The Citadel’s main arena was a storm of whispers and speculation. Some students from all sectors clustered in tight groups, their confusion and unease palpable. The abrupt recall had disrupted the competition at its peak, and the lack of answers was driving tensions higher with every passing moment.
At the instructors’ dais, a shimmering map of the arena displayed the ongoing situation. The eastern quadrant pulsed violently, the red markers flaring brighter with each energy surge. The instructors exchanged tense glances, their hushed voices betraying their growing concern.
“Energy readings in the eastern quadrant are beyond anything we’ve seen before,” one instructor said, his tone sharp. “It’s not just the creatures—it’s the terrain itself. It’s warping.”
Another instructor leaned closer to the map. “We’ve lost full contact with Group E. No response to the recall. If this keeps up—”
“We’ll lose them,” the head instructor interrupted, his voice a low growl. “Dispatch a retrieval team now. And someone stabilize that quadrant before it destabilizes the entire arena.”
“What the hell is going on?” a voice whispered from below the dais. A student had crept closer, his face pale as he strained to hear the instructors’ heated conversation. His name was Tarik, a wiry boy with a knack for slipping into places he didn’t belong.
Tarik’s eyes widened as the instructors’ words became clearer.
“Those creatures shouldn’t even exist at this level of magic.”
“The eastern quadrant’s energy levels are destabilizing everything—how did this even happen?”
“If Group E survived this long, it’s a miracle.”
Tarik didn’t wait to hear more. He slipped back into the crowd, his movements quick but not unnoticed.
“What’s going on?” a girl from Ignithral asked, grabbing his arm.
Tarik hesitated for only a moment before answering, his voice low but urgent. “It’s Group E. Something’s happening in their sector. They’re saying the creatures there aren’t normal—that they’ve… mutated.”
“Mutated?” the girl repeated, her voice rising just enough to catch the attention of nearby students.
“Keep it down,” Tarik hissed. “If the instructors hear—”
“What else did you hear?” another student demanded, his face tight with worry.
Tarik’s gaze darted around the growing circle of students. “They’re sending a retrieval team. They think Group E might not make it.”
The words hit like a thunderclap, spreading through the crowd like wildfire. Faces turned toward the instructors, their expressions a mix of fear and disbelief. Group E wasn’t just a Fringe team—they were the underdogs, the ones no one had expected to make it far. The idea of them being at the center of such chaos was almost impossible to believe.
“But they’re just a Fringe group,” someone muttered.
“Maybe they’re not,” another replied, their voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe there’s more to them than we thought.”
At the dais, the head instructor’s voice cut through the noise. “All students will remain here until further notice. This is not up for debate.”
His words silenced the growing murmurs, but the tension in the air was impossible to dispel. The students exchanged uneasy glances, their imaginations running wild with possibilities. And through it all, the eastern quadrant continued to pulse with a dangerous, unrelenting energy.
The air was suffocatingly still as Amara and her team moved through the dense, darkened forest. Every step was a reminder of how close they’d come to death. Blood stained the ground behind them, a gruesome trail marking their desperate battle against the mutated creatures. The once-vibrant terrain was now eerily quiet, as if the land itself had recoiled from the fight.
Orin led the group, his face a mask of grim determination as he helped Myles limp forward. The boy’s side was tightly bandaged, but the blood seeped through with every agonizing step. His breathing was shallow, his usually strong frame trembling with effort.
“Keep going,” Orin urged, his voice low but firm. “We’re close.”
“Close to what? Another fucking ambush?” Niko snapped, his tone biting. He stumbled slightly, his dagger still clutched tightly in one hand. “This whole place is cursed.”
“Shut up, Niko,” Liora hissed, though her voice was strained with exhaustion. She clutched her own side, her robes torn and bloodied. “You’re not helping.”
Amara brought up the rear, her mind swirling with the weight of everything that had happened. The memory of her magic flickering to life burned in her thoughts, the heat still lingering on her fingertips. She had no idea what it meant, but the timing couldn’t be ignored. It had saved them—barely—but at what cost?
Her gaze drifted to the others. Orin’s jaw was clenched tight, his usual wit replaced with a deadly seriousness. Liora’s sharp tongue had dulled, her movements sluggish as she pushed forward. Niko, always the loudest, was unnervingly quiet now, his steps unsteady but determined. And Myles… Myles was a walking reminder of how close they’d come to losing everything.
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The faint sound of a bell rang out in the distance, its chime soft but insistent. Amara froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat.
“Is that—?” she started, her voice shaky.
“A recall,” Orin confirmed grimly. “They’re pulling everyone back.”
“They think we’re dead,” Liora muttered, her tone flat but laced with something darker. “That’s why.”
“Or they know what’s out here,” Amara said quietly, glancing back at the path they’d come from. The memory of the mutated creatures clawed at her mind, their unnatural strength and the surge of energy that had nearly killed them.
The bell tolled again, louder this time, its sound reverberating through the oppressive quiet.
“We need to move,” Orin said, his voice snapping the group into motion. “If they’re calling everyone back, they’ll send retrieval teams. We just need to hold out.”
They pressed on, the faint glow of the main arena flickering in the distance. The recall bells rang at steady intervals now, their cadence a lifeline that kept the group moving forward. But even as relief threatened to wash over her, Amara couldn’t shake the unease that lingered in her chest. The memory of the battle—of the mutated creatures and the surge of magic that had saved them—clung to her like a shadow.
“What do we tell them?” Liora asked suddenly, her voice breaking the fragile quiet. “About… about what happened back there?”
“The truth,” Orin said firmly. “We don’t hide it. They need to know.”
“And what if they don’t believe us?” Niko asked, his tone bitter.
“They will,” Amara said quietly, her gaze fixed on the glowing arena ahead. “They have to.”
The group fell silent again, the weight of her words settling heavily around them. With every step, the faint hum of the Citadel grew louder, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence they’d left behind.
But even as they neared the safety of the arena, Amara couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder. The forest seemed darker now, the shadows deeper, as if the land itself was hiding something.
Something they weren’t meant to see.
The recall bells continued to echo across the arena as the remaining students gathered near the staging grounds. The once-lively crowd was subdued, their usual bravado replaced with an uneasy tension. Instructors stood along the edges, their faces set in grim lines as they scanned the horizon for returning groups.
Groups staggered in one by one, battered but alive. Their instructors quickly took stock, some offering reassurances, others demanding immediate explanations. Whispers swept through the waiting students, the name Group E spoken with increasing frequency.
“They haven’t made it back,” someone muttered, their tone heavy with implication.
A boy from Ignithral, his robes singed and his face streaked with soot, spat on the ground. “Fringe group? They were probably cannon fodder.”
“Shut the fuck up,” a girl snapped, her voice cutting through the murmur. “No one knows what happened out there.”
Tarik, the same boy who had eavesdropped earlier, stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “The instructors are too tense,” he said quietly. “Whatever went down in their sector… it’s not normal.”
Before anyone could respond, the map at the instructors’ dais flared to life. A bright green dot, faint but steady, appeared in the eastern quadrant.
“They’re alive?” one instructor whispered, his voice thick with disbelief.
“Impossible,” another muttered. “The energy levels in that sector—”
“They’re moving toward the main arena,” the head instructor interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “Prepare a team to meet them. Now.”
The students watched as a small group of instructors rushed toward the arena’s eastern gate, their hurried movements adding fuel to the fire of speculation. The tension in the air was suffocating, every eye trained on the distant horizon.
When Group E finally emerged, the silence was deafening.
Amara led the group, her stride unsteady but unyielding. Her bloodied hands gripped the remnants of her weapon, her face smeared with dirt and dried blood. Orin followed close behind, half-carrying Myles, whose injuries had only worsened during the trek. Liora’s torn robes fluttered in the wind, and Niko, though pale and limping, held his head high.
The students stared, their expressions ranging from disbelief to awe. The battered state of Group E was a testament to the hell they’d been through, but the fact that they were alive was nothing short of miraculous.
“What the fuck,” someone whispered, their voice breaking the silence.
Amara’s gaze swept over the crowd, her amber eyes burning with a quiet defiance. The weight of their stares didn’t faze her—instead, it fueled the fire in her chest. She stopped in front of the instructors, her posture straight despite the exhaustion etched into her features.
“We survived,” she said simply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The head instructor’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
Amara hesitated for only a moment before stepping aside, revealing the bloodied fragments of the mutated creature’s remains strapped to Orin’s back. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the instructors stepped forward, their expressions darkening.
“This… isn’t possible,” one of them muttered, inspecting the remains. “These creatures aren’t natural.”
“They weren’t,” Amara replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “And there were two of them.”
The silence that followed was deafening. The implications of her words hung heavily in the air, the gravity of the situation sinking in for everyone present.
The aftermath was a blur of chaos. Medics swarmed the group, their hands glowing with soft light as they worked to stabilize Myles and tend to the others’ wounds. The instructors huddled together, their voices hushed but urgent as they discussed the implications of what had happened.
Amara sat on the edge of the staging area, her body numb as a healer worked on the gash along her arm. The soothing warmth of their magic did little to ease the storm raging in her mind.
“That was fucked,” Niko said, collapsing onto the ground beside her. His tone was flippant, but the haunted look in his eyes betrayed the truth. “What the hell were those things?”
“Not something we were meant to handle,” Liora said bitterly, her voice strained as another healer wrapped her ribs. “This whole thing was a setup.”
“Not a setup,” Orin interjected, his tone sharp. “But something’s wrong. Those creatures—whatever they were—weren’t supposed to be there.”
Amara remained silent, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Her mind churned with questions she couldn’t answer, her thoughts circling back to the moment her magic had surged to life. It hadn’t felt right, but it had been powerful. Too powerful.
“You okay?” Orin asked quietly, his voice pulling her back to the present.
She nodded, though the lie felt hollow. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Everything,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “None of this makes sense. The creatures, the recall, the way the arena itself felt… wrong.”
Orin’s expression darkened, but he didn’t press her. Instead, he placed a steady hand on her shoulder, a silent show of solidarity.
Across the staging area, the head instructor’s voice rose above the chaos. “This isn’t over,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of authority. “Every one of you will be questioned. We need answers.”
Amara met his gaze across the distance, her resolve hardening. She didn’t have answers—yet—but she knew one thing for certain.
Whatever had happened in the eastern quadrant wasn’t just a fluke.
It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.