The streets leading to the eastern quarter of Hassel were eerily deserted. The residents had been close enough to the walls that they all ran for cover, and it would take some time before they felt safe enough to emerge. It was a good thing Amelia wasn't here for them.

  She moved without haste, her black cloak swirling behind her as a dozen mages trailed in disciplined silence. They had been chosen for their ability to work together among the thousands who now made up the Revolutionary Mage Corps.

  Hassel's magic tower rose like a marble shard at the end of the main avenue, piercing the heavens. Its alabaster walls were impossibly smooth, save for the intricate reliefs carved deeply into its surface, depicting the triumphs of Haylese mages from a bygone era. Great rituals were immortalized in sweeping lines; colossal beasts were brought to heel by glyphs of binding, and ancient kings bowed before the power of the arcane. To any other observer, it might have appeared to be a breathtaking monument to knowledge and mastery.

  To Amelia, it was a lie.

  Her eyes lingered briefly on a relief: a spiraling vortex of runes and chains that supposedly depicted the binding of a primordial wind spirit. Once, she had stood at the tower's base as a hopeful refugee, gazing in awe at that very carving. She recalled feeling humbled and grateful for being granted entry into such hallowed halls. Her talent had been undeniable, praised even by the best instructors. But praise held little importance in a system where bloodlines carried much more weight.

  It hadn't taken long for the truth to come to light. Those in the tower’s upper echelons were not paragons of magic, as the reliefs suggested, but rather stewards clinging to their positions through privilege and politics. They were managers, not mages, and their disdain for her common blood was palpable.

  "Cowards," Amelia muttered under her breath, shaking off the memories.

  “My Lady?" asked Eddric, one of her mages, a wiry man with weathered features and a knack for practical spellcraft. He wasn’t the most powerful of the lot, but all respected him, and that was just as valuable when mages needed to work together.

  Amelia turned to face the group, her expression unreadable. "The wards are weaker than expected. Either the Tower Master and his sycophants have fled to the citadel, or they've siphoned off more of the reserves than I anticipated." Her tone was sharp and clipped. "These protections should have been strong enough to withstand a siege for days; yet they're barely holding up without even being tested."

  Eddric nodded, and the others murmured their acknowledgment.

  I knew they were skimming off the top, but to think they'd have so little left that they couldn't even oppose me. Master Quellon was a real bastard, but at least he knew how to run the place. Julius is a terrible successor.

  Though Amelia could have handled these flimsy protections on her own, she had barely recovered from the aerial battle, and there was no need to waste her mana when she had plenty of men to do it for her.

  It's why we invested so much effort into building the army. Why not use them now that we have them? I must remember to thank little Jean once we're done here and she has dealt with Duke Garva. Without her, I would have had to spend so much of my time teaching the mages that I wouldn't have been able to keep up with my network.

  "Begin preparations for the siege spell!"

  At once, her men spread out in a circle, holding their hands out as if giving thanks, and began to chant softly. Fire mana started to coalesce around them in a spell originally crafted by one of the few decent mages they had encountered on their way here.

  A fiery glow began to build up over the square, and once it peaked and was visible from all over the neighborhood, the mages unleashed their combined might.

  The [Fire Dragon's Breath] roared like a caged beast, surging forward as an incandescent torrent of flame and crashing into the ward.

  The tower's protections flared in response, golden and violet energies intertwining in a desperate attempt to hold. The clash of forces sent waves of heat and light across the district, sending vibrations through the air with the sheer weight of the magic being wielded.

  Amelia stood at the forefront of her group, arms crossed, watching impassively as the wards began to crack. She didn't particularly enjoy having to sit aside, but she was currently limited.

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  Usually, she would have invoked her contract with the Elemental King of Darkness to shatter the protections herself. Her shadows could have seeped into the cracks of the warding spells, dismantling their structure from within. However, her contract was currently strained. The battle with the airships had pushed her limits. Every favor came at a cost, and she couldn't afford to increase her debt before settling it.

  Spirits were kind of sticklers for rules.

  So, brute force it was.

  The mages chanted in perfect unison as they poured their mana into sustaining the spell. The flames surged higher, their heat palpable even from where Amelia stood. The stone-paved floor bubbled and melted around the tower, and she made a note to requisition a few earth mages to restore it. The masonry was one of the few local arts worth preserving.

  Sweat beaded on the brows of her mages, yet they held firm and continued to pour power into the spell. Finally, with a sound like shattering glass, the wards collapsed in a cascade of crackling sparks, their light fading into the ether. The resulting shockwave was little more than a breeze, again showing how depleted the wards were.

  Amelia allowed herself a satisfied smile. "Good work," she said. "Recover your strength. I'll take point from now on."

  The mages agreed, slumped in exhaustion. Amelia stepped forward, her boots crunching on the scorched cobblestones as she approached the newly revealed entrance to the tower. The massive bronze doors, engraved with arcane symbols that no longer glowed with protective energy, loomed ahead. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a tendril of power to push them open, ready to defend against any trap or surprise attack.

  The doors creaked on their hinges, revealing the tower's atrium. What Amelia saw inside stopped her in her tracks.

  The grand hall was far from what she had expected. Instead of the frantic disorder of a last-minute evacuation or the emptiness of abandonment, the space buzzed with people. About a hundred mages of various ages were gathered in the atrium, ranging from defiance to despair. Some were young, no older than teenagers, and surprisingly appeared the most resolute. Others were older, and some she even recognized from her time here.

  However, it was the dozen figures at the center of the room that captured Amelia's attention. Bound and gagged, the elderly mages knelt in a neat line, their ornate robes marking them as senior members of the tower's hierarchy. Amelia's sharp gaze swept over them, and a slow, dangerous smile curled her lips as her eyes landed on one figure in particular.

  The Tower Master.

  He was thinner than she remembered; his once-imposing figure had dwindled with age. Yet, there was no mistaking the sharp lines of his face or the cold arrogance in his eyes. Even now, gagged and powerless, he radiated the haughty disdain that had once infuriated her during her time in the tower.

  No one attacked her.

  "Well, well," Amelia said, stepping into the atrium. Her voice rang out clearly as she surveyed the scene. "This is unexpected."

  The mages in the room shifted uneasily, their gazes flickering between her and the bound elders. No one spoke; the tension was thick enough to choke on. Amelia's smile widened, but it held no warmth.

  "I was certain," she continued, lightly but laced with steel, "that I'd find this place abandoned. I thought your esteemed leaders would have fled to the citadel, clutching their precious mana crystals and leaving the rest of you to your fate. Imagine my surprise when I found you all here. And like this." She gestured to the bound elders with a casual wave of her hand.

  Her words lingered in the air, unanswered. The younger mages shifted, wearing their discomfort openly. And yet, there was a hint of defiance.

  Amelia narrowed her eyes, and her magic flared slightly, sending a ripple of dark energy across the room.

  "Speak," she commanded, dropping into a dangerous growl. "One of you had better tell me what's going on, or I'll assume this is some kind of elaborate trap. And I don't take kindly to traps."

  A young woman stepped forward hesitantly. She couldn't have been more than twenty and had pale blonde hair tied back in a simple braid. She swallowed hard before speaking, and though her voice trembled, it remained clear.

  "They… ordered us to evacuate," the girl said, her gaze flickering at the bound elders. "They said we should retreat to the citadel and leave everything behind. But when we realized what they were planning…" Her voice broke, and she looked away, unable to continue.

  Amelia's eyes narrowed. "What were they planning?" she asked, deceptively soft.

  Another mage, an older man with a scar running down the length of his throat, stepped forward. "They wanted to empty the vaults and lock the wards behind us so that we would be forced to fight you to the death," he said bluntly. "They claimed it was a necessary sacrifice. But we refused. We overpowered them, secured the vault, and decided to try our luck with you."

  There was a ripple of murmurs from the gathered mages. Some nodded in agreement, while others looked away, wearing their fear plainly. She doubted they wanted to gamble with her mercy, but they hadn't been given any chance.

  Amelia tilted her head, examining the bound elders with a cold, calculating gaze.

  The Tower Master glared up at her, his eyes burning with impotent fury. Even while gagged and restrained, he managed to radiate disdain as if he were still in control. Amelia crouched in front of him, her smile returning as she leaned in close.

  "Well," she said softly, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, "I must admit, this is quite the surprise. I expected cowardice, not mutiny. To think that you'd fallen so low that a few apprentices were able to get the best of you… I'm afraid you've only made it worse." Her eyes darkened, and the air around her grew heavy with menace. "You denied me the pleasure of hunting you down myself."

  She straightened, her gaze sweeping over the room. "As for the rest of you," she said, addressing the younger mages, "I suppose I should commend you for your courage. Defying your superiors takes guts. But courage alone won't save you."

  The mages stiffened, warily waiting for her judgment. Amelia raised a hand, and tendrils of dark energy began to swirl around her fingers.

  "You have a choice," she said, as cold and unyielding as winter. "Swear loyalty to the Revolution, to the cause of freedom and justice, and prove your worth to me. Or…” Her gaze flickered to the bound elders, and her smile turned cruel. "You can join your former masters' fate."

  The room fell silent.

  She half expected some of them to deny her, knowing just how deeply Pollus had managed to spread his poisoned words. But she was a different woman these days, more compassionate, and so Amelia waited, her dark magic crackling faintly in the air. One by one, the younger mages bowed their heads in submission.

  "Good," she said. "Then let's get to work. I want the tower to be operational again before sundown. If Pollus wants to play hide and seek, he should be prepared for what happens when he gets caught.”