she murmured, more to herself than him. Then, abrupt as her approach: "The Crucible Chamber. Dawn tomorrow. Sparring partners require calibration."
Before Kael could dissect the invitation, she vanished into the stacks, her parting words lingering like smoldering embers.
High above in the rafters, a shadow detached itself—hooded, silent, bearing the faint stench of necrotic herbs. Its obsidian dagger traced sigils in the air, reporting to unseen masters. The Dusk Shard's glow intensified in response, etching fresh silver scars across Kael's chest.
Three months.
The tournament's clock tolled louder.
Amelia's glacial gaze held no room for modesty. "A single spell felling Jack—even fatigued—signifies potency." Her assessment carried the weight of tactical analysis, not flattery.
Kael shrugged. "Opportunistic casting. His aggression left openings."
The knight's lips thinned—a swordsman's equivalent of skepticism. Three months prior, this boy had barely withstood basic sparring. Now he dissected fifth-tier warriors like academy drills.
"Ethan's Goldenback Drake hunt," she stated abruptly.
The air chilled. Goldspine Drakes—lesser kin to true dragons but apex predators nonetheless—required seventh-tier prowess to subdue. Kael's celestial markings flared involuntarily, betraying his tension.
Amelia noted the reaction. "Rumors claim solo conquest. More likely a hunting party, but..." She let the implication linger.
"Sixth-tier peak." Kael's conclusion mirrored her thoughts.
"At minimum."
Silence stretched between them, punctuated by distant pages rustling. Amelia broke it with characteristic bluntness. "Field expedition. The Obsidian Wastes. You'll join me."
Not a request. Knights of her caliber rarely asked.
Kael weighed the offer. Evelyn's tutelage honed precision, but true power demanded crucibles beyond controlled arenas. The Wastes' mutated beasts and rogue mage clans offered such trials—if one survived.
"Curriculum permits absence?"
Amelia produced a sealed scroll bearing the headmaster's sigil. "Approved for fifth-tier adepts. Departure in three days."
Her timing wasn't accidental. Three days to prepare. Three months until the tournament. Coincidence held little sway in Emberflame's shadow games.
As they parted, Kael's hand drifted to the Dusk Shard. Its chill had deepened since the grimoire encounter, whispering promises of power and peril. The Wastes' leyline distortions might amplify its voice—or silence it forever.
In the archives' deepest vault, the blacksteel obelisk's sigils blazed crimson. Amelia's expedition scroll bore matching glyphs along its wax seal, invisible to all but celestial-touched eyes.
The game advanced.
Amelia's proposal made tactical sense—a knight-mage duo could exploit each other's strengths. Kael recalled their prior collaboration in the Woma Forest's fungal caverns; her blade had cleaved through mutated spiders while his barriers sealed toxic vents. Mutual trust, forged in combat, outweighed any reservations.
"Three days," she affirmed, already striding toward the checkout desk. Her selected tomes—Advanced Parry Dynamics and Leyline Resonance in Close Combat—revealed a mind honing itself into a weapon.
Finn materialized from behind a taxidermied griffin, his theatrics undimmed. "Field trip with the Ice Queen? Save some glory for us mortals!"
Kael clamped a hand over the wind mage's mouth as his wail drew glares from studious patrons. "She's auditing my combat readiness."
"Auditing?" Finn mimed swooning. "Next you'll duel shirtless in lava pits!"
The jest held unintended prescience. Amelia's expedition scroll specified the Obsidian Wastes' volcanic zones—regions where celestial and umbral energies clashed violently. Whether she knew of the Dusk Shard's affinity for such locales remained unclear.
As they exited into moonlit courtyards, Kael noted fresh sigils carved into the library's foundation stones. The markings pulsed faintly crimson, mirroring the grimoire's malevolent glow.
Three days.
Time enough to prepare defenses against shadows both literal and metaphorical. The tournament's looming threat paled against the grimoire's warnings: Where dusk and dawn converge, the Shard's hunger awakens.
In the archives' restricted wing, the blacksteel obelisk completed its transformation. Its carvings now depicted a hooded figure bearing a crescent artifact—a mirror image of Kael's Dusk Shard.