System, please just shut up

The hall was enormous—an open, circular structure carved directly into the mountainside, its rough-hewn stone smoothed and refined by ancient magic.

Tiered marble seating rose in smooth, concentric rings, accommodating thousands.

Floating rune-sconces cast a steady, warm amber glow overhead, illuminating the vast chamber, while translucent projection screens shimmered above the central platform, ready to display arcane diagrams and celestial maps.

Every seat was filled.

Thousands of cadets sat in precise rows, dressed in clean, formal blacks or deep blues, the fabric stitched with intricate silver-thread patterns that proudly denoted their faction or class.

The sheer density of bodies created a low hum of anticipation, but an underlying current of quiet respect permeated the space.

Even the air smelled different—too sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike, or the crisp tang of mana-infused metal, a scent that hinted at immense power gathered in one place.

Kael sat near the upper rows, his gaze sweeping across the multitude, trying to gauge the mood of the room. Theo was beside him, surprisingly relaxed, arms folded behind his head like he couldn't care less about what was about to be taught, his usual casual demeanor a stark contrast to the stiff posture of most cadets.

Kael didn't say anything. He was too busy reading the room.

The professors weren't here today.

Not the usual ones, anyway.

Instead, near the center stage, stood Arch-Lecturer Venrid Malos—a tall, almost gaunt man in layered robes the color of thunderclouds, trimmed in deep, regal violet.

He didn't wear armor, or ostentatious rings, or anything that outwardly shouted "power." Yet, Kael could feel it emanating from him, a profound, almost palpable aura.

The very air in the room seemed to bend around him in subtle ways—sound dimmed a bit when he turned his head, as if refusing to disturb his concentration.

Mana trembled faintly around his feet, a silent reverence for his presence. And even the most relaxed, slouching cadets straightened up, their chatter dying instantly, the moment he began to speak.

"Ten thousand years ago," Venrid began, his voice magnified by subtle, perfectly woven spellwork, low and calm, yet reaching every corner of the immense hall, "this land was not a city. Not a kingdom. Not even a scattered set of tribes, warring over scraps of territory." He paused, letting his words hang in the heavy air, allowing their historical weight to sink in. "It was a crater."

A quiet ripple went through the crowd.

Kael leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the Arch-Lecturer, captivated.

"The impact that created that crater," Venrid continued, raising a hand as the central projection shimmered and shifted to show a massive chasm, impossibly deep and wide, scarring the very face of the continent, "was not natural. It was magical. A collision of celestial scale—a catastrophic consequence of drawing too deeply, too recklessly, from one of the moons during a forgotten era."

A new image bloomed overhead, vivid and awe-inspiring—three overlapping celestial bodies, each casting different colored lights that blended and swirled.

Nir, glowing silver-blue, serene and distant. Seph, a pale, tranquil gold. And Orus, the dark red giant, ominous and vast, casting a crimson shadow.

"The Moonwake is not a festival of joy, as many of the common folk believe. It is not merely a celebration of light and bounty. It is a ritual of correction. A ward. A precarious balancing act against the very forces that nearly cracked our continent in half in ancient times." His voice held a profound solemnity, stripping away the festive facade.

Theo whistled quietly beside Kael, nudging him subtly. "Cheery way to start a party, isn't it?"

Kael nudged him back, a silent admonishment. "Shh."

His attention was entirely on Venrid.

Venrid continued, gesturing again.

Intricate, glowing symbols spun around the projected moons—each one distinct, resonating with a unique arcane power. "Nir governs reflection and memory, the echoes of what was. Seph, order and clarity, the structure of what is. Orus… governs madness. Wildness. Untamed desire, and the chaotic energies that can undo all."

"The three moons orbit in their own complex cycles. But once every few years, they align in a specific, rare sequence—one that opens the pathways to deep leyline convergence, drawing immense, raw mana from beyond our world. The Moonwake ritual is the only way to safely stabilize that overwhelming energy and redistribute it across the land, nurturing our cities, kingdoms and wildlands."

The projection shifted again, now showing the sigil-rich city at the center of the kingdom, radiating vibrant magical veins like a heart pumping blood, nourishing a vast, intricate network.

"Without the Moonwake," Venrid said, his voice now edged with sharp, cold steel, his gaze sweeping across the thousands, "our kingdoms and cities would wither and rot. The very land would fracture, collapsing into forgotten chasms. And the things behind the Veil… would not stay there for long."

That last sentence hung in the air for a beat too long, thick with unspoken dread.

The casual way he'd dropped it, the utter certainty in his tone, sent a shiver down Kael's spine.

It was enough to make the back of Kael's neck prickle, a faint sensation of cold fingers on his skin.

"Did he just say—" Kael began, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Theo said, his eyes not looking away from the stage "He did."

Venrid gestured again, and the moons faded from the projection, replaced by a series of glowing ritual circles—layers upon layers of arcane architecture, each one feeding into a central node, an intricate magical machine.

He outlined the three nights of the festival again, similar to what Aria had explained in the faction meeting—but this time, it was from a different, far more profound lens. Not strategy. Not logistics.

This was about cosmic design.

**The Procession of Threads, on Night One, was not just ceremonial, but designed to reaffirm mortal bonds and harmony, drawing strength from unity to withstand external pressures.

**The Dance of Wards, on Night Two, was crucial to reanchor the city's leylines and specifically reseal latent, dangerous gateways that naturally weakened during high mana flux.

And finally,

**The Alignment, on Night Three, was the apex: to channel the moons' immense convergence into the city's core wellspring and, most critically, to lock shut the myriad fractures in the world's very Veil.

Kael frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows.

He hadn't heard that last part before.

Fractures? Beneath their feet?

It was subtle, but that word kept repeating in his mind—Veil. Like something thin. Something breakable.

A fragile barrier between their reality and… something else.

The implications were chilling.

Then Venrid finally said something that made Kael sit completely upright, every muscle tensed, his casual posture utterly forgotten. His attention was absolute.

"From time to time, during exceptionally high-alignment phases, like the one we anticipate this year, the Veil thins enough that… anomalies may slip through. Some take the form of fleeting mana-ghosts, harmless echoes of stray magical energies. Others, more troubling, are echoes of pre-cataclysm entities, remnants of a bygone age, twisted by the void. Rarely, and I emphasize rarely, something worse—something truly malevolent, something with an awareness and a purpose that defies our understanding—may emerge."

A few cadets in the lower rows laughed uncomfortably, a nervous, forced sound, attempting to diffuse the tension with disbelief.

Venrid didn't.

His gaze was unwavering, his expression utterly serious. "If you see something during Moonwake," he said, his tone now bone-flat, devoid of all inflection, each word falling like a stone into the profound silence, "and it does not see you, do not let it. Remain absolutely still. Conceal yourselves. If it sees you, do not engage. Do not fight it. You cannot win."

He looked out over the crowd, his eyes piercing, meeting eyes at random, his gaze seeming to burn into the very soul of each cadet. "And if it speaks your name… run."

"..."

Dead silence.

Not a single rustle of fabric, not a cough, not a whisper.

Even Theo, for the first time in Kael's memory, had stopped slouching.

The chilling finality of Venrid's warning hung in the air, a cold, undeniable truth.

"..."

The floating rune-sconces dimmed slightly, casting deeper shadows across the vast hall, as Venrid stepped back from the podium, his presence fading as the projection vanished with a soft, final pulse.

"That concludes our session," a different professor announced, her voice brisk, almost jarring in its sudden return to normalcy. "Dismissal by tiers. Mind the formations. Move swiftly and orderly."

Kael stood with the others, his body moving almost automatically as the cadets began to shuffle out, but he didn't speak until they were outside the hall, the cool mountain air a welcome balm on his clammy skin.

"…What the hell was that last part?" he finally muttered, rubbing his wrist.

Theo managed a casual shrug, a forced return to his usual persona. "Old people love their ominous warnings. Keeps the kids in line, makes them think twice before sneaking out for unauthorized candy." His attempt at humor fell flat.

But Kael didn't laugh.

Old people, especially those with Arch-Lecturer titles and robes the color of thunderclouds, were hardly ever wrong with their warnings.