At dawn, a crimson sun climbed the skies as the convoy from The Theocracy of the Sunlit Summits set off towards An’Larion. Protected by both a large number of Imperial Guards and her own forces, the Ambassador and her entourage set off on their several-day long journey to reach the capital and rekindle the long-severed diplomatic relations between their two nations.

  The sun continued to climb the clear skies. Scouts arrived in Derwen Hold, coming from all sides, each and every one of them bearing the same news – a tear in the veil.

  “This is the seventh.” Alistair muttered as the latest arrival left the Obsidian Halls.

  “At this rate, we won’t have enough forces to cover them all.” Midhir scowled. Seven tears in half a day… He glanced at the empty throne he was standing in front of. His father was arranging the patrols and sending the Enforcers, so the duty of listening to these reports was left to Midhir.

  Alistair folded his arms, pacing the Obsidian Halls with a scowl. “It’s their doing, isn’t it?”

  “Clearly.” Midhir breathed out a sigh. “There is little that can be done.” Now that the tears had already formed, the Ring of Stone was no longer an option. “Alistair, please bring Arwen here.”

  The young Orlein shot him an odd glance. “She still hasn’t recovered fully from trying to seal off that passage in the dungeons.”

  “I know.” They were running out of time. Each moment the tears remained, the Veil grew weaker. “Please hurry.” As Alistair nodded and marched off, Midhir circled the Obsidian Throne, and approached the back wall of the halls. A simple door stood beside the narrow staircase that led to the balcony overlooking the courtyard nestled between the two halves of the mountain.

  He knocked, then held his breath waiting for an answer.

  “Come.” His father’s voice was cold as ice.

  Summoning his courage, he opened the door and stepped inside his father’s study.

  The smell of old parchment and incense filled his nostrils. His father sat behind his ornate wooden desk. His gaze lifted from the map sprawled on the desk to Midhir. In front of the desk were two familiar faces he expected to see here. Captain Marr stared at the map with a scowl, while Enforcer Aoidh seemed much more interested in the paper in her hands.

  “What is it? Did more reports come in?” The Emperor asked.

  “Yes,” Midhir repeated the scout’s report before showing exactly where on the map the rift was.

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  “There aren’t enough enforcers for seven different locations.” Enforcer Aoidh stated as she glanced at Midhir. “And all of them are some distance away from each other. Solus staff and the honour guard must join the operation.”

  “It will matter little if they just keep doing this.” Captain Marr tapped on the map angrily. “Sire, we must summon back the battalion stationed at the Northern Wall.”

  “No.” The Emperor’s sharp and curt response made her flinch.

  “But-“

  “No,” he repeated himself. “Enforcer, contact An’Larion and explain the events to them. Request reinforcements – Captain Marr, send out the patrols as we agreed, then work with Solus staff to prepare more patrols. They must be ready to set off at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Midhir, prepare teams of students and low ranking soldiers and immediately have them sent for cleanup duty.”

  “Right away,” Midhir hesitated. “But if I may…?”

  His father raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

  “We can’t catch up with them, we can’t stop them from continuing to damage the rift. Repairing the damage they’re doing is fine, but I fear it won’t be enough.” They couldn’t do this with their own numbers alone. Not when the cultists could travel between places so easily.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Allow me to call the Crimson Witch.”

  His father visibly flinched. “You would invite an entity of unknown origin into our greatest stronghold?”

  “I would invite the only person I know who has power beyond our crystal tools.” Midhir met his father’s gaze. “She is no enemy of ours.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Mother does.”

  His father’s gaze turned cold, almost hostile.

  “And so do I,” Midhir quickly continued, immediately regretting his choice of words. “She had no obligation, but she healed me. I owe her my life – for the second time, from what I understand. If she wished for the destruction of Eldoria, she could have brought its downfall many times.”

  She wouldn’t have helped the past emperors, she wouldn’t have aided his mother, and she certainly wouldn’t have given him that one extra year. Borrowed time, he reminded himself bitterly.

  The Emperor pondered in silence for a few moments before finally letting out a sigh. “I suppose that is true.” He clenched his fist. “Very well, invite her to Derwen Hold, and see if she can be of use. We do not have the luxury of choice anymore.”

  Midhir left his father’s study and breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he closed the door and stepped away from it.

  “… but why now? That’s what I don’t understand. They had the damn helm for who knows how long, why have they started doing so much damage now?” Alistair’s perplexed voice reached his ears.

  “Maybe their numbers are enough only now?” Arwen suggested.

  “I doubt it…” Alistair’s voice faded as he noticed Midhir step out from behind the Obsidian Throne.

  Arwen forced a weak smile as she tried to smooth her uniform. “We were trying to figure out why they started doing all this now.”

  “That’s one thing we need to figure out, yes.” Midhir avoided meeting her gaze. She looked so exhausted. “Arwen, I know you haven’t fully recovered yet, but I need you to tell me how to contact Circe.”

  Arwen’s lips parted as her fingers clenched around the wrinkled cloth of her cloak. “I’ll need a basin, a bit of your blood and a little bit of firewood.” She grimaced. “She doesn’t use crystal tools unfortunately, so we’ll have to resort to my ways.”

  “It’s fine.” Crystal tools weren’t enough anymore. Perhaps witchcraft could give them the advantage they needed to put a stop to this.