The next tear-site wasn’t too far away by foot. The few guards left there were standing quite a distance away from the transformed environment.

  “Your highness!” They bowed their heads as Midhir, and the others approached. Midhir nodded while Lieutenant Haarkos walked up them.

  “Can you see it?” He asked Willow.

  The young woman nodded. “It’s smaller than the last one.” She hesitated. “It’s so weird, I feel like I’m looking at cracked glass – but there is no glass there.” She talked slowly as she tried to find the right words to describe what she was seeing.

  “That’s about how Ilya described it too.” Midhir couldn’t help but smile. “You, Alistair and Arwen will start the cleansing ritual once the area has been cleaned. June,” He turned towards the other first year students.

  June stepped forth. “We’ll begin cleaning now,” she quickly spoke before he could ask that of them. She organised the other students, diving their tasks as Midhir walked towards the tear-site.

  The stench of blood and rotten flesh filled his nostrils. Suppressing the urge to gag, he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and continue walking. The view before him was awfully familiar. A cold shiver ran across his spine.

  Plants seemingly made out of flesh, the same as the ones they had seen east of An’Larion covered a rather wide area around where the tear had formed. Pools of what looked like blood dotted the area, and white things floated in them.

  Midhir averted his gaze. He’d rather not know what that was. “Cover your mouth and nose!” He called out to June and her group as they approached.

  It took a while to clean the area. The flesh-plants were difficult to cut, and even more difficult to burn, and the blood-like liquid made their eyes water whenever they tried to approach it to scoop it into containers.

  “I’d like my sense of smell to return…” Midhir grumbled as he passed by Willow and Arwen.

  The two women chuckled, then approached the tear site. The two of them and Alistair took their places around the area and began the cleansing resonance.

  “…None, sir.”

  The trailing voices of the guard and Lieutenant Haarkos’ conversation reached him. Curious, he approached them.

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  “Since when have you been standing guard here?” The Lieutenant asked.

  The guard glanced at the sky, and the sun slowly crawling westward before he replied. “A little less than half a day. We arrived here this dawn, and the tear was closed shortly before dusk the day before.”

  Lieutenant Haarkos furrowed his brows. “Good.” He then spotted the approached Midhir. “Sire,” He bowed.

  “Lieutenant,” he walked past them, and the Lieutenant followed. “Any sign of the cultists?”

  “No,” Lieutenant Haarkos shook his head. “They haven’t been showing themselves this close to the wall. He broadly gestured towards the distant overgrowth. “They know they stand no chance against the imperial army without the cover of the forest.”

  “We’ll remain vigilant. They may still strike at any moment.” Midhir turned his gaze towards the tear-site. Arwen and the others were almost done. If they kept up this speed, they could visit two more sites before dusk.

  He could only hope this was enough to stop the veil from deteriorating further.

  * * *

  Resting her hand on the rocks, she closed her eyes. Her consciousness travelled along the world roots, northward. Beyond An’Larion, and beyond the stronghold of the Empire, beyond the wall between the two nations, her mind travelled to a city surrounded by golden sands, set aflame by ancient magic.

  She felt the warm desert wind as she opened her eyes.

  “This is not the place you were called to.” Her raven companion’s words reached her. “What are we doing here, Circe?”

  She looked around her as she pulled her hand away from the surface of a chalk-coloured boulder. “Checking something.” Her voice was but a whisper, carried away by the wind as her gaze scoured their surroundings.

  The once pristine city was covered in a thin layer of sand. The boulder – once a place of worship, stood abandoned in a broken and collapsed shrine. As she walked to the partially collapsed entrance, she could feel the stone slabs beneath her feet slowly crumpling away into sand.

  “The flames have long consumed this place. What is there to find here?”

  The raven flew ahead, high up to the sky.

  Through its eyes she could see the once magnificent city, now broken and abandoned.

  “There is no one left here.”

  Of course there wasn’t.

  “The bell has tolled for this place…” she muttered quietly, mostly to herself. The soft ringing in the back of her mind seemed to grow louder as she paid attention to it. “Come, our path leads to the palace.”

  It was jarring to see Neferan in this state. Once the jewel of the north, Calador’s capital, it was reduced to ruins. She had always known what the Golden Flames were capable of and had even seen their destruction in the smaller cities and towns in the north. This, though… this was on another scale.

  “What are we here for, Circe?”

  She let out a sigh as she climbed the stairs to the Golden Palace. A part of her feared they would crumble into sand under her weight.

  “A long time ago, I gave a gift to the king of Calador,” she said with a scowl. “So he could defend his nation when the fires began to spread. I do wonder…” her voice faded as she passed through what was the grand entrance. “… why it went unused.”

  Had he failed to teach his descendants? Or had her gift simply been lost?

  “What about Arwen? She called for you.”

  “In a moment, we will see to her needs as well.”