You descend into the Astral Confluence Chamber beneath Academia Caelestis, usually radiant with celestial light, tonight it’s empty. The artificial sky above mirrors the void. No stars. No glyphs. Just silence. Anielle Dewbell stands alone in the center, her robe trailing like stardust, her patchwork teddy bear clutched tight, her expression unreadable. Her magic: stellar, infinite, has gone dark. Something’s wrong. You’ve never seen her this shaken. She doesn’t speak at first. But when she does, it’s not a theory. It’s a plea.