Ashes and Iron

The morning air hung thick with the stench of burnt ozone and charred metal. Wisps of gray smoke curled from the blackened crater where Vanessa had reduced the Watcher to cinders. The attack had proven what was only theoretical- human null conversion through forced Aether corruption. The courtyard's once-pristine flagstones lay fractured, some melted into glassy puddles from the heat of her flames. 

A somber assembly had gathered around the remnants of the pyre smoldering at the courtyard's heart. Students and faculty stood in rigid formation, their academy uniforms—normally immaculate—streaked with soot and sweat. The absence of chatter was more telling than any outburst; even the most arrogant nobles remained silent, their usual pride forgotten in the face of genuine threat. 

At the pyre's base lay Kael's ceremonial armor, its obsidian plates arranged with military precision. His halberd stood beside the empty coffin, the Vanguard insignia on its shaft catching the weak morning light. The absence of a body spoke volumes—no remains to bury, just the unsettling knowledge that something had walked among them wearing a familiar face. 

Garrick, his armored shoulders gleaming dully under the gray sky, leaned toward Vanessa, his voice low enough that only she could hear. 

"Winston's going to rip someone's head off when he gets back." His fingers twitched toward the comms device at his belt - still silent. 

Vanessa didn't look at him. Her crimson eyes remained fixed on the flames. 

"Let him." 

Drake arrived at the periphery of the gathering, his body still protesting from the emergency combat drills after yesterday's ordeal. His only advantage – a freakish pain tolerance that even Leo couldn't explain - was the sole reason he could still walk. He hadn't taken three steps before Alexis and Xian appeared beside him with the effortless synchronization of longtime partners. 

"Sleep well, Sleeping Beauty?" Xian flicked his ear. "You missed the fireworks. Kael's 'dead,' and half the academy is praying their neighbors aren't wearing someone else's skin." 

"Dead?" Drake's brow furrowed. "Kael?" 

"A Null," Alexis clarified. "A Fallen, to be precise." 

"I thought there were no Null humans left—just wild animals," Drake said. 

"Tell that to Kael's corpse," Xian countered. 

"We all thought the same," Alexis added. "But this one wasn't born a Null. It was converted into one." 

"That's supposed to be impossible," Drake began. 

"Apparently, it isn't," Alexis said. "There has been an ongoing theory for a while. My father said something about it, were surgically imploding a human core, would allow them to absorb raw, unfiltered Aether." 

"Ooh, listen to Mr. Smarty Pants," Xian mocked. 

"Can't you be serious for once?" Drake glared at her. 

"Sorry," she said, though her grin remained. 

"Go on," Drake turned back to Alexis. 

"I believe their bodies, already exposed to filtered Aether, adapt to circulate pure Aether without complete mutation, like a naturally born Null." 

An interesting theory. Drake pondered, but it wasn't just a simple theory any longer when the proof lay before the eyes of everyone.

Alexis's gaze drifted toward the academy gates. "This is going to change everything. The academy will take preventive measures." 

Drake followed his gaze to where armored Sentinels stood with humming Aether-scanners, their new resonance detectors still warm from the forge as they subjected every student to blood tests.

Beyond the walls, Arachis City tensed like a coiled spring. Market stalls stood empty. Windows were shuttered. The distant wail of emergency sirens cut through the fog like knives. News of the attack on Arachis was spreading like wildfire. 

The school's council room was a vault of cold steel and flickering holograms. Vanessa stood at the head of the obsidian table, her presence commanding silence before she spoke a word. Around her, the leaders of Arachis's combat divisions waited in silence: 

Torin Rook, Vanguard Captain, methodically tested the edge of his combat knife against his thumb. The scars that crisscrossed his knuckles told their own stories. 

Garrick, Head of Security, had forgone his usual armor for the meeting but kept his halberd within easy reach. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of a sleepless night. 

Rhys "Ironjaw" Volk, Tank Division Commander, sat with his massive arms crossed. The cybernetic augmentations that replaced his lower jaw emitted a faint, rhythmic whir. 

Liena Vos, Mistress of the Sniper Corps, cleaned her weapon with the same care one might show a religious relic. Her eyes never left the central display. 

Jace Mirage, Chief Scout, flipped a throwing knife across his fingers in an absent rhythm. The blade vanished and reappeared with each pass, as if existing in multiple places at once. 

Nadia Hearth, Head of Support, sat perfectly still. The silver caduceus at her collar gleamed against her dark uniform. 

Vanessa activated the hololithic projector. The three-dimensional image of Breaking Dawn Academy's ruins materialized above the table—its once-proud spires reduced to skeletal remains, its courtyards littered with bodies. The same symbol found near Kael's remains was burned into the rubble at multiple locations. 

"The Hands of the Divine have declared open war," Vanessa said, her voice carrying the weight of finality. "We will not wait for them to strike again." 

The security protocols rolled out with brutal efficiency: 

Biometric Scans: All personnel would submit to daily blood tests and Aetheric resonance screenings. Any anomalies would result in immediate quarantine. Curfew: From 2000 to 0600 hours, all movement would be restricted to essential personnel only. The penalty for violation was summary execution. Simulation Lockdown: All virtual training environments would remain offline until each pod could be physically inspected and purged of potential malware. Paired Patrols: No individual, regardless of rank, would move through the academy unaccompanied. Even instructors would be subject to this rule.

Rhys's mechanical jaw clicked as he spoke. "And when we find more of these abominations?" 

Vanessa's smile could have etched glass. 

"You are authorized to bring me samples. The rest can be disposed of as refuse." 

The western training yard lay in ruins, a graveyard of broken stone and twisted metal. Half the arena had collapsed during the previous night's battle, leaving jagged trenches and scorch marks that still pulsed with residual heat. 

Leo stood motionless at the center of the devastation, his gaze fixed on the destruction. The crunch of approaching footsteps announced Drake's arrival. 

"Good morning, sir," Drake offered. 

"It's already noon," Leo corrected without turning. 

"Oh. Sorry." Drake rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers catching in the strands of his hair. 

"Did you witness yesterday's events?" Leo asked, still facing away. 

"No, sir." Drake's voice carried genuine remorse. 

"You slept through all that chaos?" Leo finally turned, his eyebrows arching in disbelief. 

"Yes, sir." Drake's hand returned to his head in an unconscious gesture of discomfort. 

"You're a case study," Leo muttered, pivoting away again. "No training today. Or for the foreseeable future." 

"Why not, sir?" 

"Too many observers. Too many variables." Leo's voice grew sharper. "And you lack both the strength and the wisdom to deal with the consequences." 

"Are you calling me stupid, sir?" Drake bristled. 

"Are you?" Leo smirked, then vanished mid-sentence.

"Sir, I—" Drake's protest met empty air as Leo disappeared mid-sentence. 

I hate when they do that, Drake thought, turning toward the cafeteria where Alexis would be waiting. The phantom taste of yesterday's defeat still lingered in his mouth.