The atmosphere in the High Faculty Chamber was no longer one of scholarly debate; it was the suffocating stillness of a tomb. Outside the reinforced windows, the Citadel was a mosaic of chaos. Andre's broadcast was still looping on the massive scrying mirrors in the courtyard—grainy, flickering footage of the "Holy" Alistair being unmade by a boy who shouldn't exist.
Dean Alexander stood at the head of the obsidian table, his face illuminated by the cold, blue light of a containment field. His usual air of grandfatherly wisdom had vanished, replaced by a sharp, desperate pragmatism.
Across from him sat the twelve High Instructors. Some were trembling; others sat with their hands folded, their eyes darting toward the door as if expecting Matthew to burst through the wood at any moment.
"The situation is... evolving," the Dean began, his voice surprisingly calm. "The broadcast has compromised the psychological integrity of the student body. They are no longer receptive to standard instruction. They are questioning the very foundations of the Covenant."
"Questioning?" Professor Vane, the head of Illusion Magic, snapped. "They are rioting, Alexander! The E-Class has barricaded the refectory, and the Elites are demanding to know if their 'Blessings' are actually tracking devices. You can't just 'evolve' your way out of a total ideological collapse!"
"Which is why," the Dean continued, leaning forward until his shadow loomed over the table, "we are moving the timeline forward. The First-Year Final Practical will commence at dawn."
A stunned silence followed.
"The Practical is scheduled for two months from now," the Combat Instructor, a scarred woman named Thorne, whispered. "And the First-Years haven't even begun the simulation training for the Labyrinth. If you send them in there now, it won't be an exam. It will be a massacre."
The Dean tapped a rune on the table. A holographic map of the Labyrinth of the Lost shimmered into the air. It was a subterranean nightmare—a shifting, sentient maze built directly into the ley-lines of the continent. It wasn't just a physical space; it was a magical digestive system designed to test the limits of mana-conductivity.
"The Labyrinth is a closed system," the Dean explained, his eyes cold. "Once the gates are sealed, no signal can enter or exit. Not even Andre's little 'broadcast.' By moving the students inside, we remove them from the influence of the Null's propaganda."
"You're not moving them to protect them," Thorne said, her voice rising. "The Labyrinth's internal guardians are set to Third-Year lethality. You're sending fifteen-year-olds into a meat grinder."
"I am sending them into a controlled environment where 'accidents' are statistically expected," Alexander corrected. "If the Null dies in the Labyrinth, he dies as a failure of the curriculum, not a martyr of the Church. And if the other students... perish... it will be blamed on the instability caused by the Null's interference with the Academy's wards."
The door to the chamber creaked open. It wasn't a person who entered, but a presence—a ripple of golden light that made the Professors gasp and clutch their chests.
Alistair St. John, or what was left of him, leaned against the doorframe. His left arm was gone, replaced by a shimmering, translucent limb of pure mana. His eyes were no longer blue; they were the color of a dying star.
"The Dean is correct," Alistair rasped, his voice echoing with the vibration of the Unknown God. "The garden has become infested. When a gardener finds a blight he cannot cure, he burns the entire plot. The Labyrinth is the incinerator."
He looked at the Professors, and several of them looked away, unable to bear the divine radiation leaking from his form.
"You will inform the students that the Practical is a mandatory safety exercise," Alistair commanded. "Tell them that the Labyrinth is the only place shielded from the 'Void Infection' spreading through the Academy. They will run into the trap willingly, seeking the very protection that will kill them."
"And the Null?" Professor Vane asked, his voice shaking.
"The Null," Alistair said, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips, "will be given a special set of coordinates. He will find exactly what he is looking for. And then, he will find out why the Gods do not like to be eaten."
Dean Alexander stood up, his robes swishing against the stone. "Go. Prepare the transport sigils. The First-Year dormitories are to be evacuated by 05:00 hours. Any student who resists is to be labeled 'Infected' and neutralized immediately."
As the Professors filed out of the room, their heads bowed in shame or fear, the Dean turned to Alistair.
"And if the boy survives the Labyrinth?" Alexander asked.
Alistair looked toward the floor, his gaze seemingly piercing through the miles of stone to where Matthew and the F-Class were hiding.
"He won't," Alistair whispered. "The Labyrinth isn't just a maze, Alexander. It's the stomach of a dead God. And even a Null can't survive being digested by something that has already passed into the Void."
Down in the maintenance tunnels, Matthew sat against a crate of mana-batteries. He could feel the shift in the air—the way the Citadel's vibrations were changing from chaotic to focused.
"They're quiet," Lyra said, sitting across from him. She was cleaning her blade, but her movements were mechanical. "The screaming stopped ten minutes ago."
"It's the quiet before the harvest," Matthew said. He looked at the Golden Ring in his hand, which was now etched permanently into his skin like a brand.
Andre was slumped over his monitors, his eyes bloodshot. "Matt... the internal comms just spiked. They're sending a message to every student. It's a 'Safety Evacuation' to the Labyrinth. They're telling everyone that you've released a virus into the mana-lines."
Matthew stood up, the violet fire flickering around his boots.
"The Labyrinth," Matthew whispered, remembering the horror stories the older students told. "He's trying to bury the evidence."
"What do we do?" Andrew asked, picking up his shield.
Matthew looked at the iron door, then up toward the surface. "We do exactly what they want. We go into the Labyrinth. But we aren't going in to hide. We're going in to show them that the stomach can't handle what it's about to swallow."