Chapter 169 Fifteen Percent

Chapter 169 Fifteen Percent
Ilyana's POV
In the quiet, secluded glasshouses of the Ranges, the world moved at a slow, peaceful pace, filled with the rich smells of damp earth, blooming mountain orchids, and crushed sweet herbs.
I knelt on a padded wooden stool beside Ilaria, guiding my great-great-granddaughter through the delicate, precise art of lineage-weaving. Sunlight filtered through the high glass panes far above us, illuminating tiny dust motes that floated through the quiet air like suspended gold dust. The stone fountains trickled softly in the background, keeping the humidity pleasant and fresh as mountain water cascaded into smooth marble basins.
Centuries of isolation, bitterness, and dark war had left my spirit long ago, but the peace of these late years had brought something quiet and grandmotherly to my days. My ancient, dark power still hummed beneath my skin like dormant thunder, but it no longer burned me from within. It had settled into a quiet, protective pool that gave me profound clarity, steady hands, and endless patience.
"Softer with your fingers, Ilaria," I instructed gently, reaching out to adjust the posture of her wrists. "Lineage-weaving is not like battle-magic. You are not forcing the ley-line to bend to your raw command through sheer willpower. You are inviting the blood to remember its original, unified shape before the world was broken by conflict."
Ilaria closed her eyes, taking a slow, steady breath that expanded her chest. Between her open palms, fine threads of golden light and dark-violet energy began to weave together, forming a delicate, shimmering spherical shield that hovered three inches above her skin. The energy produced a soft, rhythmic hum that vibrated through the rich soil beneath our wooden stool.
"Better," I praised softly, a rare smile touching my lips as I watched the steady stability of her form. "Much better. You have your mother's deep patience and your father's unwavering focus."
"It feels much smoother today, Grandmother," Ilaria murmured, her face completely relaxed in deep concentration as the light reflected in her dark eyelashes. "The two energies are not fighting each other anymore. They feel like two rivers running into the same calm lake."
"That is because you are no longer viewing them as opposing forces," I told her, watching the golden and violet threads intertwine with seamless grace. "They are two sides of the same ancient stream. Light and shadow were never meant to be separated by war."
We continued the exercise for another half hour, adjusting the density of the magic until her shield could withstand a direct physical nudge without fracturing. I watched her with a quiet, profound pride that warmed my old heart. She was the living proof that our terrible sacrifices had not been in vain.
As Ilaria concentrated on maintaining the multi-layered shield, a sudden, sharp sensation shot through my chest.
It was not a physical pain, nor was it a sudden spell cast near the glasshouse. It was a faint, unnatural tremor in the surrounding ley-lines deep beneath the stone floor, a cold, draining echo of energy that made the small hairs on my forearms stand up instantly. It was subtle, so subtle that an untrained practitioner or a young student would have dismissed it as a passing mountain breeze or a minor shifting of the soil.
It was a phantom echo I had not felt in fifty long years. It was the distinct, sickening sensation of an ancient suppression ward waking up, a cold, hollow drain that sucked ambient magic out of the air like ice water poured over glowing coals.
Ilaria did not notice it. Her shield remained bright and steady, her posture relaxed in calm concentration as she held the gold and violet threads in balance. Her young, hopeful spirit was entirely focused on the beauty of her creation.
I kept my breathing steady, concealing my sudden alarm behind a calm, grandmotherly posture. I lowered my hands to my lap and offered her a small nod. "That is enough practice for today, my child. You have mastered the weave nicely."
"Thank you, Grandmother," Ilaria beamed, letting the light dissolve gently back into her palms before standing up to brush the dark garden soil from her green skirts. "I am meeting my father in the lower courtyard for horse riding before the sun goes down."
"Go enjoy the afternoon," I said, offering her a warm nod. "And give your father my love when you see him."
After Ilaria had gathered her leather gloves and walked up toward the main keep with quick, happy steps, I did not linger in the garden. My peaceful mood was entirely gone, replaced by an old, familiar vigilance that set my teeth on edge. I walked straight down to the deep archives beneath the main library, where Nyssa was sitting at her usual oak desk surrounded by ancient maps and energy ledgers.
The subterranean archives were cool, dim, and smelled of old parchment and beeswax candles. Nyssa was deep in her work, her silver spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose as she compared two centuries-old territorial scrolls.
"Nyssa," I said, my voice dropping to a low, serious tone that instantly made my sister look up from her writing with sharp attention.
"What is it, Ilyana?" Nyssa asked, setting her silver quill down on the blotter and removing her spectacles. "You look pale. Did something happen during your session in the glasshouse?"
"I felt a distinct tremor in the lower ley-lines just now," I told her, stepping up to the long map table and pressing my hands flat against the polished wood. "A cold drain. It had the exact frequency of the old Vreth suppression wards."
Nyssa’s light eyes narrowed in immediate, sharp concern. Without a word, she reached for a heavy leather volume containing historical nexus-point diagrams across the entire province. Together, we reviewed the ancient vault maps, comparing old energy readings against the current border reports sent in by our mountain scouts over the past three months.
Nyssa pointed a slender, trembling finger at three specific nexus points marked along the eastern border near Ashveil.
"Look here," Nyssa whispered, her voice tight with rising dread as she traced the faded ink lines. "These three dormant nexus points... their ambient magical output has dropped by fifteen percent over the last month. Someone is actively draining the local ley-lines, Ilyana. Someone is charging an ancient suppression array of massive scale, and they are hiding the power draw deep underground."
"They are preparing to split the energies again," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as the cold realization settled in my bones. "They waited for the old generation to settle into peace, and now they are targeting the new children."
I stood in the dim archive, staring at the dark ink lines on the parchment map. The peace we had built over twenty years was whole on the surface, but deep beneath the ground, an ancient shadow was beginning to pull its first cold breath, and we were running out of time to stop it.