The dawn did not bring light to the Citadel; it brought a heavy, suffocating fog that tasted of copper and old prayers. In the central courtyard, the First-Year class stood in jagged, shivering lines. There were hundreds of them—sons and daughters of nobles, scholarship students from the outer rims, and the terrified children of the merchant guilds.
Usually, the air would be filled with the arrogant chatter of Elites or the nervous whispers of the lower classes. Today, there was only the sound of teeth chattering and the heavy, rhythmic clomp of the Elite Guard's boots as they formed a perimeter of steel and glowing halberds.
High above, the scrying mirrors that had once broadcast Andre's "Heresy" were now dark, replaced by a scrolling, golden script: SAFE EVACUATION IN PROGRESS. TRUST IN THE ARCHITECTS. THE VOID IS AMONG US.
Professor Vane stood on the raised dais, his robes fluttering in the cold wind. He looked down at the sea of young faces with a practiced expression of mournful concern.
"Students of the First Year," Vane's voice was amplified by a sonic spell, booming across the stones. "The Academy has been breached. A corruption—a 'Void Infection'—has been unleashed within the mana-veins of the upper dormitories. To remain in the Citadel is to risk the permanent erosion of your souls."
A ripple of terror went through the crowd. A girl in the front row began to sob quietly.
"But do not despair," Vane continued, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of the F-Class. "The Labyrinth of the Lost is the only sanctum deep enough to be shielded from the resonance of the Null. It is a holy ground, carved by the Founders themselves. There, you will be safe. There, you will undergo a final evaluation to ensure your spirits remain untainted."
"It's a lie!" a voice cracked from the middle of the crowd. A boy from the C-Class stepped forward, his face pale. "I saw the broadcast! I saw the Herald! The Dean is trying to—"
Zap.
A bolt of silver light from an Elite Guard's halberd struck the boy in the chest. He didn't die, but his body went rigid as he was dragged backward into the shadows of the stone pillars.
"The infection has already claimed some of your peers," Vane said coldly, his voice losing its warmth. "Do not let their madness take you. The Silver Gate is open. Move. Now."
At the far end of the courtyard, the massive Silver Gate—a circular portal of liquid mercury held in place by ancient runes—began to spin. It didn't lead to a room or a hallway; it led straight down into the gut of the continent.
The students began to move, pushed by the spear-tips of the Guard. They walked in silence, heads bowed, stepping into the shimmering mercury and vanishing. To them, it felt like a leap of faith. To the Dean watching from the Obsidian Spire, it looked like grain being poured into a mill.
Hidden behind the massive gargoyles of the North Battlements, Matthew and his group watched the procession. Matthew's hood was pulled low, but the violet glow of his eyes escaped the shadows of his cloak, casting a ghostly light on his pale skin.
"They're actually doing it," Lyra whispered, her hand white-knuckled on the hilt of her sword. "They're marching five hundred kids into a death trap, and they're making them thank the Gods for the privilege."
"The Labyrinth isn't just a maze," Andre said, tapping a small handheld sensor. "The mana-readings coming off that gate are spiked to 'Extermination' levels. The Dean isn't just hiding them; he's activated the 'Purge' cycle. The internal guardians will hunt anything with a heartbeat the moment the gate closes."
"Then we have to stop them," Andrew said, raising his shield. "We can't let them go in there."
"We can't stop them from the outside," Matthew said, his voice sounding like the grinding of tectonic plates. He looked at the Silver Gate, his Golden Ring pulsing in time with the liquid mercury. "The Guard is too thick. If we start a fight here, the Dean will just collapse the courtyard and kill everyone instantly to 'contain the infection'."
Matthew turned to his friends. "We go in. We wait for the gate to seal. In the dark, the Guard can't see us, and the Dean's eyes can't reach. That's where we turn the 'Practical' into a revolution."
Crossing the Threshold
The F-Class moved like ghosts, slipping through the shadows of the peripheral columns. They waited until the very last group—the stragglers and the injured—approached the gate.
As the final Elite Guard turned his back to signal the closure of the portal, Matthew stepped forward.
The mercury of the Silver Gate reacted violently to his presence. The liquid didn't just ripple; it pulled back, as if afraid to touch the Null. For a second, the runes around the gate flared a deep, warning red.
"Move!" Matthew hissed.
The four of them leaped into the mercury just as the Silver Gate collapsed inward, sealing the courtyard in a deafening silence.
Matthew hit the ground hard. It wasn't stone beneath him, but a cold, damp substance that felt like organic moss. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and ancient, rotting magic.
He stood up, his violet eyes illuminating the space around them.
They weren't in a hallway. They were in a massive, vaulted cavern that stretched into the darkness. Around them, hundreds of students were wandering aimlessly, their soft sobs echoing off the distant walls.
But as Matthew looked deeper into the darkness, he saw something else.
Hundreds of glowing, mechanical eyes were opening in the shadows of the ceiling. The Labyrinth's guardians hadn't even waited for the students to find their bearings.
The "Practical" hadn't just begun. The hunt was on.