The training ring in Villa 3 had a crack in it.
It ran from roughly the center of the floor toward the northern wall in a jagged, branching line. It was exactly the way stone cracked when the kinetic force applied to it vastly exceeded what it was engineered to survive. The maintenance staff had been called that afternoon. They had stood over it, noted the impossible depth and spread of the damage, exchanged a long, silent look between themselves, and quietly submitted a repair request marked urgent.
The dampening rune on the northern wall remained entirely dark. The whole ring smelled faintly of discharged, burned mana and something significantly older. It was a dry, mineral scent that only seeped up through the bedrock when the deep foundations of the island had been violently stressed.
Anastasia came down to look at it that evening.
