The morning sun filtered through a thin layer of cloud, casting a soft glow over the quiet road that wound through the forested valley. A gentle breeze stirred the trees, rustling the leaves like distant whispers. Virgil walked alongside Serel in silence, the soft crunch of boots against gravel the only consistent sound.

  They had left before dawn, accompanied now by two others who had been assigned to Serel as well—Elian Drosk and Nyori Velryn, both new students selected for the Academy. They were heading to one of the connected planets—smaller than Earth, but bound by the same tethering magic. It was a place that mirrored Earth’s ecosystems but bore the unmistakable traces of magical influence.

  Elian, lively and sharp-tongued, walked slightly ahead of the group, poking at twigs with a crooked staff that looked more like a walking stick than a conduit of magic. He had sun-browned skin, bright, restless eyes, and the kind of confidence that came from talking one’s way out of too many bad ideas. His magic leaned into the chaotic—the manipulation of kinetic force, especially sudden acceleration or explosive release. He could launch stones or punch with twice his weight’s momentum, but lacked precision.

  Nyori, by contrast, was calm and graceful. She walked at an even pace, dark hair tied in a long braid that swung behind her. Her eyes were always watching. Her voice was soft, but when she spoke, everyone listened. Her specialty was sensory magic—refined, precise perception enhancements. She could hear a heartbeat across a courtyard or catch the faintest ripple of movement. The discipline came from her upbringing in a reclusive house known for magical finesse and strict codes of behavior.

  Virgil, quiet as ever, walked beside Serel. Though he didn’t look it, his thoughts were racing—layered and analytical. The memory of the river—the dream—lingered like cold water on his skin. Pieces of emotion, instincts, and memories that weren’t his would flicker into place without warning.

  He had known something was coming when Zelos failed. He had felt the crack in Malakor’s defenses before it happened.

  He remembered the timekeeper’s voice whispering not in words, but in symbols of sensation—moments suspended in time, brief glances into patterns only partially revealed.

  Now, walking through the mist-thin forest, he paused. Just slightly. Enough to be behind Elian.

  “Something’s coming,” he murmured.

  Elian turned his head. “What’d you say?”

  Virgil didn’t answer. He stepped sideways.

  A black blur shot from the underbrush.

  Nyori screamed. Elian flinched and staggered back. Serel snapped into action, pulling a sharp glimmering blade from beneath her coat. But Virgil was already ducking, rolling away from the trajectory of the creature as if he had watched it before. He hadn’t. Not exactly.

  The thing—an Outlander—was vaguely humanoid, though hunched and lopsided. Skin like cracked stone, limbs long and whip-thin. Its head was a mess of teeth and vertical eyes, wide and unblinking. It screeched and lunged again.

  Elian reacted, slamming a burst of kinetic force into the ground. It didn’t hit the creature, but it launched him backwards just in time.

  Nyori had thrown herself behind a tree, whispering rapidly. Her eyes shifted—her pupils dilated. “There’s more,” she said.

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  Serel moved with ruthless precision. Her blade shimmered unnaturally as she swung, slicing into the Outlander’s torso. It shrieked but didn’t die.

  “They’re not smart,” Serel shouted, parrying a claw. “But they’re strong. Stay sharp!”

  More tore through the forest line.

  The fight unraveled quickly.

  Elian tried to blast one charging beast, but missed and nearly toppled himself. Nyori’s vision picked out movement, but her warnings came a beat too late. Virgil fought more like someone in a trance than a soldier—he moved in bursts, calculated and clean, guided by instincts he didn't understand.

  He ducked under a swinging arm, slammed the heavy branch into the creature’s knee. It cracked. He twisted around and rolled, coming up behind Nyori just as another lunged. She screamed, freezing. He pulled her out of the way, letting the beast slam headfirst into the trunk.

  “Thanks,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  Elian had found his rhythm now, launching into a backflip off his own blast to deliver a kinetic punch. It landed with a satisfying crack—but then another Outlander hit him from the side, sending him sprawling.

  “Stupid things don’t die easy!” he shouted.

  “Because they’re not supposed to,” Serel replied, stepping in front of him. Her sword flicked once, twice, clearing a path. She was bleeding from her left arm but didn’t acknowledge it.

  One of the creatures turned and stared directly at Virgil.

  Its expression—or lack of one—was unreadable. But something in the stare made his stomach twist. He’d seen it before. In a dream? In a memory?

  It leapt. He moved without thinking, falling backward and sweeping its legs. Then—before it could recover—he slammed a sharp rock into its chest, once, twice.

  It screeched and flailed, but the sound cut off as its body collapsed into ash.

  Around them, the last of the creatures were falling. The air thick with the scent of scorched dust and earth. Virgil’s chest rose and fell. His knuckles were raw.

  It was over.

  Seven Outlanders, dead.

  Their bodies started to wither, fading into powder.

  Serel straightened. She was breathing hard.

  “They were just fodder,” she said.

  Virgil stared at the powder. “for who”

  She nodded. “They were unintelligent outlanders. Sent through weak points to cause destruction. There are worse kinds. Smarter kinds. Some that think. Some that lead. These things? These were sent to test something. Or distract.”

  “Where do they come from?” Nyori asked.

  “Other planets. Or dimensions. We don’t know. They show up where breaches happen. Usually near gates. If they reach populated areas, the damage is... worse.”

  Elian flopped onto a rock. “This is us not panicking, by the way.”

  Serel pulled a flat disc from her belt. “I need to report this. Stay on the road. Do not wander.”

  She whispered something into the disc. Gold light shimmered around her. She vanished without even thinking of whether the outlanders will be back when she wasn't around.

  They sat in silence.

  Nyori cleaned a cut on her arm, her fingers trembling only slightly. “My first real fight.”

  Elian groaned. “I think I bruised my soul.”

  Virgil didn’t speak. His hand hovered over a broken stone. He stared at it for a long time.

  A memory—stone halls, chanting voices, a war long gone. Not his.

  He closed his eyes.

  Serel returned after twenty minutes. Her face was tight.

  “They were too coordinated. This shouldn’t have happened. Not this close to Veyr.”

  “They know we’re here?” Nyori asked.

  “Maybe.”

  As they walked again, Virgil spoke without looking at anyone. “Do you know what happened to my family?”

  Serel blinked. “What?”

  “My house. My mother, sister, brother. They were in the city. Before I left.”

  Serel hesitated. “They weren’t on the casualty lists. That’s not conclusive, but I’ll try to find out.”

  Virgil nodded. His face didn’t change.

  Silence returned.

  They walked for another hour. The forest thinned, replaced by a rocky rise.

  Then they saw it.

  A city—floating on a disk of stone above a crater. Bridges of woven light connected to it, suspended like thread from nothing. Spires and arches gleamed with soft runes. The air pulsed with quiet magic.

  “That,” Serel said, “is Veyr. One of the great training cities. Built on a minor planet bound to Earth. A thousand years old. Floating since its foundation.”

  Elian whistled. “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  Nyori gave him a sideways glance. “We were never in Kansas.”

  Virgil looked up. He didn’t smile. But something in him felt... pulled. Drawn forward. Like gravity.

  He stepped forward first.

  The others followed.