We could barely hear the Academy anymore.

  When we first entered the forest, screams and dull impacts still tore at our backs — like distant thunder. But with every step, they were swallowed by the wind, the rustle of branches, the damp breath of the earth. There were fewer demons as well: sometimes dark silhouettes flickered between the trunks in the distance, but they didn’t hurry after us. They had enough to do where our former home was burning.

  I still kept looking back.

  Between the trees, the tops of the Academy towers were visible. One had already collapsed halfway. Fire tongues of spells crawled along another. The third was wrapped in smoke. The flames reflected in the night sky with a ginger glow, like an чуждый dawn over a чуждый world.

  That was it. Lessons, duels, arguments over grades. Childhood.

  The teachers walked ahead of us and along our sides, forming a living shield. None of them spoke. Their faces were hard, focused. All their magic went not into words, but into movement — into making sure we did not stop.

  Our classmates were silent. Some walked with their heads lowered, others stared only at the ground. Finn sniffled from time to time, but kept going, teeth clenched. Elinia moved evenly, measured, as if she were still sitting on a throne rather than trudging through wet forest soil. Her face remained calm — and that made it even more unsettling.

  At last, the trees parted, and a lake opened before us.

  It wasn’t very large — more like a wide, dark pond with a black, mirror-like surface. By day, it was probably beautiful: reeds, roots jutting from the water, branches hanging low over the surface. Now, everything looked like scenery from a bad dream.

  The teachers stopped at the shore and turned toward us.

  “Form a semicircle,” said our earth-magic teacher shortly. “Backs to the forest, faces to the water. No running. No pushing forward.”

  We obeyed and lined up. I felt Tara’s shoulder trembling slightly beside me. On the other side, someone weakly grabbed my sleeve — I didn’t even look to see who. It didn’t matter now.

  Four teachers — earth, water, wind, and light — stepped forward and took positions at the edges of an invisible circle. The fifth, that same adult mage from the Circle in a gray cloak, stood in the center, right at the water’s edge. His face was pale, but his hands were surprisingly steady.

  “They’ll find us,” someone whispered behind us. “The demons… they’re already coming…”

  “Quiet,” said the water teacher without turning around. “If you want to live — stay silent.”

  They raised their hands simultaneously.

  The words they spoke were unlike any formula I knew. This was not ordinary combat magic — slow, heavy, with long names and strict structures. No. This sounded ancient, growling and melodic at the same time. Syllable by syllable, they wove a rhythm into the air, and that rhythm sent shivers racing across my skin.

  The forest froze.

  The wind died. Even the demonic roars coming from afar seemed to dull.

  The surface of the lake trembled. At first, barely noticeably — like from a light gust that didn’t exist. Then again, stronger. Dark water slammed toward the shore in a short wave, receded, and a faint, cold light appeared in the middle of the lake.

  It wasn’t like fire, nor like rune-light. It was a glow rising from below, from the depths. As if someone had lit a candle beneath a thick layer of water.

  I felt Elinia quietly draw in a breath beside me.

  The light thickened. Its outlines began to take shape. First, just an elongated column. Then — shoulders. Chest. Head. Moments later, a figure stood above the lake, humanoid in shape, formed from glowing, misty water.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  It had no face, but where eyes should have been, two brighter points shimmered.

  The teachers continued chanting. Their voices merged into one, resonant like distant thunder. Magic stretched from them toward the lake, toward the figure — thin threads of mana that even I could sense.

  And at that moment, a familiar sound came from behind us.

  Dull. Heavy. As if someone were tearing roots out of the ground.

  “They’re coming,” Finn whispered, unable to hold back. “Zen… they really are coming…”

  I turned around.

  Between the trees, on the path we had come from, dark silhouettes were already visible. The demons were moving faster than I had expected — advancing in a wedge, some low, some tall, some with wings, others without. They weren’t running — they were walking steadily, step by step, like a unit that had already decided who this forest belonged to.

  The teachers didn’t turn.

  The spell continued.

  The figure above the lake suddenly raised its head.

  No mouth. No facial features — just the gesture. The teachers’ voices broke off mid-chant.

  And it screamed.

  It was not a human scream. Nor was it like a demonic roar. It was a sound that shattered the air. High and low at the same time, it passed through my chest, echoed in my bones, pierced my head. The world went blind for a moment — white circles flared in my vision. My ears rang as if I’d been plunged into icy water.

  The silence after that scream was… not silence. More like emptiness.

  And into that emptiness came another удар.

  The ground beneath our feet shook — not with the nervous tremor of distant fighting. No. This was an earthquake, heavy, with a vertical wave, as if it had been lifted from the very heart of the world.

  The trees around the lake shuddered.

  At first, I thought I was imagining it. Then I saw it: the roots of some trees were rising. Thick as snakes, they tore free from the soil, stretching upward. The trunks bent, bark cracking.

  And then I saw the eyes.

  On the bark, where there had once been only irregularities, cracks, and rings of age, dark eyes slowly opened — deep as hollows. One. Another. A third. Several trees closest to the lake seemed to awaken at the same time.

  “This is…” someone whispered among the students. “This… can’t be…”

  I knew the legends. Everyone did. Ents. Living trees. Ancient guardians of forests, exterminated by humans and demons back during that war that was now only read about in old chronicles.

  A myth. A fairy tale. A threat for small children: “Don’t go into the forest alone, or the tree will take you.”

  And now they stood around the lake.

  Tall — far taller than any house in our village. Faces of bark. Heavy branches instead of arms. Every breath was a hollow creak of wood; every step, the удар of roots against the earth.

  One of the demons broke forward. Apparently, it decided these were just more obstacles. It leapt, claws extended, at the nearest tree — and in that same second, a thick branch ending in a cluster of roots whipped upward and hurled it down with such force that it might as well have been a dry leaf.

  The stone beneath the demon cracked. The tree leaned forward, looming over it, and its roots drove into the ground, closing over the body like stone fingers.

  Nothing remained.

  No body. No scream.

  Only a faint trembling that quickly faded.

  Nearby, a second tree rose, turned its face — yes, a face — toward the line of demons. Its eyes glowed with a dull green light, like swamp fire.

  For the first time, the demons froze.

  The organized wedge fell apart. They didn’t retreat — but they didn’t advance either. Something appeared in their movements that I had rarely seen in demons in my past life.

  Caution.

  The figure above the lake began to fade. The glow connecting it to the teachers tore apart, the thin threads weakening. Moments later, the watery shell shattered into millions of droplets and fell down.

  The water did not splash.

  It vanished.

  Simply vanished, as if someone had yanked it out of the lake entirely.

  We all stepped back at once.

  The lake was gone.

  In its place gaped a dark funnel. At the very bottom, ten meters down — maybe more — a stone floor was visible. From it, a staircase spiraled upward, leading straight to our feet. The steps were smooth, ancient, without cracks — as if they had been made yesterday.

  The teachers exhaled simultaneously. Their voices fell silent; their hands dropped.

  “Children,” said the earth mage, his voice hoarse but firm. “Form up.”

  He turned to us now not as a teacher, but as a commander.

  “You go first. Then us. Descend calmly. No pushing. Don’t look back. It’s safer below than here.”

  “But… the Academy…” slipped out of me.

  He looked at me, and that look held everything: exhaustion, anxiety, pain.

  “The Academy is buildings, Zen,” he said quietly. “You are not buildings.”

  I looked back one last time.

  Through gaps between the treetops, the ginger glow was visible. Where towers had once stood, pillars of smoke and fire now rose. Somewhere, flashes of magic flickered — the last flashes of those still holding on.

  I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms.

  Remember this, I told myself. Every crack. Every scream. This isn’t the war from the books. This one is yours.

  “Forward,” said the teacher.

  We began to descend.

  The steps vanished into darkness that smelled of damp stone and something else — something ancient, as old as the forest itself. Above us, in the last glimmer of the night sky, the crowns of the awakened trees stirred, and somewhere far away, where the Academy burned, demons continued to roar.

  I took my first step downward.

  And with that step, everything that had been “before” was finally left above.