The air in the maintenance corridor was stagnant, smelling of wet stone and the ozone of Andre's fading "God-frequency" pulse. Matthew stood at the junction, his hand pressed against the wall to steady himself. Every time he breathed, a faint violet mist escaped his lips. The Golden Ring in his eyes hadn't faded; it had settled, glowing with a low, predatory hum that made the shadows around him curl like scorched paper.
"We have to go, Matt," Lyra urged, her hand firm on his shoulder. Her sword was drawn, the blade reflecting the erratic flickers of the overhead mana-lamps. "The North Gate wards are down for now, but once the Dean realizes the doors aren't just stuck—once he realizes we've breached the Sanctum—he'll drop the entire Citadel into lockdown. We won't just be trapped; we'll be buried."
Matthew looked at his translucent hand, then at the dark tunnel leading toward the outer walls. Freedom was a mile away. A life without the Architects breathing down his neck. A life where he wasn't a "harvest."
"She's right," Andrew added, his heavy shield held ready. "We don't have the numbers to fight the Elite Guard, let alone the Inquisitor-General. If we stay, we're just waiting for the scythe."
"No."
The voice came from the shadows behind them. Andre stepped into the light of the mana-lamp, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead. He looked exhausted, his jumpsuit singed from the discharge in the Dean's office, but his eyes were burning with a terrifying, cold clarity.
"We aren't leaving," Andre said.
Lyra spun around, her eyes widening. "Andre, have you lost your mind? I saw what you did to that door. You've poked the hornet's nest. If we stay here, we die."
"If we leave now, we're just four fugitives in the woods," Andre countered, stepping toward Matthew. "The Church will label us heretics. The Academy will call us terrorists. The world will believe them because the world has no reason not to. You want to run? Fine. You'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder until a 'Saint' eventually catches up and erases you."
"Better than being erased right now!" Andrew hissed.
"Is it?" Andre looked at Matthew, ignoring the others. "Matt, look at me. You didn't just survive Alistair. You broke the logic of this place. The students upstairs? They're terrified. They think your power is a curse because that's what the Professors told them. But if we leave now, we leave the lie intact."
Matthew straightened up, his violet gaze meeting Andre's. "What are you saying, Andre?"
"I'm saying the Vein Gate is right there," Andre pointed toward the massive iron doors at the end of the hall. "That's the heart of the Academy's broadcast network. Every scrying mirror, every lecture hall, every prayer room is fed through those mana-lines. I can't just open doors, Matt. I can rewrite the signal."
Andre grabbed Matthew's arm—the one that was still flickering with stolen divinity. "If we stay, we don't just fight. We reveal. I can use your frequency to hijack the Citadel's ocular wards. I can show every student in this building exactly what happened in the West Yard. I can show them Alistair's 'Holy Relic' trying to delete a child. I can show them the 'True Face' of the Architects."
"You want to start a revolution," Lyra whispered, her sword hand trembling slightly.
"I want to finish the Academy," Andre corrected. "If we run, they just replace us with new 'harvests.' If we stay and show them the truth, the Academy ceases to exist. The students won't fight for a God that wants to eat them."
Matthew felt the Golden Ring pulse in his chest. It was a heavy, intoxicating feeling. For the first time, he didn't feel like he was being hunted. He felt like he was the hunter.
"They'll send everything they have to stop the broadcast," Matthew said, his voice dropping into that strange, dual-tone resonance. "The Dean. The Guard. The Inquisitor-General. We'll be at the center of the storm, Andre. There's no running once you press 'send'."
"I know," Andre said, holding out the glowing crystal trigger. "But I'd rather die making sure the world knows why, than live in a forest wondering when the gods will find me."
The silence in the tunnel was deafening. Above them, they could hear the heavy, synchronized boots of the Elite Guard moving toward the North Sector. The window for escape was closing.
Matthew looked at Lyra. She saw the change in him—the shift from a boy trying to survive to a King claiming his void. She slowly lowered her sword and sighed. "You always were a terrible influence, Andre."
Andrew groaned, adjusting the strap on his shield. "I'm going to regret this. I'm definitely going to regret this."
Matthew stepped toward the Vein Gate. He placed his hand on the cold iron. The metal groaned, recognizing the "Hollow Saint" within him.
"Do it, Andre," Matthew commanded, his violet eyes flaring with a light that could be seen even through the cracks in the door. "Show them the truth. I'll hold the door."
Andre grinned, his fingers flying across the interface of his device. "Lock and load, boys and girls. We're going live."
As Andre began to interface with the mana-vats, a sound echoed from the far end of the maintenance tunnel. It wasn't the clank of armor or the shout of a soldier.
It was the sound of a bell. A single, clear, golden chime that seemed to freeze the very air.
At the end of the corridor, a figure appeared. It wasn't a man. It was a suit of hollow gold armor, seven feet tall, floating inches off the ground. In its hand was a scroll that unrolled itself, glowing with a script that burned the eyes.
The Inquisitor-General's Herald had arrived.
"The broadcast starts in three minutes, Matt!" Andre yelled over the rising hum of the mana-vats.
Matthew stepped in front of his friends, his shadow expanding into a tattered, winged shape that covered the walls.
"Then I guess I have to keep him busy for three minutes," Matthew said.