Mind Over Magic

The Saint didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

The presence that poured from his body was enough to choke the air. It wasn’t raw magic—it was tighter, sharper. The weight of divine authority, aimed directly at Alaric like the tip of a spear.

Kaelion took one look at the armor and hissed under his breath, "He’s fully invoked."

"What does that mean?" Seraphine asked, backing toward Alaric.

Kaelion didn’t take his eyes off the Saint. "It means his body’s just a puppet now. There’s something stronger speaking through him."

Alaric flexed his fingers once. "Great. So we’re not just dealing with Saints now—we’re dealing with possessed ones."

The Saint stepped forward.

Alaric didn’t move.

The voice echoed again—flat, hollow, not coming from the mouth but from the air itself:

> "Target has breached Crown containment limits."

> "Mirrored Anchor detected."

> "Purge protocol: 001."

Seraphine muttered, "They just called me an Anchor."

Kaelion glanced at her. "Which means you’re next."

Alaric raised his hand, palm open. "You don’t get to decide what we are."

The Saint didn’t flinch. He lifted one arm.

A golden circle formed in front of his hand—an intricate spell array with too many layers to count.

Kaelion cursed. "Move!"

---

Vector Burst

Alaric grabbed Seraphine’s arm and launched them both sideways just as the divine sigil fired.

The room behind them exploded—not with flame, but with raw, blinding light. Stone melted. The floor cracked.

Kaelion rolled toward the left wall, throwing up a psychic shield just in time to avoid the fallout.

Seraphine hit the ground hard beside Alaric and winced. "That was a Saint-level invocation."

"No," Alaric muttered. "That was a warning shot."

---

The Saint turned his head.

He didn’t move like a man. He moved like something calculating paths—not reading the battlefield, but simulating it.

The spell circle formed again.

Faster.

This time aiming directly for Seraphine.

---

Alaric stepped between them.

Anchor Field

A dome of invisible pressure formed around her—tight, unbreakable.

The divine light hit the field.

Bent.

And dissolved.

Seraphine blinked. "That was—"

"A new layer," Alaric said. "I didn’t know it could hold divine-grade spells."

Kaelion shouted from the side, "It can’t. You upgraded it somehow."

Alaric didn’t answer.

Because something inside his head had already started talking.

A whisper.

His voice—but older again.

> You’re adapting. Good. Faster this time.

> Let’s test the limits.

---

The Saint didn’t wait.

He raised both arms.

Two new circles formed—one silver, one gold—spinning in opposite directions.

Kaelion swore loudly. "That’s a Purge-Class seal. If he finishes that—"

Alaric didn’t give him time to finish.

Vector Crush

He compressed the space directly in front of the Saint—twisting the divine circles before they locked.

The energy backlashed.

The Saint staggered. Not far. Just a step.

But it was enough.

Alaric stepped forward.

Shatter Pulse

—A concentrated shot, aimed directly at the Saint’s helm.

It hit.

The armor cracked.

And the Saint’s body stopped.

Just... froze.

---

Seraphine stared. "Did you kill him?"

"No."

Kaelion frowned. "He’s not breathing."

"He’s not alive either," Alaric said. "Not fully."

The Saint’s arms dropped.

Then his voice returned.

Different.

Not hollow.

Not flat.

Now it was... furious.

> "You dare bend divine law with thought?"

Alaric’s jaw clenched. "Yeah. I do more than bend it."

The Saint raised his hand—

And then—

He shattered.

Not from Alaric’s power.

From the inside.

The armor cracked in five perfect lines.

And a figure stepped out of it.

Not human.

Not demon.

Something in between.

Floating. Pale. Skin like marble. And instead of a mouth—just rows of whispering teeth across the chest.

It didn’t move toward them.

It just spoke.

> "Phase IV breached."

> "Mindborn alignment confirmed."

> "Crown Key retrieved."

---

Alaric stepped back.

"What Crown Key?"

Seraphine looked at him. "They don’t mean you."

Kaelion drew in a slow breath. "They mean her."

Seraphine blinked. "Me?"

Alaric turned sharply. "Back up."

"I didn’t do anything!"

"That’s the problem," he snapped. "You don’t have to."

---

The creature moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Straight at Seraphine.

Alaric didn’t think.

Perception Lock

The entire room slowed.

To him, time stopped.

He moved between them.

And used something he hadn’t dared touch since the duel.

Perception Crush

—He slammed the entity’s awareness into static.

The creature staggered.

But didn’t fall.

It started laughing.

No sound—just the feeling of laughter inside every brain in the room.

> "You’ve opened the door," it whispered.

> "You can’t close it again."

---

The building shook.

The tower started to split.

And the thing began to burn—from the inside out.

Alaric shielded Seraphine.

Kaelion shouted, "We need to leave—now!"

They ran.

Through collapsing stairs.

Through echoing halls.

And behind them—

The Crown symbol appeared in the air, burning through reality.

And a final message followed them as the tower came down:

> One Crown awakened.

> Six remain.

The tower collapsed behind them.

Not like a building breaking apart.

More like reality itself folding.

The top half didn’t fall—it vanished. Swallowed by shimmering static, leaving nothing but a jagged stump and a plume of mist curling into the sky like smoke from a dying dream.

Alaric stood at the far end of the courtyard, breathing hard, coat scorched at the edges. Seraphine sat on a bench beside him, eyes wide, jaw tight, still gripping the inside lining of her coat like it was the only real thing left.

Kaelion paced nearby, muttering.

"I’m going to say it," he snapped. "I’m saying it now."

"No," Alaric said.

"I don’t care," Kaelion said. "You need to hear it."

"No."

Kaelion turned, waving his hands toward the crater where the tower used to be. "That’s the second time this month you’ve made something erase itself from reality, Alaric. Second time!"

"Third," Seraphine mumbled.

Kaelion pointed at her. "See? She’s counting now. That’s how bad it’s getting."

Alaric didn’t answer. He just stared at the glowing sigil still floating above the crater.

One Crown awakened.

Six remain.

---

They didn’t make it halfway back to the manor before the summons came.

Not a letter.

Not a messenger.

An airship.

Royal seal.

It descended over the Academy courtyard like a hawk claiming its prey, and a voice echoed from the hull:

> "Alaric Veyron. By decree of the Crown’s Silent Accord, you are summoned to the Black Assembly. Immediately."

Kaelion’s face twisted. "No one speaks for the Silent Accord."

Alaric looked up at the ship. "They do now."

---

Inside the airship, everything was velvet and silence.

No attendants. No pilots in view. Just thick, enchanted walls that swallowed sound and a narrow hallway leading to a single door.

Seraphine stared at the runes on the carpet. "This thing’s warded so hard I can’t even hear myself think."

"That’s the point," Kaelion said. "It keeps memories from leaving."

Alaric didn’t speak.

He stepped through the door.

---

The chamber inside wasn’t large.

Round table. Twelve seats. Eleven were empty.

The only person sitting wore black robes and a half-mask of dull silver.

No name.

No insignia.

Just presence.

"Alaric Veyron," the masked figure said, voice deep but not hostile. "You’ve made quite the mess."

Alaric didn’t sit. "I assume you’re the one behind the Accord."

"No one is behind it," the man said. "The Accord is older than the current royal line. Older than the Church. Possibly older than magic."

Kaelion leaned against the wall. "So now you show yourselves."

The masked man didn’t react. "Because now, the other Crowns will start to wake."

Seraphine frowned. "And that’s bad because...?"

"They’re not like him," the man said, nodding to Alaric. "He was designed to contain. To restart. The others... were not."

Alaric folded his arms. "What do you want from me?"

"Simple. Find them first."

Kaelion laughed once. "That’s your plan? Send one unstable mind after six others?"

"We’re not asking," the man said. "We’re warning you. If you don’t get to them before they trigger, the next one to awaken might level a continent."

Seraphine stepped forward. "Do you even know where they are?"

The man slid something across the table.

A map. Plain parchment. Six glowing red dots.

"Rough coordinates," he said. "One of them is already moving."

Alaric picked it up.

His voice was flat. "This one’s near the southern archipelago."

"Yes," the man replied. "That’s the one we’re most worried about."

"Why?"

The figure leaned forward just slightly.

"Because she remembers everything."

---

A sudden pulse hit Alaric’s thoughts.

Not from the man.

Not from the ship.

From inside.

Like a tap on the shoulder—only it wasn’t a shoulder.

It was a voice.

His voice.

But female.

Younger.

Amused.

> "Hello, Crown. I’ve been waiting."

Alaric staggered slightly.

Kaelion caught his arm. "Alaric?"

The masked man stood. "She made contact, didn’t she?"

Seraphine looked between them. "Who is she?"

The answer came from Alaric’s lips, but not his voice.

Not fully.

> "Her name... was once Astra."

> "But now, she calls herself the Crown of Ruin."

The name lingered in the air like smoke.

Astra.

Crown of Ruin.

Even saying it felt like touching something sharp. Not a title, but a warning wrapped in silk.

Kaelion stared at Alaric. "You said that like you knew her."

"I don’t," Alaric replied, rubbing his temple.

"But you will," Seraphine added quietly. "Won’t you?"

He didn’t answer.

Because something inside him had already started to shift again. Threads of recognition trying to weave themselves together—names, feelings, places he hadn’t been but almost remembered.

The masked man at the table sat back down. "If she’s reached out, she’s already begun to stir."

Alaric looked at the glowing dot on the map. "What’s she capable of?"

The figure hesitated.

Then spoke evenly. "When the original protocol ran, she was the prototype for offensive memory warfare."

"In English," Seraphine muttered.

Kaelion translated. "She could weaponize regret. Feed on it. Amplify it. Turn people’s worst memories against them."

Seraphine blinked. "Like illusions?"

"No," Alaric said. "Like reality. Bent through guilt."

The masked figure nodded. "Entire cities locked in mental loops. Populations unable to act. Generals begging forgiveness from shadows. Astra didn’t kill. She made them destroy themselves."

---

A beat of silence passed.

Then Kaelion said, "So why wasn’t she erased?"

"She couldn’t be," the man said. "Her memory line fragmented and disappeared before she could be sealed. We thought she was lost."

"Until now," Alaric muttered.

"Yes," the figure said. "And you’re the only one who can reach her without triggering the world’s largest psychic event."

Alaric looked at the glowing dot again.

"So where is she?"

The man tapped the map.

"Southern archipelago. A minor island. Forgotten by most."

"What’s it called?"

The man looked up.

And said, "Ashvale."

---

Seraphine blinked. "Did he say ash?"

Kaelion folded his arms. "That’s a bad omen."

Alaric just stared.

He wasn’t seeing the map anymore.

He was seeing a girl standing in the middle of a burning house. Not crying. Just... watching. Smoke in her hair. Hands glowing with red.

And behind her—

A city kneeling.

Not in worship.

In shame.

---

The memory broke.

He looked up.

"Send the ship."

The masked man nodded once. "It’s already waiting."

---

An hour later, they were airborne.

The royal transport moved faster than any standard vessel—using long-range acceleration runes that blurred the clouds around them into streaks of light.

Seraphine sat by the window, arms crossed. She hadn’t said much since the chamber.

Kaelion paced, checking his notes, mumbling theories about psychic synchronization and emotional decay loops.

Alaric sat near the center.

Eyes closed.

Trying not to listen to the voice crawling through his thoughts.

Astra’s voice.

Soft.

Almost kind.

> "Do you remember why I burned them?"

He didn’t answer.

> "They made me forget who I was."

> "They made me into something beautiful... and then hated me for it."

> "So I gave them a memory they couldn’t erase."

---

The ship rocked slightly.

The pilot’s voice came through the comm rune:

> "Approaching Ashvale. Weather unstable. Visibility low."

Kaelion raised an eyebrow. "Unstable how?"

The pilot answered, voice tight:

> "The sky’s clear. But something below’s... wrong."

> "The trees are bending."

Seraphine stood. "Bending?"

> "Like something’s pushing on them from above."

---

They looked out the side window.

And saw it.

The entire island was covered in fog—not natural, not magical.

Mental.

A cloud of emotion so thick it warped the air.

Not fear.

Not hate.

Shame.

Alaric stood slowly.

"She’s already active," he said.

Kaelion grabbed his coat. "Do we land?"

"No," Alaric said, voice low.

"We descend."

---

As they approached, the fog reached for the ship.

Not like mist.

Like fingers.

Memories. Broken and grasping.

Alaric closed his eyes.

Dominion Field – Level 2.

—He pushed outward with raw will, clearing a narrow path through the fog, shielding the hull.

Seraphine gripped the doorframe. "How many people live here?"

Kaelion looked sick. "No one."

Alaric stared down at the island.

And saw a single figure waiting at the center.

Long white dress.

Barefoot.

Hair lifted by wind that didn’t exist.

She looked up as the ship descended.

And smiled.

---

The voice hit him again.

> "There you are."

> "Crown of Chains."

> "Come remember me."