Chapter 79 - Echoes in the Darkness

Date: Late July X786 (Mid-Event Night)

Location: Crocus Arena & Secret Vault Corridor

Fairy lights drifted over the stands as the night event began: Underground Maze Missions. A ribbon of torches glowed across the upper seats, but below — beyond the ceremonial stage — a hidden passage wound down into Crocus's underbelly like a coiled nerve.

The crowd buzzed wildly. Teams would race into simulated vault chambers, snatch relics, and climb back before time ran dry. But tonight, the noise felt different. Too sharp. Almost anxious.

At the arena's edge, Teresa stood motionless, her cloak pulled low, gaze cutting through the blur of color and sound.

Kinana hovered close, voice tight. "This place… it feels too real. Like something's breathing in those walls."

Teresa's head dipped slightly. She felt it too — the low tremor pulsing beneath the stone, the hush of something ancient waiting. Yoki Magic coiled under her skin like a second heartbeat.

Below, guild teams charged into the maze. Blue Pegasus stumbled early, the ground shivering beneath them, old ward glyphs fracturing at every step. Sabertooth advanced with confidence — until a mage froze mid-run, ghost-shards slicing lines just before his boots.

Above, timekeepers watched from cold towers, fingers tapping restless rhythms. Screens flickered, camera feeds glitched.

Inside the Citadel's control room, Warrod's jaw tensed. "They've pushed seismic control too far. The old wards won't hold."

Ethne's voice was low, almost brittle. "Tonight decides everything. Either we stop this… or we surrender the city."

Their eyes slid toward Bran — silent, unmoving. His gaze fixed on the screens, almost as if he were waiting for something to shatter.

Below, Teresa moved alone, stepping into the under-street labyrinth with measured grace. Each footfall felt like a question answered before it was asked. Her sword hung at her side, heavy but calm.

Torchlight slid along her armor, dancing against faint runic scars on the walls. She paused — a different pulse throbbed just ahead, separate from the maze's layout.

She moved forward, hands relaxed but sharp with readiness.

Beyond a bend, two operatives stood guard, moonlight catching runic tattoos that curled like thorned vines up their necks.

Teresa didn't rush. She didn't need to.

"Drop it," she murmured.

They sneered. One lunged forward, blade high. The other's fingers curled around a glyph detonator.

A shockwave ripped down the hall, heat clawing at her skin. She stayed rooted. Yoki Reinforced Defense folded tight beneath her ribs, catching the blast.

The first came again, poison blade cutting the air. Teresa shifted — Phantom Step flickered behind him. Her blade met his throat, silent as breath. He dropped wordless.

The second swung wide. She parried with her sheath, twisted — Silken Nerve Control turned the motion into something ghostlike. His wrist snapped. He fell in a tangled sprawl.

She stepped past them, her focus narrowing on a hidden seal flickering weakly against the far wall — a corrupted suppression shard, its glow like a star drowning in dark water.

She knelt, eyes narrowing. Beneath the seal shimmered another layer — older, almost forgotten. A Council-class containment weave.

At its center: three chained arcs, a blood-ring sigil.

A name echoed quietly in her mind.

Trial of Blood and Chains.

Above ground, the maze feed went black. The crowd's cheers turned to ragged confusion. Blue Pegasus faltered; Sabertooth's leader scanned the maze's ceiling, wary.

No team finished. The field stood empty, abandoned.

Below, Teresa crouched closer to the corrupted seal. She drew a circle in the dust with her bare toes, feet shifting through rune shards — each step as fluid as water climbing stone.

Her blade hovered.

One cut — the outer glyph snapped.

Another — the corrupted magic folded in, shuddering like a dying animal.

She leaned forward, palm pressing to the core.

"Converge," she breathed.

A ripple shot down the corridor. Mana currents shivered, then rerouted, the entire underground exhaling at once.

She stayed, breathing steadily, until the old magic died. Then she sealed it off.

Above, alarms shrieked. Torchlight flared red. Escalators jammed, maze gates slammed closed.

Teresa didn't rush. She rose, steps even.

She emerged at the upper gate, her armor catching the last of the flickering flames. Knights gathered instantly, shields half-raised in reflex.

Kinana sprinted forward, pale. "Are you — are you alright?"

Teresa exhaled, sword sliding across her shoulder. "Something in that maze tried to open a vault conduit. If it succeeded, the suppression wards would've broken. Control magic would have drowned this entire city."

Kinana's mouth trembled. "Who would do that?"

Teresa's eyes turned hard. "Not dark guilds. They're too scattered. This was Council-grade. Someone inside wants chaos — and a scapegoat to blame."

Kinana swallowed, silent.

Inside the Citadel, Warrod stood like an anchored oak.

Bran leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming slowly. "She stopped it."

Ethne's voice was ice. "But now everyone knows we played too close to the fire."

Bran closed his eyes. "And fire never forgets."

Back at the gates, Teresa turned to her knights.

"Record every corridor segment," she ordered, voice calm but edged. "Seal them permanently. Then find out who ordered the sabotage."

A young Rune Knight bowed, pale. "Yes, Lady Teresa."

Above, delayed fireworks finally shot upward — a riot of red and gold against the night. Applause rang out, hollow and confused.

Teresa watched the sky for a moment, cloak drifting like mist behind her.

Then she spoke, low but certain.

"Tomorrow," she said, "the Games continue. But not as before."

She turned, blade at her hip, steps so soft they almost vanished.