The Academy did not announce the attacks.

  It never did.

  Joren noticed them the way you noticed cracks in a wall you passed every day—small at first, easy to dismiss if you weren’t looking for them.

  A pair of scouts returned late, armor chipped, voices low as they spoke to an instructor near the inner gate.

  “…another one,” one of them said.

  “Empty?”

  “Mostly.”

  Joren didn’t stop walking.

  In the infirmary wing, a healer muttered under her breath while cleaning blood from her gloves.

  “Third caravan this month,” she said to no one. “And that one had guards.”

  Joren kept moving.

  A notice board near the supply hall had been updated. Not with warnings. Not with names. Just logistics.

  Delayed delivery — eastern route

  Escort reassigned

  Village aid pending availability

  Pending.

  That word followed him longer than it should have.

  The training yard was quieter than usual.

  Not empty—never empty—but subdued, like everyone was working harder to avoid thinking past the walls. Draven stood near the edge of the field, listening to a report from a Watch officer whose voice cracked just slightly when he said:

  “We don’t have confirmation yet. Only tracks. Signs of resistance. Then nothing.”

  Draven nodded once.

  “Mark it,” he said. “We’ll revisit after rotation.”

  After rotation.

  The officer hesitated, then saluted and moved on.

  Draven turned—and found Joren standing there.

  Not staring.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Listening.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

  Finally, Draven said, “You’re not assigned here.”

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Joren replied.

  Draven huffed quietly. “I know.”

  They stood together, watching trainees run drills they would probably never use outside these walls.

  “You can’t be everywhere,” Draven said at last. Not as an excuse. As fact.

  Joren nodded. “No.”

  Draven glanced at him. “But you’re thinking about it anyway.”

  Joren didn’t deny it.

  Nyra found him that evening.

  Not in a lab. Not with lenses or slates.

  On the upper walkway, where the city lights faded into the darker land beyond the barrier.

  “You’re leaning outward,” she said.

  Joren looked at her. “I don’t feel unstable.”

  “You’re not,” Nyra replied. “That’s the problem.”

  She folded her hands behind her back, eyes tracing the barrier’s faint glow.

  “Most power wants to expand,” she continued. “Yours wants to move.”

  Joren considered that.

  “Is that bad?” he asked.

  Nyra was quiet for a moment.

  “No,” she said honestly. “But it means Ophora won’t be enough for you.”

  He didn’t respond.

  She didn’t press.

  Aelric was already waiting when Joren reached the far end of the walkway.

  No guards. No summons. Just the two of them and the hum of the barrier.

  “You’ve heard the reports,” Aelric said.

  “Yes.”

  “They’re scattered,” Aelric continued. “Small villages. Outposts. Trade routes.”

  “I know.”

  Aelric turned to face him fully.

  “You won’t find order out there,” he said. “No chain of command. No support lines. No certainty.”

  Joren met his gaze.

  “I’m not looking for certainty.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  Finally, Aelric said, “If you leave the walls, you stop being protected by them.”

  Joren nodded. “I understand.”

  Aelric studied him for a long moment, then spoke the words that mattered most.

  “I won’t stop you.”

  He didn’t say go.

  He didn’t say stay.

  That was enough.

  Joren packed lightly.

  No banners. No extra weapons. Only what he could carry without slowing down.

  He paused once, fingers brushing an Academy-issued token, then set it back on the shelf.

  When he turned toward the door, he stopped.

  Mira stood in the doorway.

  Kerrick was just behind her, leaning on the frame.

  They hadn’t knocked.

  They hadn’t announced themselves.

  “You’re leaving,” Mira said.

  Not a question.

  Joren nodded. “For a while.”

  Kerrick scratched the back of his neck. “You got a destination?”

  “No.”

  Mira frowned. “That’s… not comforting.”

  “I’ll go where it’s bad,” Joren said. “Where help doesn’t come fast enough.”

  Kerrick blew out a slow breath. “Figures.”

  No one tried to stop him.

  Mira stepped aside.

  Kerrick did too.

  They watched him walk past.

  Down the corridor.

  Down the stairs.

  Out of sight.

  Neither of them followed.

  The gates of Ophora did not open for ceremony.

  Just clearance.

  Joren passed through alone.

  Beyond the barrier, the land felt wider. Quieter. Wrong in places he couldn’t yet name.

  He didn’t turn back.

  He didn’t know where he was going.

  Only why.

  Somewhere out there, villages were burning quietly. People were disappearing without witnesses. Demons were learning that no one came if they struck small enough.

  Joren tightened his cloak and started walking.

  Not toward a home.

  Not toward a name.

  Just toward the places where help was late.

  And hoped—quietly—that he would be fast enough.