I had written the sigil down in my notes because I had been a careful note-taker even when I did not yet understand why something was important.
I was not too interested in the geography of the world, because frankly, at fourteen, it scared me... the world was too big, and I could only focus all my attention on my massive Academy, which was as big as a city and contained countless wonders and mysteries.
Nevertheless, I wrote down the names of the four other Academies: Iron Spire, Marrowhall, Deep Stoa, and Greenheart.
Master Veth had moved through more quickly, and the lesson had finished in the next hour.
I had not thought about the Conclave of Ysmar again... Until now.
∞
The sigil on the door in front of Orath was the sigil from the chart, the Conclave of Ysmar.
I sat with that for the half-second I had to sit with it.
Over the months in the Academy, I learned more about the outside world and the seven Magus Academies on the seven continents.
Everything I knew about the Conclave was bad news. It was in record that the Conclave was the first and oldest Magus Academy, and that mages first rose in the continent of Vothar after they killed the Dragon God and shattered his hold over humanity.
However, this had happened in such a distant past that it could be argued that this was all fiction.
However, what could not be argued with was that their magic was some of the strangest, as it was more ritualistic than procedural.
They followed tradition and were very xenophobic and elitist, believing that they should be the ones ruling over all seven Magus Academies.
I was staring at a transit door. The intercontinental movement system used by the senior tiers of magical institutions.
These things were gated by specialized sigils so complicated that even an Adept could not understand them, and they required authorization from the receiving institution.
Using one was limited to scholarly traffic significant enough to justify the cost, since this was the kind of cost only an Adept-tier institution could pay.
The cost meant that Orath had not opened the door alone. He had been authorized. The Conclave on the other side knew Orath, knew where he was, and knew what he was doing.
It was interesting that for such an expensive door, Rex also had access to it, which was all the indication I needed to know that this expedition was far more important to very powerful people.
Caelith Mourne was on Aelmar’s continent, and the Conclave of Ysmar was not, meaning that this Ascension Ritual was inter-continental.
This was nothing less than war.
The expedition was a cover for an operation that had institutional backing on more than one continent, and the expedition’s pyramid was one node of something the rest of which lived three thousand miles away.
I was too stunned to even wonder if the demons and the destruction of everything I knew was the plan of the Conclave or just one of the unexpected consequences of the endless small battles and competition between the Academies.
Any of these outcomes was bad news to me and everyone I knew, and the enormity of what this all meant hit me like a brick to the skull.
Orath stepped toward the door. He did not stop at it.
He held the golden page up to the sigil, and the sigil briefly brightened. A sound came through the door that I could not hear at my distance but that I could see in the way Orath’s shoulders shifted in response, as the door’s flickering light steadied.
Orath crossed. His body moved into the redness, and for one second I could see him as a silhouette inside the door, and then the silhouette thinned, and he was gone.
The door closed behind him, and I could see the look of fear and disbelief on the faces of the Adepts who were with Orath.
I looked at the other side of the camp towards Rex, and he was gone as well.
Then, the pyramid pulsed. A brilliant red light flared in the black face, slow and deep, like this massive structure was breathing.
The foghorn note resonated through the ground and into my body. The grass at my feet leaned outward as though pushed by a wind that was not present.
The eruption was beginning, and the ground began to crack open.
Countless wounds opened all over the ground in a manner that was too unnatural. This was not an earthquake; it was passages being opened to a place where demons dwelled.
The first demon cleared the lip of the crack, and Death-Touched lit up.
The cold spots populated across my awareness in the pattern I expected, the demons emerging from the earth like ants, and from my position, I could truly begin to appreciate the number of these creatures coming out of the earth.
Commander Rel had not moved. Her body held a readiness that showed me she was not surprised at what was happening.
This woman had been waiting for the pulse.
She was at the northern edge of the camp because her position had been chosen by whoever directed her to give her the right angle on the survivors who would attempt the retreat, and the right angle on the Adepts at the pyramid who would cast their final lattices before they fell.
Commander Rel was the executioner of anyone that the demons did not finish quickly enough.
And from her position, I could lay my suspicions to rest; the Conclave knew of the demons, and they were working with them.
I had seen the horned demon, and thankfully, it had not yet appeared, but I knew that that creature was the personification of evil. How could anyone want to work with a being like that?
I crouched lower against the rock, the staff came up across my chest, and there was a hunger inside my heart to stand up and fight, but I had what I had come for.
The Ascension Ritual was intercontinental. The Conclave of Ysmar was responsible for this tragedy. The expedition was the cover.
I sat with my back against the rock and watched the camp begin to fall, and I did not move, because I had come for information and not for confrontation, and the information had been given to me, and now the only work left was survival.
Hating myself for this, I turned my back to the pyramid and began to run... I needed to survive as long as possible to see what was to come.