The morning after the defense of the North Gate was devoid of the usual avian chorus. The birds had fled the Whispering Woods, and in their place was a heavy, unnatural silence that clung to the Citadel like a damp shroud. While the lower-tier students were busy scrubbing ash from the battlements, the true power of the Academy was gathered in the highest room of the Obsidian Spire.
Dean Alexander II stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands clasped behind his back. The "Great Ebb" had receded, but the mana-veins in the walls were still flickering, struggling to regain their steady pulse.
Behind him, the heavy iron doors groaned open. Captain Allen of the Sun-Guards walked in, his armor dented and stained with the grey residue of the Husks. He didn't salute; he looked too tired for formalities.
"The casualties among the Elites are being managed," Allen said, his voice a low rasp. "Vacuum Shock hit the third-years the hardest. We lost four. But it could have been hundreds."
"And the North Gate?" Alexander asked, not turning around.
"It holds. Thanks to the 'Misfits' and that boy," Allen said. He paused, removing his helmet to reveal a face etched with deep-seated concern. "We need to talk about him, Alexander. We need to talk about Matthew."
Alexander finally turned, his eyes unreadable. "He did exactly what I calculated he would do. He acted as the anchor in the storm."
"He didn't just act as an anchor," Allen countered, stepping forward. "I watched the recording crystals from the gate-house. That boy didn't just negate the Miasma. He devoured it. He moved with a speed that shouldn't be possible for a Rank 0, and when he struck those Husks, they didn't just die—they ceased to exist. He's not a student anymore, Alexander. He's a localized catastrophe."
"He is the son of the Brave One," the Dean remarked calmly. "He has the grit of his father and a core that balances the scales of this dying world."
"The Brave One was a man we could understand!" Allen snapped. "He was a shield. This boy? He's a hole in the map. My men are terrified of him. They saw him glowing with that purple light, standing in a field of ash. They're calling him the 'Raven of the Ebb.' If he keeps growing at this rate—if he keeps 'eating' high-tier mana like he did last night—how long before he decides the Academy's mana-veins look like a feast?"
Alexander walked to his desk, picking up a report from the Royal Council. "The Council is already demanding he be handed over to the Research Division. They want to know how he empowered Lyra Ignis. They see him as a battery to be drained, Allen. They don't see the person; they see the potential."
"Then they're fools," Allen said. "You can't cage a vacuum. If you try to 'drain' him, he'll just pull the Council Chamber down into the dirt. He's becoming a problem because he's outgrowing the hierarchy. He has the F-Class following him like he's a prophet, he has a genius like Andre building him illegal weapons, and he has the Ignis heiress acting as his sword-arm."
The Dean sat down, the shadows of the room lengthening around him. "That is exactly why he must stay. The hierarchy is what led us to the Ebb, Allen. Our reliance on 'pure' noble blood and stable veins has made us brittle. Matthew is the friction we need to survive."
"Friction produces heat, Alexander. Heat produces fire," Allen warned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I've spent my life protecting this Kingdom from monsters. I'm starting to fear that the greatest monster we've ever faced is currently sleeping in Room 402."
"He is not a monster," Alexander said, his voice turning cold as ice. "He is a brother. He is a son. And as long as he has those anchors, he is ours. But if the Council tries to take his sister, or if Lucius tries another stunt... then you will see the monster you're so afraid of."
While the Dean and the Captain debated his soul in the tower, Matthew was back in the North Wing. The calm lasted less than twelve hours. By noon, the "Silent Faction" found themselves under a new kind of siege. The Royal Council had sent a delegation of "Inspectors"—men in high-collared white robes who carried "Aetheric Measuring Rods."
They didn't go to the Elites. They went straight to the F-Class common room.
Matthew was sitting at a scarred wooden table, helping Jax wrap a sprained wrist, when the doors were kicked open. Three Inspectors stepped in, flanked by a squad of Sun-Guards who looked decidedly uncomfortable following orders in the very wing that had saved their lives the night before.
"Matthew of Oakhaven," the lead Inspector said, his voice nasal and condescending. "By order of the High Council, you are required to surrender all 'non-sanctioned' artifacts for inspection. Specifically, the mechanical gloves you utilized during the unauthorized engagement at the North Gate."
Andre, who was sitting nearby tinkering with a scout-drone, stood up so fast his chair flipped. "Unauthorized? We saved the gate! Those gloves are my intellectual property—I built them from scrap and sweat!"
"Property of an orphan is property of the State," the Inspector countered, not even deigning to look at Andre. "Hand them over, boy. Or we will be forced to classify you and your associates as a 'Threat to Public Stability.'"
The room went cold. Andre flinched, the word "orphan" hitting him like a physical blow. He had no family name to hide behind, no House Valerius to call for legal aid. He was just a boy with a wrench and a dream, and the Council knew it.
Matthew stood up slowly. He didn't reach for the bag containing the Dampers. He just looked at the Inspector, his eyes—still ringed with that bruised violet—settling on the man's throat. A phantom wind began to tug at the papers on the tables, the temperature dropping several degrees in seconds.
"The gloves didn't save the gate," Matthew said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I did. Andre has no parents to speak for him, which means I speak for him. If you want the gloves, you'll have to take them off my hands while I'm wearing them. But I should warn you... I'm still very full from last night."
The lead Inspector took a step back, his measuring rod beginning to vibrate and glow a frantic red. He looked at the Sun-Guards for support, but the soldiers remained motionless, their eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
"This is insurrection," the Inspector hissed.
"No," Matthew replied, stepping into the center of the room. "This is Oakhaven. And we don't give up our own."