Echo looked at Eloken, her eyes pleading for him to tell her that this was all a lie. That somehow, this was just another trick, another cruel illusion. But she already knew the truth. It was written all over her face, in the way her breath hitched, in the tightening of her jaw.
Zoras and Yaub had risen to their feet, their hands still bound in iron shackles. The soldiers beside them moved to shove them back down, but Zosima lifted a hand, stopping them with nothing more than a small gesture.
Eloken saw the disbelief in their eyes as they turned to him, searching for an explanation. Then their gazes shifted back to her, to Zosima, alive and standing before them. She smiled at them, a real, genuine smile—one that belonged to the Zosima they had known all those years ago. But then, as she turned back to Eloken, that warmth faded. The sharpness in her stare cut through him, heavy and unforgiving.
Echo's glare hardened. The longer the silence stretched, the more she understood. She didn’t need to hear him say it. His silence was answer enough.
"You have nothing to say, El?" Zosima’s voice was steady, pleasant even, but the weight behind it was anything but.
“Eloken…” Zoras's voice was laced with disappointment.
Echo took a step forward, her fists clenched. “Did you know she was alive?” she demanded, her voice sharp, unwavering. “Did you know?” She said emphasizing every word.
Eloken finally lifted his head, though he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of their gazes. "When I left… I knew she wasn’t dead, but she was barely holding on. I had no idea she was still conscious, that she was calling for me." His voice was hoarse, like each word physically hurt to say. "Later, I started to realize… they played tricks on my mind, twisted what I saw. It was only through fragmented memories that I started piecing together what really happened that night. And ever since then, I’ve lived with it. It haunts me every time I close my eyes. I never forgave myself.” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t tell you the truth because… what good would it have done? It would have ruined everything we were working toward. We never would have made it this far. So I carried it, for her memory and Gotak’s.”
Zosima scoffed, shaking her head. “Please, El... don’t delude yourself just because you managed to convince yourself of that lie. You’ve always been reckless, never thinking about the consequences of your actions.”
Eloken opened his mouth to protest, but Echo cut him off.
“Don’t.” Her voice was cold. “Don’t justify this. This is insane, even for you. I would’ve sworn on everything I hold dear that you would never, never leave one of us behind.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her fury burned beneath it. “Let alone let them die. Or worse, leave them to be captured by the people who want us dead.”
“I thought she was dying,” Eloken said, his voice strained. “I thought—gods, I thought she wouldn’t last another breath, that there was no chance she would survive. And if she didn’t die, I thought—” He stopped himself, his throat tightening.
“That she’d be better off dead?” Zosima finished for him. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The quiet fury in her words was sharper than any scream.
Eloken’s lips parted, but he couldn’t say anything. What excuse could he possibly give?
“You just had to be the hero, didn’t you?” Zosima’s voice wavered, just slightly. “So caught up in your need to be the one who saves the day, the one who leads, the one who fixes everything.” She shook her head, taking a step closer, her voice dropping lower. “If you had just opened your god damned eyes. If you had stopped for one second to consider that you might not be the only one who mattered in that moment. Maybe… maybe you would have seen the truth that night.”
Eloken clenched his fists. "What’s done is done. I have lived with that truth, and I will keep living with it. But if I had known you were alive… I swear, I would have left everything behind to find you. I would have—”
“Saved me?” Zosima let out a bitter laugh. “Saved me…” She shook her head, the mirthless smile never reaching her eyes. “Eloken, you have no idea what I went through. What they did to me.” Her voice finally cracked, just for a second. Then she swallowed hard, regaining control. “If you ever cared about me, about anyone other than yourself, you would fall on your own sword for what you let happen. So please don’t…”
Eloken’s throat was dry. “I don’t know what to say except… I’m sorry.”
Zosima’s expression was unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she exhaled sharply and shook her head. “It’s too late for sorry, El.”
A heavy silence settled over the group. Echo looked between them, her fury battling something more fragile in her expression. Zoras and Yaub, still processing, still lost in the realization that everything they thought they knew was a lie.
“What about Gotak?” Echo asked in the off chance. “
A small, almost joyful smile played on Zosima’s lips before her face settled back into the cold, emotionless mask of an assassin. “See, El? Even now, after everything, after seeing me standing right in front of you, you still didn’t think to ask what happened to Gotak.” She shook her head slowly, as if in disbelief. “That’s what I mean when I say you’ve never been able to put anyone else before yourself.”
Eloken stiffened, his stomach twisting into knots. “What?” His voice came out strained, barely more than a whisper. “I saw him die. You saw him die. There’s no way…” A wave of dread crashed over him, his mind spiraling.
Zosima’s gaze bore into him. “He’s alive, El.”
The words hit him harder than a blade.
“He survived the arrows,” she continued, her voice steady but sharp. “They captured him. They tortured him. Just like they tortured me.”
Echo lost control. She lunged forward, fists clenched, ready to end Eloken right here and now—but Zosima raised a hand, stopping her.
“Calm down, sister,” she said coolly. “This part, at least, wasn’t his fault.”
Echo breathed heavily through her nose, but she waited, taking a step back.
Zosima turned back to Eloken. “Gotak stayed behind to buy us time,” she said, her voice softening just slightly. “Any ordinary man would have died from those wounds. But Gotak… he’s a beast. He survived because he refused to die. That’s the only reason he’s still breathing.”
Eloken felt his knees buckle. The world around him blurred as he sank to the ground, barely able to process what he was hearing. A storm of emotions raged inside him—guilt, sorrow, disbelief, anger, all crashing together into something unbearable.
He had mourned Gotak for years. And now…
He was alive.
His hands clenched into fists against the dirt. He wanted to scream.
“How?” Echo asked, breaking the silence. “What the hell happened, why didn’t you seek us out?”
Zosima’s eyes flicked toward her, considering. Then she shook her head. “That’s a long story. One I’ll tell you someday, I promise. But right now…” She turned her gaze back to Eloken. “Right now, we have more pressing concerns. Isn’t that right, El?”
Eloken barely managed to look up at her, his face pale, his breath uneven.
Zosima exhaled slowly, crossing her arms. “Because leaving me behind… that wasn’t even your worst mistake that night.”
Echo’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Zosima’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Oh, leaving me to die was not his biggest mistake that night.”
Eloken forced himself to breathe. He already knew what was coming.
“The biggest mistake,” Zosima continued, “the one that might doom us all… was agreeing to the deal you made that night with those four demons.”
A heavy silence followed.
Echo’s face darkened but her emotions didn’t change, she knew something, but how much, remained a mystery for now.
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Zosima chuckled. “Ah. I see he’s changed just enough to let you in on some of the secrets.”
Echo gave nothing away. “Can we stop being all mysterious and cryptic can you say what the fuck is going on?”
“We’ll talk about that later. Here, in front of everyone isn’t the time or place.”
Eloken fought to find his voice. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “What do you want?” He finally spoke. “I can’t change the past. I can’t undo what happened. But these people—” he gestured toward the students, toward Yaub and Zoras, guards, everyone who was bound in the gardens of Academy—they don’t deserve to suffer for my sins. They’ve done nothing to you.”
Zosima studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “El…” Her tone was almost gentle. “What do you take me for?”
She let the words hang for a moment before continuing. “No harm will come to the kids. That much, I can promise you.” She paused, then added, “As for the rest… as long as they don’t do anything foolish, they’ll be fine.”
“Oh, how rude of me,” Zosima said, this time with what seemed like a genuine smile—perhaps the first real one she had shown that day. She took a few slow steps forward and extended a hand toward Cel. “Celestyna, isn’t it?”
Cel merely nodded, too overwhelmed by the sheer weight of everything unfolding in the Academy’s gardens.
Zosima chuckled softly. “I imagine this must all be a lot to take in. But trust me—one day, it will all make sense.”
Before Cel could even think of a response, the sound of a struggle broke through the heavy tension.
The soldiers parted, creating a clear path as someone was forced forward, resisting every step.
Evie.
Her mentor, Bayolar, was right beside her, his face set in a grim scowl. Behind them, another group of soldiers dragged Illyan forward, a dagger pressed tightly against his throat. But it wasn’t just the sight of their captured friends that sent an icy wave of dread through Eloken and Echo.
It was the soldiers who had taken them.
They weren’t Joixari’s men. They wore the insignia of Reobard Denris. The emblem of the Denris family gleamed on their armor, unmistakable against the clear evening sky.
Then, stepping forward with an air of absolute confidence, adorned in full battle armor and grinning from ear to ear, was the man himself—Reobard Denris.
“Greetings, Echo,” Reobard said smoothly, shoving Bayolar aside as he made his way toward them. “And the rest of the crew. So good to see you all.”
Echo felt something snap inside her. Her fingers twitched toward her sword, every fiber of her being screaming at her to lunge and cut him down where he stood.
“I knew we couldn’t trust him,” she spat through gritted teeth. Her voice dripped with fury, but somehow, she managed to keep herself from acting on it. As much as she wanted to strike him down, she knew the consequences would be dire for all of them.
Reobard chuckled, his smirk widening as if her anger only amused him. “You should listen to yourself more often instead of blindly following Eloken,” he said with mock sincerity. “But what’s done is done. The outcome was always going to be the same—with me standing at the top, and you ordinary people down where you belong.”
Eloken didn’t react—not at first.
Not to Reobard’s betrayal.
Not to Joixari’s forces securing their grip on the Academy.
Not to the fact that everything was unraveling before his very eyes.
No, the weight pressing down on him wasn’t just from the external threats.
It was from the betrayals that ran deeper.
The trust he had shattered. The bonds he might never repair.
And worst of all, the slow, sinking realization that he had set everything in motion thar cursed night five years ago. If they just didn’t do the Malrik’s heist job, if they just went for something more secure, not succumbing to their ever growing appetites, they could have been free off all of this, living somewhere far, happy, all together. Killing his uncle didn’t bring him any relief, nor he felt like justice for his family was achieved, nothing good came out of all this.
But something much worse was started. Even now, standing in the heart of this disaster, he didn’t fully understand the extent of what was happening. But from the very beginning, something had felt wrong. Something had always felt wrong about those four figures, about the magic, the essence itself.
And now, standing at the precipice of whatever came next, he knew one thing for certain—The worst was yet to come.
But Eloken forced himself to stand tall, drawing strength from nothing but sheer will.
He had led them here—his friends, his students, the Academy, and perhaps even the entire world—into this chaos. And he would be the one to get them out and he wouldn’t ask for their forgiveness.
Not yet.
His voice was steady when he spoke. “What is the goal of all this?” he demanded. “What do you want from me?”
He let Vis surge through him, sharpening his senses, enhancing his speed and strength. He could feel the energy crackling beneath his skin, coiling tight, ready for anything.
Zosima studied him, noticing a slight change. “The goal,” she said, her voice calm, measured, “is something far beyond your understanding.”
Then she turned toward Reobard. “Did you find it?”
Reobard smirked. “Exactly where you said it would be.”
From the folds of his cloak, he pulled something wrapped in cloth. He held it delicately, almost reverently, before slowly peeling away the layers of fabric.
Eloken’s breath caught in his throat. The pieces of the artifacts.
Fragments of ancient relics that he and Evie had spent almost a year tracking down—pieces they had uncovered in Azarim, Svordonsk, and a other locations, chasing the whispers of forgotten magic and vague pointers of shadowed figures.
And now, here they were, gathered in Reobard’s hands.
Zosima extended a hand toward the fragments, her expression unreadable. “You see, El?” she said, gesturing toward them. “You found these because they told you to. You followed their instructions without ever questioning what you were truly gathering—or what would happen when you had it all.”
Eloken’s jaw clenched. “You know that’s not true,” he said, his voice firm. “I did what I had to, but I was never blind. I spent every moment trying to understand the real purpose behind these pieces.” His gaze flickered toward Echo. “Ask her if you don’t believe me. She knows.”
Echo didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Zosima tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Maybe that was your intention,” she admitted. “But intentions don’t matter when the damage is already done.”
She reached for another bundle wrapped in cloth, this one held by one of her own men.
She unwrapped it with the same practiced ease, revealing more fragments—pieces that they had gathered. It was only then that it sank in. They all had been collecting the same thing. For the same purpose.
And yet it would seem that Zosima had figured out the truth long before he had.
Eloken exhaled slowly. “What are you planning to do with them?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
Zosima smiled—a small, knowing smile. “I’m going to return magic to where it belongs,” she said. “Far away from this world.”
Eloken frowned. “How?”
Zosima lifted one of the larger pieces of the artifact, turning it over in her hands. “These,” she said, “are fragments of one of the most powerful weapons ever created—The Shield of Corruption.”
He had heard the name before. Ancient, whispered in legends. A weapon of immense power, designed not to destroy, but to reshape.
“It was once used to keep the Corrupted contained,” Zosima continued, “to reshape the world into what it was always meant to be—free from corruption, free from twisted and unnatural power.”
“How do you know all this?” Echo asked, suspicion lacing her tone.
Zosima’s expression didn’t waver. “I have my sources.”
Echo shook her head. “And how do you know they’re not lying to you? Twisting the truth just like everyone else? You’re all playing with forces far beyond your control!”
“My sources,” she said, “are very, very close to me and trustworthy.”
She took a step back, rolling her shoulders as if preparing for something. Then, with a practiced, almost effortless grace, she raised her hands.
A slow, deliberate motion.
A circle traced through the air with the tips of her fingers, elegant and precise, the movement of someone who had practiced this for years.
The fragmented artifacts in Reobard’s hands trembled.
Then, slowly, they began to rise.
A pulse of unseen energy coursed through them as they hovered above the ground, shifting, moving, aligning.
Piece by piece, The Shield of Corruption began to take shape.
Everyone in the garden watched in stunned silence.
The artifacts continued to rise, aligning into place, glowing with an eerie, golden light.
Joixari narrowed his eyes. “Seems you’ve been keeping secrets, Zosima,” he mused. “I had no idea you could wield magic.”
Zosima didn’t spare him a glance. Her gaze remained locked on the forming shield, her hands steady, her expression unreadable. “There’s a lot you don’t know, dear,” she said smoothly.
The light surrounding the fragments grew brighter, pulsating like a living thing. Instinctively, the gathered soldiers and onlookers took several steps back.
Then the ground began to tremble.
A deep, thrumming quake, like a thousand tiny earthquakes striking at once. Dust and pebbles rattled against the stone paths, the trees shuddered as though caught in an invisible storm.
Echo’s stance widened as she braced herself against the tremors. “Zosima,” she called, voice sharp with warning. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Zosima didn’t flinch. “Trust me, sister…”
And then, just a few paces from where Eloken, Echo, and Cel stood, reality itself tore open.
A rift. A clean, jagged wound through space, as if some unseen blade had sliced through the fabric of the world, revealing a swirling, unknown beyond.
A portal.
There was only one person who could have done this.
Sure enough, a second later, a figure stumbled through—cheeks flushed, breath ragged. Tuk.
The boy barely had time to regain his footing before two more figures burst through behind him. Dalamir and Trokt, weapons drawn, their postures tense, ready for battle.
But when their eyes landed on Zosima—standing at the center of the chaos, magic crackling around her, golden light illuminating her face—they froze. Shock rendered them motionless.
Zosima hesitated for the first time. A flicker of something crossed her face—but she caught herself a moment too late.
The spell wavered.
And that was all it took.
The shield, nearly whole, pulsed violently—then exploded.
A brilliant burst of golden energy erupted outward, a wave of light swallowing the entire garden in an instant.
As the shield shattered, the cascading light took on strange forms—visions flickered within its brilliance. For a fleeting moment, the garden was no longer the garden. The golden glow twisted and swirled, revealing glimpses of faraway places—vast deserts with blackened sands, towering cities bathed in an unnatural twilight, an endless sea stretching into nothingness.
Eloken's breath caught as the images shifted again. The academy. A battlefield he did not recognize. Then—cloaked figures, moving within the light, commanding the large armies led by huge shadowy monstrosities.
His heart pounded. He knew those silhouettes. And then he saw him.
The tallest of the four cloaked figures that came to him five years ago.
It was reaching.
Eloken barely had time to register it—an arm, outstretched, fingers grasping toward them, toward him—before a fragment of the shield shot toward Tuk’s portal, colliding with its edges.
The impact sent out another pulse of raw magic—brighter, stronger—blinding them all in an overwhelming cascade of radiant gold.