The corridors were no longer safe.
Leon moved fast now, Ashveil low in his grip, its glow barely enough to cut the shadow curling along the walls. The Fifth Cohort had regrouped on the western tier, but not without losses. A third of their number were still unaccounted for.
The circles weren't just waking things. They were changing them.
The first bodies recovered didn't stay dead. Not in any way that resembled life. Instructors spoke of cadets rising with empty eyes and mouths filled with smoke, whispering in voices that didn't belong to them. Old languages. Older malice.
And they weren't hostile at first. Just listening and whispering.
Until someone screamed.
Now Leon walked beside Marien, three other cadets at their back now. Every stairwell felt tighter. Every doorway echoed. The broken symbols had spread beyond the citadel. Reports were coming in from the outer barracks, the watch towers, even the northern line.
The resonance wasn't just spreading. It was syncing.
