“Protocol breach detected. Activating purification sequence.” The pronouncement from the stone construct dissipated into the forgotten depths. Above, Perunova Institute thrummed with an unfamiliar, restless tension. Cadets clustered in the courtyards, their murmurs building into a low roar. Holographic projections hovered across every available surface—the replay of Stasiek Piorun, hair wild and grinning maniacally, as a maelstrom of raw force erupted from the Obsidian Fetch-Ball. The Adamant Golem, thought impervious to conventional magic, had melted like wax. “Did you *see* that?” A boy with a freshly singed eyebrow gesticulated wildly. “It wasn’t a spell! It was… a *void*!” “And the bottom ranks did it!” another exclaimed, shaking their head. “Anka Volkov’s team! I heard Orlov’s face turned the color of a poisoned turnip.” Anka, however, felt none of the triumph. The congratulatory pats on the back, the wide-eyed stares, the sudden, bewildering deference from students who’d mocked her mere hours ago—it all felt like static. Her mind replayed not the golem’s demise, but the cryptic message from her family: ‘The First Seal of Silence shows signs of fracture. The world’s end is stirring.’ Nausea churned beneath her ribs. What had that demonic empowerment, that 'vitamin supplement' Zoryan had given her, *really* been? Zoryan, meanwhile, paid the academy’s sudden adulation no mind. He considered the uproar a perfectly natural response to his refined pet-training methodology. He’d merely given Stasiek a particularly engaging chew toy. The boy’s ruinous habits were, after all, simply an outlet for youthful exuberance. What truly concerned him was the lingering scent of singed metal and the frantic energy in his ‘pets.’ It hinted at… *under-stimulation*. A well-adjusted pet, he mused, was a calm pet. “Insufficient behavioral enrichment,” Zoryan declared to his three companions, who had finally extricated themselves from a throng of wide-eyed admirers. He adjusted the pristine white gloves he always wore. “Their instincts, while admirably destructive in the field, are not being properly channeled.” Stasiek, still bouncing on his heels, clutched the slightly scorched Obsidian Fetch-Ball against his ribs. “Did you see the sparks, Zoryan? They were *beautiful*! The golem just… *poofed*! Can we do it again?” Mila, her usual stoic demeanor momentarily cracked by a faint, mischievous smirk, ran a thumb over the smooth, cool surface of the locket she’d lifted from Orlov. She kept it in the dimensional pocket Zoryan had helped her ‘organize.’ “It was quite a spectacle,” she allowed, a hint of pride in her voice. Anka swallowed, her gaze fixed on Zoryan. “Zoryan,” she began, her voice tight, “about what happened in the dungeon… and what you gave us…” Zoryan tilted his head, his gaze placid. “Ah, yes. Your enhanced nutrient paste. A minor dietary adjustment. Essential for optimal performance. But now, it is time for behavioral research. I’ve located a promising resource.” He gestured towards a crumbling wing of the scriptorium, rumored to house forbidden texts and rarely visited, mostly due to the resident swarm of aggressive dust sprites. “The archives of… ‘Companion Husbandry’,” Zoryan announced with an almost imperceptible glint in his eye. “I believe there’s a treatise on the house-training of juvenile hippogriffs. Their territorial marking habits are notoriously difficult to curb.” Anka stared. “Hippogriffs? Zoryan, we just… melted a golem.” “Precisely,” Zoryan replied with a nod, as if this were the most logical conclusion. “And now we must ensure their explosive impulses are properly managed. We can’t have them incinerating the academy every time they feel peckish. Come along, now. The sooner we address their foundational behavioral issues, the sooner they will achieve true tranquility.” Trailing after Zoryan, who strode with unhurried grace, Anka rubbed her sweaty palms on her tunic. Hippogriff house-training. He meant every syllable. As they entered the dust-choked, forgotten stacks, she veered away from his chosen aisle, her gaze scanning the brittle spines of the tomes. She needed answers about the Seals. Stasiek quickly grew bored. He tossed the Obsidian Fetch-Ball lightly, green-black sparks crackling between his fingers and the dark orb. Mila, meanwhile, had already begun sliding moldering scrolls into her dimensional pocket, her nimble fingers working with practiced ease. Anka found herself drawn to a section marked ‘Apocrypha and Heretical Lore.’ Her fingers brushed a slim, leather-bound volume, its foil lettering faded: *The Quiet Scourge: Chronicles of the Still Age*. She pulled it from the shelf, dust motes dancing in the dim light. She flipped through the brittle pages, her eyes darting across faded script. Descriptions filled the parchment of an era preceding the Hero System, when a single entity known as the Monarch of Stillness held absolute sway. The text detailed purification rites designed not for conquest, but for total quiet. Peace through erasure. The sovereign had etched these triggers into the world's bedrock as a failsafe against mortal squabbling—mechanisms primed to wipe the board whenever creation grew too clamorous. Anka choked back a cough. Her clan's warning, the dark supplement, Stasiek's calamitous burst—it aligned too cleanly. Was Zoryan… no. He was an eccentric novice who treated her like a clumsy mastiff. [WARNING: ABNORMAL ASTRAL SIGNATURE DETECTED. IMMEDIATE EVACUATION ADVISED.] The System message flared into existence, ignored by everyone except Anka. A low vibration shuddered through the flagstones. The air turned brittle and freezing. Suspended motes stopped mid-drift, locked in place. Parchments rattled in their stalls, and a crimson gleam pulsed from the aisle's center. Zoryan, who had been studying an illustrated plate of a carnivore's gullet, finally looked up. “Ah, a local… pollen outbreak,” he murmured, his gaze narrowing with cold appraisal. “Rather aggressive this season.” The crimson glare flared, solidifying into a translucent colossus of living granite. Its astral form towered above them, exuding suffocating mass. Brittle manuscripts caught spontaneous fire across the cases, burning directly to cinders without a pop. Ozone choked the air. [PROTOCOL BREACH. ANOMALOUS LIFE FORMS DETECTED. PURIFICATION SEQUENCE ENGAGED.] The entity’s voice rattled the ribcages of everyone present. Glowing red optics scanned Stasiek, Mila, and Anka in turns, radiating ruthless scrutiny. Her throat dried instantly. This was no dungeon monster; it was an executioner. But then, the Warden’s gaze settled on Zoryan. The crimson light in its eyes wavered and settled into recognition. The stone finger lowered slowly, pointing directly at Zoryan. A single word rumbled from its jaw: “Master?”

History, Heresy, and Housekeeping