Chapter 210: Chapter 210

Magi were moving everywhere by the time Liene reached the valleyside proper.

What had once been a neglected stretch of runoff paths and half-forgotten ley channels was now crowded with motion. Temporary ward pylons had been raised close to the old, deactivated ward anchors embedded in the stone. The placements were stopgap arrangements meant to lean on what little residual structure the Synod could still trust, inelegant, but at least not haphazard.

The Applied Combat Division had taken the outer lanes. Liene saw lines of battlemagi standing in staggered formations along the valley’s slope, but they weren’t fighting anything. Some rested hands on staves or halberds, weapons that were supposed to be frowned upon by the archmagi and what they stood for. Headmaster Draeth would be furious if he saw this.

But Draeth wasn’t here.

He’d been pulled away on urgent duty before dawn, summoned by something that had overridden even his usual obsession with control. The Synod gossiped the way it always did: quickly, hungrily, and with the forbidden thrill of touching a truth that had not yet been sanctioned to exist.

Liene stared at the chaos in front of her, muttering, “Is that real after all . . .”

A student had died. Lyessa Halden had been murdered inside a dungeon. And Draeth had been summoned by the Order for immediate investigation.

She’d heard it just that morning, in a rush, shaken aside from Celine. That was the same seventeen-year-old Lyessa Halden who had stunned half the faculty by winning one of the three rounds in the Petal Draft Festival.

The story hadn’t been published. Celine ran the Synod Gazette, and even she hadn’t dared put it to print. Draeth himself had warned her off, citing how ‘sensationalism that undermines institutional stability.’ The words had spread anyway, as words always did, stripped of caution and swollen with fear.

More magi ran past her, carrying resonance lenses, tethered crystals, and low-sensitivity pulse rods. These must be members of the Aetheric Survey department.

“Why are they cycling formations if nothing’s emerged yet?” she asked Kovrin immediately.

“They’re holding a perimeter without provoking it,” he said. “Combat output stays minimal so the dormant trace doesn’t react. Think of it like keeping your voice down around something that might wake up.”

She looked past him again, tracking the survey teams without meaning to. She saw a cluster of magi kneeling near the ground, mapping something only they could see.

“And that group?” she pressed. “They’re not combat. Why are they working so close to the anchors if those were compromised—”

Kovrin turned her by the shoulders before she could spiral any further. “Liene, it’s fine. You’re not helping by trying to monitor everything at once.”

She pressed her lips to stop herself from talking. She knew how annoying she would become when anxious. Stop, she told herself. You’re not the one in charge. You never are.

“I want you here,” he said, gesturing toward a sheltered section of the valley where the terrain dipped and the wind calmed. “With the Dungeoneering Department. They’re coordinating detection and stability readings. If the dungeon stirs, they’ll know first.”

“And if it opens again?” she asked.

“Then you’ll be exactly where you’re supposed to be,” he replied. “With people trained to keep you alive. You’ve been with them. You know they’re capable.”

She hesitated, looking back toward the perimeter, toward the empty air that everyone was pretending wasn’t dangerous.

“. . . Alright,” she said finally. “But if anything changes—”

“I’ll tell you,” Kovrin promised. “Immediately.” He was already backing away as he said, then with a familiar half-salute, he threaded himself into the moving lines of the Applied Combat Division. And he was gone.

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Liene turned toward the sheltered dip and nearly collided with a detachment already setting up there.

They wore the layered greys and muted blues of the Dungeoneering Department, with practical robes reinforced at the cuffs and hems and packs laid out in order. At their center stood a woman Liene recognized immediately. Her skin held a faint sun-warm tint, unusual this far inland, and her dark, heavy hair was gathered into a practical knot at the back of her head. Only after a second look did Liene notice the loose wisps left deliberately free, softening the severity just enough to feel intentional rather than careless.

Fabrisse had been supposed to meet that woman for . . . something. Very possibly a date, one that had been planned, confirmed, and then quietly abandoned for Liene.

The woman looked up as Liene slowed and greeted her with a toothy grin. “Oh, hello there. You nearly took my knees out, love. Easy ground’s deceptive around here.”

Liene flushed. “Sorry. I—”

“No harm done.” The woman smiled. “Aldith atta Mere,” she offered a brief nod rather than a hand. “You’re with Kovrin, yeah? He’s got that look about him—like trouble keeps finding him whether he invites it or not.”

“Yes . . . I’m Liene Lugano.”

“Well then, Miss Lugano,” Aldith said pleasantly, already turning half back toward her team, “welcome to the dullest edge of a very sharp problem. We’re running detection and stability checks along the sublayers. Dormant aether leaves a taste in the ground—doesn’t do much unless you poke it wrong. Our job’s to listen without stirring.” She spoke as she worked, fingers adjusting a tether line without breaking her rhythm. “We’ll know if the dungeon so much as clears its throat. That’s the idea, anyway.”

A younger dungeoneer jogged up then, breathless. “Manager atta Mere. Anchors three through five are holding steady, but the fifth is echoing back delayed. Might be bleeding through.”

Aldith nodded once. “Mark it, don’t correct it yet. If it’s going to misbehave, I want to see how.” Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn novel~fire~net

Then the dungeoneer glanced at Liene, and brightened. “Oh! Manager atta Mere, she knows what we do. Miss Lugano used to intern as an assistant healer in the Dungeoneering Wing.”

Aldith turned fully back to her, eyebrows lifting with mild interest. “Oh, is that so?”

Yes . . . but back then, she hadn’t seen any atta Mere, nor had she seen any new dungeoneer manager at all.

Liene was still turning that over when a ripple moved through the far side of the valley.

A fan of overlapping metal planes unfolded above the stone, breaking the light into angular gleams. Etched lines scored themselves across the surfaces, carving faulted currents and buried hollows into the metal in stark, silvery relief, as though the terrain were being stamped rather than reflected.

That’s a very stylish version of Metal Thaumaturgy.

That wasn’t officially taught. Not here. Not anywhere she knew of. Only a handful of magi were ever cleared for it, and no one ever said why.

The spell collapsed, and a woman stepped through the dispersing planes as though she’d been walking behind them the whole time.

She wore combat whites layered with clear-laminate plating that looked almost fragile until Liene noticed how nothing about it bent wrong. Her hair was pulled back severe and practical, her expression already set in motion before her boots even hit the ground.

Antoniadou’s eyes found Aldith immediately. “Manager atta Mere,” she said without preamble. “We need your detachment. We think we’ve located the dungeon mouth.”

Aldith asked, “Where’s your survey support?”

“Trying to hold the signal in place,” Antoniadou replied. “It’s unstable. I’ve got clearance from High Exemplar Grischin, but I need assistance now. You’re the closest unit with subterranean experience.”

That name landed with weight. Grischin was the Head of the Applied Combat Division, and a former general of the Order. Antoniadou was one of his most senior staff. Liene knew that much. Everyone did.

Aldith glanced once at the valley, then back at her team. Then she gave a single nod.

“Pack up,” she said. “Leave the passive monitors. Take the tether cores.”

Antoniadou turned first, already moving. As Aldith followed, she lifted her wrist and tapped her wristglyph. She was either messaging someone, updating a route, or logging a risk. Liene wasn’t sure which.

“Manager atta Mere,” Liene called before she could talk herself out of it.

“I—could I come with you?” Liene asked. Her voice steadied only because she forced it to. “I’ve worked dungeon-adjacent before. Healing, stabilization. If the mouth is active—”

Aldith studied her for a moment, properly this time.

“You could,” she said. Then, more gently, “But tell Kovrin. And any other trusted person of yours. Let someone know where you’re going.”

Liene nodded immediately. “I will.”

“Good,” Aldith said, already turning back toward the forming column. “Then stay close. And listen more than you speak.”

Liene fell into step, heart hammering as the image of metallic gleams still lingered in her mind.