The chamber behind them was nearly empty. Only a few stragglers remained, Thess pushing them firmly into line, her voice sharp and commanding as she organized the frightened Caelari into something resembling order.

  Alistair moved past her, toward the back of the room. Toward the door the children had been hidden next to.

  The small door was made of the same strange, silvery metal as the other warded seals. He pressed a palm against it. Cold. Immovable.

  [System Notification]

  Access Denied – Door Warded

  Alistair sighed through his teeth. “Figures.”

  He reached into his pouch and drew out the Crownkey. The relic pulsed faintly, its surface hairline-cracked from use. He pushed it forward into the ward.

  The moment it touched, the lock unraveled with a hiss of power, glyphs vanishing like ash. The key splintered in his hand, shattering into useless fragments.

  [Item Destroyed – Crownkey (0 / 3 Charges)]

  Alistair stared at the shards for a beat, lips pulling into a grimace. “Hope I didn’t just screw myself.”

  The door swung open on silent hinges.

  And the [Treasure Seeker] screamed again.

  The ping roared through his skull, louder than before, a tidal pull dragging him forward. His hand went white-knuckled on the frame.

  It wasn’t another lab.

  It was a treasure vault.

  The private collection of the Caelari royal family.

  Alistair stepped inside like a moth drawn to flame, eyes wide, throat tight. The walls glittered with relics, shelves stacked with carved boxes and ceremonial ornaments. Dust lay thick, but even through it, the wealth radiated.

  But all of it was background noise.

  At the center of the vault stood three pedestals, each one isolated under a faint ward shimmer. And on each pedestal rested a book.

  Not scrolls. Not tablets. Books. Thick, leather-bound, their spines etched with runes that pulsed faintly, alive despite the centuries.

  The ping in Alistair’s skull was so loud now it felt like it was rattling his teeth.

  He licked his lips, stepping closer.

  “Well,” he murmured, voice low and dry. “This looks… promising.”

  Alistair reached the pedestals, eyes wide. Each tome hummed faintly with power older than kingdoms, older than the Pantheon itself.

  He touched the first, and the system bloomed in his vision.

  [Item Acquired: Fragmented Codex of Mythostorm]

  Mythic Spellbook – Forgotten Godling School

  Theme: Chaos and primal storm. Magic born of dead godlings.

  Mechanic: Spells warp based on emotion, intent, environment.

  Warning: Uncontrollable.

  Lore: “You do not cast Mythostorm. You survive it.”

  Alistair exhaled, low and sharp. “Uncontrollable chaos. Definitely my kind of luck.”

  The second tome shimmered with a faint lattice of static, every page thrumming like thunder held in a cage.

  [Item Acquired: Codex of the Stormcage Arcanum]

  Mythic Spellbook – Static Lockdown & Control Magic

  Theme: Force prisons. Lightning bars, magnetic chains, fields of punishment.

  Mechanic: The more they fight, the worse it hurts.

  Lore: “Lightning is not only fury, it is a ward, a lock, a sentence.”

  His lips curled. “Gods, that sounds unfair. I love it already.”

  The third radiated a pale, spectral glow. Ghostflame licked its spine like candlelight that refused to die.

  [Item Acquired: Tome of Eidolon Flame]

  Mythic Spellbook – Ghostfire Magic of the Dying Soul

  Theme: Burn spirit, memory, and essence.

  Mechanic: [Haunted] enemies leave spectral flame trails. Ghostkills yield Ember Spirits, charges that empower casts or restore mana.

  Lore: “To master ghostfire is to command the past itself, every flame, a memory rekindled, every ember, a soul unmoored.”

  Alistair’s throat tightened. “Yeah. Definitely the most horrifying bedtime story I’ve ever seen bound in leather.”

  The Treasure Seeker still thrummed, but the timer screamed louder. He had no time to study them. He stuffed all three into his pouch, the leather straining at the seams.

  The palace groaned.

  A tremor unlike any before ripped through the floor. Stone split underfoot, the air filled with the deafening roar of collapse. Half the ceiling gave way, marble slabs smashing down, pillars snapping like brittle bones.

  Another crash thundered outside the vault.

  “Alistair!” Thess’s voice, sharp with panic.

  He spun, dust filling his lungs. “Coming!”

  He bolted for the door then froze.

  Something small clattered across the floor, tumbling from a shelf as it split apart. A box burst open, spilling coins and glimmering gems across the stone. And lying among them, unmistakable...

  A key.

  The last key of Concordance he needed.

  The [Treasure Seeker] howled in triumph.

  Alistair’s body moved before thought. He beelined for it, scooping the key into his pouch along with the scattered gems and coins, heart pounding.

  The chamber buckled again. Stones rained down.

  He didn’t look back. He ran.

  The corridors thundered around them as they fled, the air thick with dust and falling stone. Thess led from the front, her bark-lined arms outstretched to keep the Caelari moving in formation, guiding the terrified mob through halls that shook with every tremor.

  Alistair pushed at their flank, his eyes darting upward at each groan of stone, each crack spidering along the ceiling. He’d fought gods, champions, and monsters, but this, leading forty terrified civilians through a collapsing palace, this was the first time he felt like he was trying to outrun the end of the world.

  The Caelari stumbled and clung to one another. Mothers pulled children close, men braced their shoulders against the trembling walls, white-robed figures barked sharp instructions to no one in particular. Fear was a living thing in the air, thick and contagious.

  Alistair cut to one of the white-robed men as they ran, shouting over the din. “Where would it be? The portal, where would they hide something like that?”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The man blinked at him, startled that he was being addressed. Then his eyes sharpened, his words clipped. “Central hall! Royal sanctum! Always the sanctum, it was the anchor!”

  Alistair hissed between his teeth. “Sanctum. Of course.”

  The ground pitched under them again. Thess barked over her shoulder, voice strained. “We need more than guesses, Alistair!”

  But he wasn’t listening.

  The bonds inside him flared all at once.

  Brimma. Buddy.

  Not tugging, not shifting randomly like before. Static. Steady. In one place.

  Alistair’s chest went tight. He stumbled forward, caught himself on the wall.

  “Thess!” His voice cracked louder than he meant, raw with urgency.

  She twisted back to look at him, golden-green eyes wide.

  “They’re not moving anymore,” he gasped. “Brimma and Buddy, the bond’s steady. Do you think...”

  He didn’t finish. Afraid to let himself believe it.

  Thess’s face tightened, bark markings glowing faintly as she shoved another Caelari through a doorway. “Do you think they found the portal?”

  Alistair swallowed, hope and dread warring in his chest as another section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash behind them.

  If they had… they finally had a way out.

  If not..

  They were running out of time.

  Alistair shoved to the front of the mob, the bonds inside him pulling like compass needles. Brimma and Buddy’s connection stayed steady, but now another flared bright. Sharp, wild, familiar.

  Kael.

  So close.

  Alistair sprinted harder, the palace shuddering under every step. Then, ahead an open bend in the corridor.

  Kael appeared.

  The elf barreled into view, bow strapped to his back, cloak in tatters, his lean frame streaked with grime. Relief flashed across his sharp features...

  And then the floor gave way.

  The marble beneath Kael’s boots split like paper. His eyes went wide as he plummeted into the collapsing gap.

  “Kael!” Alistair roared.

  He didn’t think. Instinct snapped his arm out.

  [Blood Lash – Activated]

  A tendril of crimson erupted from his palm, whipping through the air and coiling tight around Kael’s forearm. The elf’s body jerked mid-fall. Alistair braced his heels against the cracking floor, muscles straining as he hauled with everything he had.

  Kael crashed onto solid ground, tumbling hard but alive. The group surged forward, Thess darting to his side to yank him upright.

  The elf coughed, barked a laugh even as he stumbled. “I'll be damned! That horrifying attack actually turned out useful!”

  Alistair opened his mouth...

  Before Alistair could answer, Kael’s eyes flicked past him, then widened. His hand went instinctively for the bow on his back.

  “Uh, Alistair… do you know there’s a bunch of those freaks right behind you?”

  Alistair turned, teeth gritted.

  The corridor was filling, men, women, children, the Caelari he had pulled from the barricade. Their bone protrusions glinted faintly, their eyes wide, their steps hesitant as they followed Thess’s orders forward. Not charging. Not hostile. Just trying to keep up.

  To Kael, it was a nightmare parade of monsters. To Alistair… it was people.

  He grabbed Kael by the shoulder before the elf could notch an arrow.

  “Not freaks,” Alistair said firmly, his voice low and sharp. “Not this time. Storytime later. Move!”

  The mob surged forward at his back, the tremors rattling the walls as another section of floor collapsed into the Maw below.

  They ran.

  The mob thundered through the corridors, dozens of Caelari pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, more slipping out of side chambers and alcoves to join as they went. Lost individuals, faces pale, clothes torn, bone protrusions faint or jagged, saw their people streaming past and fell in step, clinging to the group like drowning men catching a raft.

  Kael kept pace at Alistair’s side, his voice sharp with questions. “What the hell is going on? Why are they following us? Why aren’t you killing them? Alistair...”

  But Alistair didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was focused on the bonds. Brimma. Buddy. Still steady, still waiting ahead like torches in the dark.

  He glanced back, shouting over his shoulder in the guttural, half-broken cadence of the Pale Tongue. “Is this the way to the sanctum?”

  The Caelari man he’d spoken to earlier jerked his head up in shock at being addressed in his own tongue. Then he shouted back: “Yes! Straight on, the sanctum lies ahead!”

  Alistair turned back forward, only to find Kael staring at him, wide-eyed.

  “You... what did you just...” the elf stammered.

  “Later!” Alistair barked, his voice cracking with urgency.

  The floor pitched again. A mother stumbled, clutching her child tight as she lagged behind. Another boy, no older than eight, was running alone, eyes wild with terror, no adult in sight.

  Alistair cursed under his breath and sprinted back. He scooped the first child out of the woman’s arms with one arm, grabbed the boy with the other, and pushed them both against his chest as he sprinted forward again.

  “Thess! Kael!” he roared. “Help the children!”

  They surged forward to meet him, Thess reaching to steady the mother as Kael caught another straggler by the wrist and pulled them along.

  Then the corridor screamed.

  Two massive columns cracked and collapsed, crashing down in front of them with a deafening roar, sealing the passage in a storm of dust and rubble. The mob shrieked, the children in Alistair’s arms wailing.

  “Dammit!” Alistair hissed.

  Thess’s eyes narrowed, her bark-patterns glowing faintly as she thrust both hands forward.

  [Nature’s Barrier – Activated]

  Roots burst from the ground, thick thorned vines surging upward to form a jagged wall. The barrier pressed against the falling debris, slowing, diverting, holding. Cracks spiderwebbed through the roots, shards of stone breaking against them, but they held long enough.

  “Go!” she shouted, her voice raw. “Now!”

  Alistair charged, clutching the children tight, the Caelari mob surging behind him as the thornwall groaned under the weight of collapsing stone.

  They made it through, the wall shattering behind them with a final snap, sealing the path in rubble.

  The bonds pulled like anchors in his chest, brighter and brighter until the corridor opened into a half-collapsed sanctum.

  Brimma stood there, leaning on her staff, her hair a tangled nest of grey and moss. Buddy loomed beside her, his ember-lit maw steaming in the cold air, his eyes locked on the portal dominating the chamber’s center.

  A massive arch of stone, fractured but still intact, shimmered with raw light. The portal rippled inside it, unstable yet alive, the way forward.

  The moment Buddy saw him, the hellhound let out a high, keening whine that cracked into a rumble. Then he bounded forward like an avalanche, claws gouging stone.

  Alistair dropped the children he carried into waiting hands and braced himself. “There’s my boy,” he said, laughing hoarsely as Buddy barreled into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He buried a hand in the beast’s burning mane, ignoring the heat. “I knew you’d wait for me.”

  The hellhound pressed against him, hot breath steaming, tail lashing like a whip.

  They moved toward the portal together. A corpse lay sprawled before it, a champion, or what was left of one. The body was half-burnt, flesh charred, and covered in bite marks. The large ones were unmistakable. Buddy’s. The smaller, ragged tears had Brimma’s badger form written all over them.

  Alistair raised a brow. “Creative teamwork?”

  Brimma snorted, her staff tapping against the floor as she stepped forward. “Don’t flatter yourself. We did the work while you were off playing treasure hunter.” Her tone was sharp, but beneath it was something else, relief, raw and unspoken.

  Then her eyes slid to the Caelari crowd filling the chamber, pressed shoulder to shoulder, children clinging to their parents. Her brows shot up.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Alistair sighed. “They’re not monsters. They’re… people. I can understand them.”

  He explained quickly, the [Pale Tongue Accord], the words, the mother and the children.

  When he finished, Brimma stared at him for a long moment, her lips twitching between exasperation and something else. Finally, she huffed. “Idiot. Noble idiot.”

  Alistair grinned faintly. “I’ll take it.”

  Brimma turned, tapping her staff hard against the floor. “Alright, enough gawking. We’ve got a door out of here, and I’d like to be through it before the ceiling lands on my head. What are we waiting for?”

  Alistair’s eyes flicked to the shimmering arch. His voice came out steady. “We should pass in groups. Each group with one of us. In case something nasty is waiting on the other side.”

  Brimma froze for a moment, then gave a grudging hum. “That’s… actually a good idea.”

  Alistair smirked, brushing soot from his sleeve. “Try not to sound so shocked.”

  The groups moved in waves.

  Kael went first, ushering the mothers and their children forward, his bow slung but his eyes sharp, guarding them until the portal swallowed their forms.

  Brimma followed with the weaker ones, the old, the wounded, those who could barely walk. She barked orders the entire way, snapping at anyone who lagged, the sound of her staff rapping against stone carrying them forward until she vanished with them into the light.

  Then Buddy, barking furiously at his own group until the Caelari, wild-eyed followed the massive hellhound to their salvation.

  Then Thess’s group, a clutch of stronger Caelari men, shielding those still unsteady. They crossed as one, the arch flaring and dimming as each body slipped through.

  Only Thess hesitated.

  She stood at the threshold, the glow of the portal bleeding across her bark-marked face, her golden-green eyes flickering.

  Alistair frowned, his voice cutting through the rumble of stone. “What are you waiting for?”

  Her gaze found his, and her voice cracked. “I’m afraid to leave you. Something bad will happen if I do. I can feel it.”

  Alistair’s throat tightened. He tried to grin, though his hands shook. “Don’t be obstinate, Thess. Go.”

  Another tremor rocked the sanctum. The ceiling groaned and split, whole slabs of stone crashing down behind them. Dust swallowed the chamber. Alistair spun, shoving the last stragglers forward.

  “Move!” he roared.

  They vanished through the portal one by one until the chamber emptied. Relief finally swelled in his chest, thin and fragile. He turned back to Thess, exhaling. “There. Happy? Now let’s...”

  He froze.

  Her eyes.

  They weren’t looking at him anymore. They were glassy, unfocused, her mouth parting as if to speak...

  But blood poured out instead.

  It spilled down her chin, thick and red, a waterfall drenching her chest.

  “Thess...” Alistair’s voice cracked, disbelief raw in his throat.

  A wet sound behind her. A dagger sliding free.

  A laugh. Nasty, guttural, triumphant.

  Vardis stepped back from her, his blade slick, crimson glistening as it pulled out from the back of her skull.

  Her body swayed once, then crumpled.

  Alistair didn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. The world narrowed into red, his vision tunneling on the smug, sneering vampire.

  Vardis smirked, dipped his head mockingly, then turned and leapt into the portal.

  “NO!”

  The scream tore out of Alistair, raw enough to shred his throat, shaking the collapsing sanctum as Thessaly’s body hit the floor.

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