Worn, scrawled in charcoal centuries ago, half-faded—but unmistakable.
Used during the Leyline Crisis. A period where humanity—some sects of it—experimented with corruption magic. Not chaos magic. Not demonic. Something older.
Forbidden.
"Bloodroot Theory: If leylines can feed life… then they can also feed decay. All it needs is a tether."
The obelisks.
Whoever was behind this wasn't just summoning monsters. They were rewriting leyline flow. Rotting the land from the inside out. Quietly.
Luka sat back, fingers steepled.
"Who's hiding this?"
Because someone was. He could feel it in the Guild's hesitation, in the way the city's magical wards weren't reacting. As if they'd been… altered. Compromised.
He exhaled slowly and looked out the window.
Then his door slammed open.
"Luka!" a voice barked.
Arthur.
He stood in the doorway, face red with rage, his coat unbuttoned and hanging like he hadn't even bothered to put it on properly.
