Keegan leaned closer. “We go now,” he murmured. “Before the push becomes a break.”
I nodded slowly, and behind us, the Academy’s doors trembled faintly. It wasn’t from impact, but from pressure building somewhere beyond sight.
Caleb’s gaze flicked toward the sound.
“That wasn’t the wind,” he said.
The floating orbs dimmed a fraction, and deep in the stone beneath my boots, the hum shifted again. It felt like something was testing the edges from the outside.
Or the inside.
I met Keegan’s eyes.
“Tell me,” I said quietly, “that this is just impatience.”
Keegan didn’t answer immediately.
Outside, somewhere along the north ridge, a low horn sounded.
It wasn’t ceremonial, and it didn’t sound welcoming.
But it felt like a call or maybe directional.
And the first horn wasn’t alone.
The second horn answered from farther east, and it was shorter, sharper. The Academy doors shuddered again.
Students no longer pretended they weren’t listening.
No one said anything because we were all thinking the same thing.
The orcs had wanted to return home. They had been restless, yes. Impatient, absolutely.
But organized?
Simultaneous horn calls from different ridges?
That wasn’t frustration.
That was signal.
Keegan’s hand slid fully into mine this time, firm and unapologetic.
“We move,” he said. “Now.”
I nodded, but my gaze drifted once more to the doors. To the light filtering in beneath them. To the way the Academy’s greenery had drawn inward again, leaves tightening against the stone as if bracing.
The Priestess didn’t rage.
She arranged.
She preserved.
She decided who moved and when.
And Gideon had vanished after the orc meeting.
My stomach dropped, slow and cold.
