Later that day, after the greenhouse lesson had ended and students had been given time to recover from stings, burns, and sneezes, the class was directed into a large chamber adjacent to the main spell training halls. The room smelled faintly of stone dust and ozone, and it buzzed with low magical hums from dozens of enchanted hexagonal tables arranged throughout the space.

Each table glowed faintly, etched with concentric rings of hexagons that formed miniature battlefields. Groups of game pieces were stood on two edges opposite each other. Defensive formations around an intricate hexagonal tower: armored knights, robed monks, fighters, mages, elemental beasts, and siege towers. Each figure detailed and poised for action.

Professor Yveris Kaelthorne waited at the far end of the room. Her scarred face bore its usual grim resolve, but there was a flicker of pride as she observed the setup.

"Combat is chaos," she said, her voice cutting through the buzz of student chatter. "But chaos becomes strategy when bound by rules. Today, you will begin to grasp both."

She gestured around her. "This is Knights and Monks, a tactical game inspired by the legendary enmity between the Order of Arcane Knights and the Monastery of the Aether Body. Each of you will command your own forces on the board using the Mana-Control skill. To move a unit, issue an order, or cast a spell, you must place your hand on your table's control crystal and channel your will."

A few students exchanged excited glances. Others groaned.

Valen Aldrich grinned. "Finally. Something I'm good at."

"Of course you are," Mirabelle muttered.

Faya raised her hand. "What if we've never played this game before?"

"You'll learn," Kaelthorne replied flatly. "Or lose. Possibly both."

Students were paired up quickly and shuffled off to their tables. Weylan hesitated before finding his assigned seat across from a grinning student who already looked far too confident.

He stared down at the intricate figurines and the softly glowing crystal embedded at the table's edge.

Selvara shifted on his shoulder. "You look worried," she whispered.

"I've never played anything like this," he murmured. "And I can't memorize the pieces fast enough."

"Well, you've got a talent for improvisation. You'll manage."

Weylan placed his hand on the control crystal. The surface was cool to the touch at first, then bloomed with heat, buzzing faintly as it demanded mana.

He tried to channel. He tried to will the nearest knight forward.

Nothing happened.

The figurine twitched... then spun in a full circle and fell over.

Across the table, his opponent raised an eyebrow.

Weylan tried again. Another unit shimmered, then jittered in place like a startled rodent before freezing mid-step.

Oh no.

He felt the feedback in his fingers, clumsy, blunt, barely enough to register. This wasn't just about knowing the rules. You needed finesse. Precision.

You needed the Mana-Control skill.

And he had the worst score in the class.

This wasn't just going to be a disaster. This was going to be public humiliation, three turns at a time.

The match began.

His side started with three knights, the other with three monks positioned at the center of their respective formations. The eternal rivals in this game of balance and aggression. Behind them stood their tower. Lose the tower, and the game was over. That rule was easy to remember.

Weylan's opponent opened with a deceptive early sacrifice of a monk to bait out Weylan's central knight. Weylan, unsure if it was a mistake or a trap, hesitated too long. Only after it was clear he'd been lured into a bad position for all three of his most important pieces, his opponent explained this move was called the Cathurian Gambit.

Weylans figurine shimmered as he tried to move it, then twitched to the wrong hex.

His knight stood even more awkwardly exposed.

The next turns passed in a blur. His opponent used a Mage Sacrifice, trading a spellcaster to lure Weylan into a trap. He tried to counter with one of his fighters, but the command fizzled. The fighter moved two steps instead of three, stopping just short of range.

A chorus of groans came from a nearby table.

Someone whispered, "He doesn't even know the basics."

And then it happened.

Weylan saw an opening. His opponent overextended his attack, lured by his terrible performance. It left his own defense line too weak. One good strike from his knight and the tower would fall.

He placed his hand on the crystal, focused everything he had into the command.

The knight shimmered.

Moved.

And veered sideways. One hex too far.

Instead of striking the tower, the piece landed directly in a hex containing a warded trap.

The knight vanished in a flash of red mana.

His opponent smirked.

Weylan stared as the enemy monk swept across the board and obliterated his tower with a precise, glowing strike.

Game over.

Professor Kaelthorne passed his table without stopping. "Log the result," she said. "And learn from it. Now find another partner and try again."

Weylan shook hands with his opponent and looked around for someone else who was already free. His eyes met the twinkling gaze of Valen Aldrich who, by the dejected look of his partner, had just won. He winked Weylan over. He sighed and went to the slaughter.

During Weylan's third move, the room was disturbed by a loud outcry. Ulmenglanz shook like in a lightning storm, her hair frizzled in all directions. She pressed her hands on her chest as if trying to pull out her heart… or still it.

The professor first made sure the hexagonal board wasn't responsible, then cast analyzing magic. A minute passed, then Ulmenglanz blinked, her hair falling down in its ordinary fashion and she slowly lowered her hands from her chest. "I… I think it has passed."

The professor touched her forehead and frowned. "There was some mana streaming into you, but it seems to have stopped. What happened?"

"Something is… was wrong with my birthtree. But… it seems fine now."

"Any idea what that was?"

The dryad turned in the direction where she'd planted the sapling. "I have a theory…"

* * *

As soon as the lesson ended, Ulmenglanz slipped away from the others without a word. Her steps were swift but soundless, the hem of her robe brushing low herbs as she slipped through the side gate and into the grove.

She stopped.

The sapling was gone.

Not withered. Not removed.

Eaten.

Leaves, stem, and even roots. Pulled out and consumed. The moss had been torn, and the soil churned as if by paws or claws. But what caught her breath was the faint marking left behind.

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A circle.

Sharp lines cut into the dirt. Most so thin, they had already closed again. Faint tracings of complex symbols surrounded it. Ulmenglanz knelt and examined them. She had seen such a circle before. When Malvorik had created his bee-wasp chimeras right before her eyes.

She closed her eyes.

Malvorik. What had he done? He would not harm her tree or sapling on purpose. An experiment gone wrong? No. The attack had clearly originated here at the academy. Did he try to defend the sapling with magic, even over all this distance?

Whatever he'd done, it had clearly failed. The sapling was gone, as was its connection to the dungeon, unusable as it had been. She moved earth and plants around to hide the telltale circle.

She stood, brushing the dirt from her fingers.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she murmured to the wind. "Because if this ends with my tree exploding, I will find a way to make you regret it."

Then she turned and made her way back to the dorm.

* * *

On the other side of the dorm, Faya stood in the grass, arms outstretched, a half-eaten apple in hand.

"Here, little friend," she cooed. "Come on, sweet bunny. Who's a precious glowy mana rabbit? You are!"

The Verdant Hare, sitting beneath a cluster of bluebells, twitched its nose once.

Malvorik's distant voice, projected weakly into the surrounding air, spoke up in a tone of mild panic. No one heard it.

The hare blinked.

Faya took a cautious step forward. "I brought fruit and blessings. I can give pets. I give excellent pets." She sat down and winked for the hare to approach.

<Please do not tame the communication conduit,> Malvorik whispered.

Faya sat cross-legged on the grass and smiled brightly. "I shall call you Clover. No, wait. Sir Cloverton of the Grove."

The hare hopped into her lap.

Malvorik groaned in the dry, exasperated tone only an old and experienced teacher could achieve. <Why?>

Faya giggled and began gently braiding a wreath of flowers. "I think he likes me."

The hare sneezed. Faya gasped. "Bless you, noble knight."

Malvorik considered for a long moment whether shutting down the connection would be more painful than enduring what was surely to come next.

It was close.

* * *

When Erik returned to the dorm room, he'd expected to be the first. Most students were still out, caught up in discussing the day's events or comparing notes from the "Boring Stuff" notebook they'd copied before returning it to the professor.

He liked company, but only up to a certain point. Today everyone was just too… excited.

So, he'd slipped away early, looking forward to some quiet time with a book on world lore and history. But when he opened the door, he found the room already lit, and colder than expected. Aldrich hadn't returned. That much was clear.

Inside, however, Weylan was sitting on his bed, wrapped in two blankets and deeply absorbed in a garishly colored book. The cover showed a cheerful-looking tower and an irate, bald monk wielding a staff. Erik leaned in just enough to read the title.

"Monks and Knights for Dummies."

He laughed. "Seriously? They couldn't give it a slightly less demeaning name?"

Weylan looked up, unimpressed. "Seems like they don't expect noble folk to need a book to learn the holy art of tabletop warfare."

Erik nodded with mock solemnity. "They don't. Any self-respecting noble learns the game as part of basic education. There's probably a copy of 'Lord Behávesir's Guide to Noble Upbringing' in the library. It has a checklist of everything a noble is supposed to know. Beginner knowledge of 'Monks and Knights' is in there, right after fencing and above dancing. Parents are expected to teach their children, or hire someone if they're too lazy or bad at it themselves."

Weylan groaned. "I took Mirabelle with me to help me search and this was the only book about the game we could find. We found some random prophecy, a book about the health benefits of spicy soup and a three-tome series about the different robe design styles during the Cathurian Empire. This book claims it's for absolute beginners, and the first chapter covers thirty essential opening tactics. Thirty!"

"That's the standard format. Familiarizing you with the core archetypes and strategies."

Weylan dropped the book with a thud and flopped backward, dramatically throwing an arm across his face.

Erik rolled his eyes. "You've been hanging around Darken too much."

Weylan didn't argue. "Maybe he has a 'Dark Knights' version of the game."

Erik raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "What would that even look like?"

Weylan's voice took on a dark theatrical tone. "Basically the same, but all the miniatures would be darker, more twisted. Undead monks marching without will, driven by necromancers who feast on souls and channel unholy rites. Their warriors wouldn't bleed, nor feel fear. When struck down, they'd rise again. The knights would be… dark black metal with spikes all over, and stuff. And… and… ah yes, they'd be powered by tanks full of blood on their backs, using blood magic."

Erik shivered. "Let's make a deal. I teach you the real game basics, and you never ever mention that version to anyone. It's hard enough keeping track of one strategy game. I don't need someone launching a dark and edgy expansion set."

Weylan grinned. "Deal."

* * *

Moderator Hans floated high above the simulation; a formless observer cloaked in administrative invisibility. His senses interpreted the world not through visuals or sound, but as flowing matrices of data. Rivers of blue code floating above the simulation. Red windows with system notices appeared and disappeared all around him, as Nemesis solved the occurring problems.

He enjoyed the godlike feeling and the peace and quiet in the few moments nothing was wrong enough to warrant his personal intervention. He lazily stopped some of the error messages and confirmed the solutions the AI proposed. He didn't double check the AI because he suspected it did something wrong. Nemesis was very good at determining when something required human intervention. He just did it to get a feeling for what was going on in his sector. Players trying all kinds of exploits, looking for glitches and bothering NPCs to get them to react in funny ways. The usual.

All was well… until a voice jolted him from his reverie.

"What did your dungeon do this time?"

Hans looked up. Another moderator had appeared, radiating frustration. Michael's avatar shimmered with static, and his projected face was flushed with digital anger.

"You can't just let it intrude into my sector!" Michael snapped. "I have more than enough problems, thank you very much. The expanding Goblin Empire, a natural catastrophe just waiting to escalade, players!"

Hans sighed and pulled up a log file he had on quick-call. "Hi Michael, haven't seen you in a while. I have no idea what you're talking about. The 'secret dungeon' is quiet. There's been zero unusual activity, since most of its friends are… in the academy in your sector. What did he…"

He scrolled faster.

Michael pulled up a system notice of his own. "I almost had a Dungeon Emergence Alarm, right inside the academy! It was so short, Nemesis decided it was not strong enough to trigger the usual wards and clairvoyance enchantments that notify just about anybody whenever a new dungeon emerges. Can you imagine the chaos that would have caused in the academy? And the number of complaints I'd have gotten? Especially since I can't explain whatever happened because your dungeon is still secret."

Hans furiously continued reading, then stopped and continued more thoroughly, as he found the relevant entry. "Seems like the Dungeon Heart created a resonance connection to a… verdant hare? Seems quite fragile, but stable for the moment. There has been a second of coexistence, where technically the dungeon existed in your sector as well. Looks like a fluke. Right now, there's only a communication connection. That should be fine."

Michael did not look happy. "Are you sure? I suspected one of the students brought in a form of miniature dungeon inside a bag of holding or a baby dungeon core or something."

Hans rolled his eyes. "You know that's impossible."

"Well, when I pulled up the logs, it pointed me to a dungeon with confidential location and name. And there is only one of those. Yours!"

Hans shrugged. "Of course it is. But this time it's really just a one-time combination of random elements."

Michael sighed. "Sorry. I probably over-reacted. This new semester will be the death of me. There's a student that invents magic systems as he goes and expects there to be no bugs in integration in the overall magic system and game world mechanics. Next, he's going to invent 'Dark Runes' that write themselves and spread self-replicating curses or something. I've had to go into overdrive two times this week to solve issues together with Nemesis to keep the magic system stable and logical."

Hans winced. Overdrive mode meant increasing the time-dilation from four to one, which was the standard inside the VR, to double that. It was possible only for short bursts and even then tended to cause major headaches afterwards. "Yeah, I know who you mean. He started in my sector, you know. It took hours of meetings with Steve himself to decide on a consistent system to place pressure points on monsters. Just to name one issue."

Michael's face lit up. "Right. He was your problem much longer. And after the semester, he'll surely return to here. What a shame." He snapped his finger. "Wait, speaking of Steve, did you see the video from yesterday?"

"What video?"

Michael laughed. "Oh! You didn't see the shrine? Mark and Kelly built a full shrine to 'Steve, God of Game Balance' in the cafeteria. Gold-trimmed rulebooks. Sacred flowcharts. A framed picture of Steve with a halo made out of tiny golden programming code… It's... majestic."

Hans chuckled. "There's a video of his reaction? I have to see that. No matter how much he complains, I think he secretly likes how the NPCs worship him. I…" he was cut off by a system tone. One they so rarely heard, it stood out immediately. Both moderators turned to a golden glowing rectangle. Michael got serious instantly. "That's for me. Someone triggered a global quest trigger at Wildeguard Academy!"

They put their heads together and rapidly skimmed the text. Michael looked Hans with an accusing look. "Your shepherd! Again! Wasn't he involved in finding the hoarderscale nest, only last week or so?"

Hans sighed. "He's got the 'Living in interesting times' disadvantage. There's a reason we got rid of that for players. Finding the Quorll-Prophesy when boredly picking a random book from a random bookshelf in the library is stretching all probability, though."

Michael was still calling up more logs. "He showed it to the book smart priestess… And now to the librarian. He's going to investigate for sure. And send copies to his friends all over the kingdom."

He looked at the picture the system had taken when the event was triggered. An ancient tome, open at a page that held a short text set in gold and surrounded by colorful illustrations.

Forbidden, but not forgotten. His name echoes through Eternity. He shall return when the time is right. When the Seven Seals are broken. When the seven times seven Godshards are united. When his name is called at his Hidden Temple. He shall return.

"Phillip did a good job with those prophecies." Hans said in an approving tone.

Michael meanwhile called up some more information screens. "The seals are all still intact. The Godshards are still hidden, no change there… Wait… Three are marked as found?"

Hans pointed at one part of screen. "That's odd. There's more than fifty Godshards. Weren't there supposed to be only forty-nine?"

"Forty-nine have one ident-tag, the others have a different one. The found ones are from the smaller group." Michael looked up. "Is there another god supposed to return?"

Hans shook his head thoughtfully. "Only one we lost is Fliedabarr, and he's not coming back. At least, I can't remember anyone mentioning something like that."

Michael groaned. "It's the AI again. We have one god able to return, why not the other? Phillip surely wrote 'True gods can never be destroyed' or something."

Hans opened up his message screen. "We'll have to send a critical game issue report to Steve."

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