The chill winter wind whipped at Emray’s face as she darted in between hedges and stonework out in the ruined courtyard. The flaming pavilion sent the occasional burst of hot air towards her, and the contrast caught her off guard every time.

Explosions were starting to sound off over in the town bordering the Tower, as the ketches that had swarmed over the festival moved further inland. Emray could only spare the barest thought about why they were attacking a civilian population center and not the Tower itself as she hunted among the wreckage. She wished she could think harder, but present circumstances were forcing her attention elsewhere.

Everywhere Emray went there were bodies strewn about, a few she recognized and most she didn’t. She saw Professor Sedgewick’s body strewn out by where he had been stamping hands, a searing burn and shrapnel splayed across his face and neck. She took a moment to close his eyes before continuing on, feeling like she was going to vomit. The stench of blood and soot hung heavy in her nose, a grim counterpart to the crispness of the air from not fifteen minutes earlier.

As Emray rounded the corner of the Instruction Hall she heard a pair of voices, both gruff and muffled by something. Slamming herself against the wall, Emray made a few hand gestures and muttered an incantation under her breath. It was one of the only divination spells she knew, and only because she thought she’d use it in a noisy work environment.

A muted puff of grey light emanated from around her ears, and she felt her hearing move away from her present surroundings. It swiftly made its way to just near the two voices, growing in clarity as it got closer.

“Find anyone else that didn’t make it into the Tower?” one voice asked, a low and gruff male voice. The tone sounded oddly mechanical, like it was being run through the filter on an automaton’s voice modulator.

“Some started fleeing into the town, but we’re mopping that up now,” another male voice answered, his tone higher and sharper while still having that mechanical tone.

“Recall the squads from the town then, they don’t have what we’re looking for,” the first voice ordered. “The ketches are gonna flatten it, get rid of any evidence that we were here. Wouldn’t want our men getting caught in the crossfire on that one.”

“On it, sir,” the second voice replied. A mechanical whirring sound was followed by a sound of snow pattering against stone. Emray could swear she heard boots against the stone, but the wind and crackling fire were causing too much interference with her spell.

Another set of whirs, deeper and accompanied by pounding footsteps, ambled around without much direction before a muffled mutter that the spell couldn’t pick up. Then he stomped away, whirring as he went until he went outside the spell’s range.

“Emray,” a low voice said directly behind her as her hearing came back to her head. With a sharp cry Emray whipped around, a large glob of sizzling acid built up in her hand.

Emray flitted her eyes back and forth, trying to find the source of the voice but saw nothing in front of her but the fresh snow coming down with the ashes.

“Emray, don’t panic,” the voice said again, still in front of her. “Put that spell away before you hurt yourself.”

The voice played against Emray’s ears like silk sheets, beguiling and warm in the chaos that the night had descended into, and cautiously she put her hand down. She knew it was against her better judgement to do so but she did so nonetheless, especially when the voice started to gain familiar purchase in her frayed mind.

“Antareon?” Emray asked. “Is that you?”

“The same,” Antareon answered, dropping his invisible glamour and revealing himself. His braid was pulled loose and the half-cape adorning his left shoulder was torn halfway down. He had a few scratches and bleeding cuts on his face, but nothing that wouldn’t heal with time.

“What in the name of Tiirutha are you doing out here?” Antareon continued, taking Emray by the shoulders. “You should be fleeing with your life with everyone else.”

“I can’t, I have to find Professor Marigold and Professor Irhüm,” Emray answered, taking Antareon’s hands off of her shoulders. “You can either help or you can get to the Tower, one of my classmates is planning an evacuation south with the survivors.”

Antareon gave her a long, firm look, and for the first time Emray noticed the wrinkles in his forehead and the subtle crow’s feet around his eyes. He hid it well, but he was far older than she’d initially assumed, and that age carried wisdom with it.

“Alright, I might now where Marigold is,” Antareon stated, “but I haven’t seen Irhüm since before the bombs started falling. Follow me, and stay silent.”

Antareon pulled the bouzouki from his back which, despite his own disheveled appearance, was still in immaculate condition. Before Emray could stop him he plucked a few of the higher strings, and the sound that came out of them was unlike any she’d heard him play on stage. The reverberated with a hollow, reedy tone, echoing for far longer than they normally would have, and a faint silver glow illuminated all of them as he played.

Just as quickly as he’d appeared, Antareon vanished into the night, and Emray felt an odd force blanket her body as well. It felt like a warding spell but more slippery, and when she looked at her hands she found that they were completely invisible.

“You can cast mag—"

“Stay silent or the entire point of invisibility is lost,” Antareon hissed to her. She noticed a faint silver glow in the general shape of his body standing in front of her, and inferred that she might have a similar effect as well.

“Follow me,” Antareon whispered as he started to walk away from the Instruction Hall and back toward the pavilion in the courtyard. Emray dutifully followed, taking care to watch what was in front of her so she could avoid any loose bricks. Attempting to walk without being able to see yourself was an experience that Emray would have to look into if the pair of them survived the night.

Slowly but steadily they wound their way through the ruined grounds of the Tower of Learning, and every step only further cemented how badly they’d been caught off guard. The attack came from nowhere, Emray didn't know why an academy had been attacked, and now their were scores of dead men and women as a testament to how unprepared they’d been.

Then Emray saw the Faculty Hall, and the despair that had been growing steadily now reached the breaking point.

It was the only building students weren’t allowed into, since it was the housing for the faculty of the Tower, and it was currently a smoking ruin. The Tower hadn’t been hit, and neither had the Instruction Hall, but the Faculty Hall was practically leveled to the foundations. Only a small portion of one wall was still standing, and all around were charred bodies and ruined mortar.

“Dear Tiirutha,” Antareon whispered, the silver outline placing a hand over his heart.

Emray fell to her knees, as her legs could no longer support her.

Emray placed her hands to her head, though no one could see her despair.

Emray screamed, even though she’d been told to hide herself.

Then a pair of boots, accompanied by the whirring of mechanics, clomped toward her from the wreckage. It was a man of approximately Antareon’s height, wearing a black mechanical rig that glowed with teal at the joints of his arms and legs. He wore a full head steel helmet with a single slit visor, and a shortsword and pistol were held at attention.

And his uniform was emblazoned with the eight-pointed star of the Enclave of Eight.