Broken.
The word refused to leave Kael's mind.
It echoed through the quiet storage room.
Through the academy.
Through every memory he possessed.
Broken.
For years he had believed he was weak.
Untalented.
Inferior.
Every instructor who looked at his Thread count.
Every student who whispered.
Every noble who laughed.
All of them had reached the same conclusion.
Twenty-five Threads.
Not enough.
Yet Master Arlen was saying something entirely different.
Not weak.
Broken.
Kael stared at the measuring crystal.
His reflection shimmered faintly across its surface.
For a moment...
He hardly recognized himself.
"What does that mean?"
His voice sounded distant.
Even to him.
Arlen folded his arms.
"Imagine a sword."
Kael frowned.
"A sword?"
"If a sword breaks into ten pieces..."
The old instructor continued.
"How much of the sword remains?"
Kael blinked.
"All of it."
"Correct."
Arlen nodded.
"But if someone only finds one piece..."
His eyes settled on the crystal.
"How much would they think remains?"
Understanding slowly began to form.
"They'd think the rest was gone."
"Exactly."
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
Kael looked down at his hands.
"You think the crystal only found a fragment."
"I do."
The answer came instantly.
Without hesitation.
That certainty frightened him.
Because Arlen genuinely believed it.
"Then where is the rest?"
The old instructor smiled sadly.
"That..."
He looked toward the western horizon.
"...is the question."
A faint tremor rolled beneath the academy.
Much weaker than before.
But enough to rattle several practice weapons hanging nearby.
Both of them felt it.
The Bell beneath the roots.
The awakening.
The forest.
Everything seemed connected.
Yet Kael still couldn't see how.
Arlen stepped closer to the crystal.
"Place your hand on it."
Kael hesitated.
The last time he touched a measuring stone...
His life changed.
Not for the better.
Twenty-five.
The number had haunted him for years.
Slowly he approached.
The crystal felt cold beneath his fingertips.
Nothing happened.
For several seconds...
Nothing at all.
Then—
The crystal flashed.
Silver light filled the room.
Kael stumbled backward.
Arlen's eyes widened.
The light vanished.
The crystal returned to normal.
Silence.
"What was that?"
Kael asked.
The old instructor didn't answer.
His attention remained fixed on the crystal.
For the first time since they met...
Master Arlen looked shocked.
"Impossible."
"What?"
Arlen stepped forward.
Examining the stone carefully.
The crystal surface now contained a crack.
A tiny one.
Barely visible.
Yet unmistakable.
The measuring stone had fractured.
Neither spoke.
Finally—
Arlen laughed.
Not loudly.
Not mockingly.
Genuinely.
Kael stared.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Because."
The old instructor wiped a hand across his face.
"I've spent thirty years studying Soul Threads."
Another laugh escaped him.
"And you just broke one of the academy's measuring crystals."
Kael blinked.
"That sounds expensive."
"It is."
The two stared at each other.
Then, unexpectedly—
Both started laughing.
For the first time in days...
The tension eased.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Eventually Arlen recovered.
"We'll keep this between us."
"Probably wise."
The old instructor nodded.
"Very."
Outside the academy windows, alarm bells suddenly rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Not the ancient bell.
City bells.
Warning bells.
Arlen immediately straightened.
The humor vanished.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
A messenger burst into the room moments later.
Breathing hard.
Clearly exhausted.
"Master Arlen."
"What happened?"
The young instructor swallowed.
"A patrol from the western road."
Kael's stomach tightened immediately.
The Black Forest.
Again.
"They've returned."
The messenger looked pale.
"Half the squad is missing."
Silence.
Arlen's expression darkened.
"And the survivors?"
The answer came quietly.
"They don't remember what happened."
Cold spread through the room.
Memory erosion.
Again.
But this time—
Something was different.
The messenger's voice trembled.
"One of them keeps repeating the same sentence."
Arlen froze.
"What sentence?
The young man swallowed.
Then answered.
"He keeps saying..."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"...the roots are opening."
Far beneath the Black Forest...
Ancient gates hidden for thousands of years began to move.
Stone groaned.
Roots shifted.
Dust fell from forgotten ceilings.
Black Threads drifted through vast underground avenues.
Past ruined temples.
Past silent libraries.
Past cities swallowed by roots.
And within the darkness...
Something ancient smiled.
The Candidate was awakening.
The seals were weakening.
And the path beneath the forest was beginning to open once more.
For the first time in centuries...
The lost world beneath the Black Forest was preparing to welcome visitors.