A fourth figure pulled itself from the glowing wound in the ground.
Then a fifth.
Then two more.
And none of them looked like they were in a hurry. That was what made it worse.
They weren't charging. Weren't sprinting. They just walked.
Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
Like they already owned the place.
Like there was no one left worth rushing for.
Lindarion counted eight of them.
Eight shapes, plated in armor not forged from any metal he recognized. Not elegant or enchanted.
Crude. Dark. Burnt around the edges like they'd clawed their way out of some forge that didn't believe in rest.
"Still not a training exercise," he said flatly.
Jack took a step forward, hand hovering near his belt. "Where are the professors?"
"Probably figuring out what just tore through the foundations," Vivienne said, trying and failing to keep the edge out of her voice.
Valen exhaled slowly. "We should evacuate. Courtyard's the safest open zone."
