The silence that followed Matthew's ascent was not peaceful; it was the heavy, ionized hush that precedes a supercell storm. Thousands of eyes—students, high-ranking officials, and the common citizens peering through scrying mirrors across the capital—were locked on the boy who floated above the jagged abyss of the courtyard.
Matthew didn't look at the Elite Guard. He didn't even look at the Dean yet. He looked at the survivors behind him—the "martyrs" who had been discarded.
"Andre," Matthew said, his voice echoing with a strange, harmonic resonance. "Connect the book. Every mirror, every scroll, every transmission rune in the continent. I want them to see."
Andre didn't need to be told twice. He pulled a specialized interface rig from his pack—scavenged from the Labyrinth's own core—and slammed it into the leather binding of The Forgotten Hero. The book didn't resist; it hungered to be known.
"Broadcasting... now!" Andre shouted.
Suddenly, the golden propaganda scrolling on the Citadel's mirrors flickered and died. In its place, the memories of Arthur flooded the world.
The people of the continent didn't see the "Void Infection" they had been warned about. They saw a man in an apron. They saw the "Great Disaster" as it truly happened—a cruel experiment by bored deities. They saw the systematic slaughter of a hero whose only crime was protecting his family.
"Look at your 'Architects'!" Lyra stepped forward, her voice amplified by the violet energy surrounding them. "They didn't build this world to save you! They built it to cage you! Every 'Blessing' you receive is a collar! Every prayer you offer is fuel for the machine that crushed your ancestors!"
In the high balcony, Dean Alexander felt the world tilting. The foundation of his power—the lie of divine benevolence—was evaporating in real-time. He saw the citizens in the streets below stopping their work, their faces turning from confusion to a cold, rising fury.
"Shut it down!" the Dean screamed at the technicians, but they were staring at the mirrors, tears streaming down their faces as they recognized the faces of the "Forgotten" in the book's projections. "Guards! Kill them! Silence the heretics!"
The Elite Guard hesitated. Their halberds, powered by the "Light of the Six," sputtered. They looked at Matthew, then at the image of Arthur—the man who had the same eyes as the boy in front of them. For the first time in the Academy's history, the soldiers of the Church lowered their weapons.
"The Light is failing, Alexander," Matthew said, drifting closer to the balcony. The violet-gold rings in his eyes expanded, a visual representation of the Eclipse Core reaching full synchronization. "Because the Light was never yours to give. It was stolen from the sun, and the sun is going down."
The sky above the Citadel groaned. The clouds swirled into a perfect, terrifying circle—a halo of blinding white fire. The God of Light was manifest, but he wasn't descending to help the Dean. The pressure of the divine presence was so great that the stone spires of the Academy began to crack and crumble.
The Dean fell to his knees, reaching his hands toward the burning sky. "Lord! My Master! I have served you! I have kept the secret! Purge them! Cleanse this world once more!"
But there was no voice of comfort. The God of Light didn't look at the Dean. He looked at Matthew. In that gaze, there was no mercy—only the cold calculation of a gardener looking at a blight he had failed to prune once before.
"He isn't coming for us," Matthew said, his voice dropping to a whisper that everyone heard. "He's coming to burn the evidence. And you, Alexander... you're the biggest piece of evidence he has left."
The Dean's eyes went wide. He looked at the descending pillar of fire, then at the hole in the ground, then back at the boy he had tried to bury. He realized, too late, that he was never a partner to the Gods. He was just another variable that had outlived its usefulness.
As the God of Light's radiance began to scorch the air, turning the very atmosphere into a furnace, Matthew turned to the survivors.
"Get everyone to the Labyrinth tunnels! Now!" Matthew roared.
"What about you?" Lyra grabbed his arm, her eyes fierce.
Matthew looked at the sky, his violet gauntlets erupting in a black fire that defied the divine sun. "I'm going to show him that the 'Forgotten' have a very long memory."