The world snapped back into focus with a nauseating lurch. The portal behind us didn’t just shut; it was devoured, leaving behind the acrid scent of ozone and a silence that rang in my ears. For a dizzying moment, the room swam, and a wave of mana-burn washed over me, hot and sickening. Then, through the haze, familiar shapes resolved themselves: my worn desk, the faded tapestry on the wall, and the faint scent of old paper. My room. My knees nearly gave out in relief.

“Where in all the realms have you two been?”

Amelia’s voice cut through my disorientation. She rushed forward, her face a canvas of frantic worry, her hands fluttering as if unsure who to touch first. “I’ve been sick with fear! There was no way to reach you.”

I exchanged a heavy glance with Cassius. The grime on his travel-worn clothes and the grim set of his jaw told a story I wasn’t ready to share. “I… made a mistake,” I admitted, the words tasting like ash. “A small miscalculation during the teleport.”

“A small miscalculation?” Amelia’s sharp eyes darted between us, finally snagging on the unfamiliar elven sword at Cassius’s hip and the dark, finely-wrought cloak clasped at his throat. “What happened? And where did you get that?”

“Teleportation is a volatile art,” Cassius’s voice was a calm, low anchor in the storm of Amelia’s anxiety. “The slightest distraction, the smallest fissure in one’s focus, can divert the path.” He gave me a pointed, yet not unkind, look. “It is also profoundly draining. We materialized near a village, and she was in no condition to risk another jump so soon.”

“I’m just glad you’re both safe.” Amelia sank into a nearby armchair, a long, shaky breath escaping her. “Was Cassius recognized? Did anyone suspect he was…?”

“No,” I answered, perhaps too quickly. “No one knew.”

“Good,” she murmured, rubbing her temples as if to ward off a migraine. “Rumors are the last thing we need.”

I perched on the edge of my desk, the hard wood a grounding presence. “There’s a bigger problem.” I took a steadying breath, the memory still raw. “Kaelen was in that town.”

The air in the room grew thin and cold. Amelia leaned forward, her casual posture gone, replaced by a sharp, brittle focus. Cassius moved to stand beside her chair, a silent, imposing shadow. “He’s moving so much faster than last time,” I whispered. “Do you still think we have a year?”

“I… I can’t be certain,” Amelia confessed, her brow furrowed in frustration. “I can start digging, put out feelers for his movements. Anything you can remember, anything at all, could be a lead.”

I cast my mind back, but the memories were splintered images seen through a haze of terror. “Towards the end… he was gone so often. All I knew for sure was that destruction followed in his wake. The scent of ash on the wind, the shriek of creatures …” My fingers tightened on the desk’s edge until the wood bit into my skin. “I was too busy hiding to see the pattern.”

“You said darkness and destruction followed him?” Cassius’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, precise and analytical.

My gaze snapped to his. “Yes.”

“Perhaps the destruction isn’t the goal,” he mused, his eyes distant. “Perhaps he is searching for something, and the ruin is merely a consequence of his methods.”

“Searching for what?” I wondered aloud, and then a new, chilling thought crested in my mind. “Amelia… the kidnappings. Have they started becoming more frequent?”

Amelia’s eyes met mine, a flicker of dawning horror in their depths. “Yes. Considerably.”

“Is it possible,” I pressed, the horrifying theory taking shape on my tongue, “that he’s not just taking people? That he’s targeting those with substantial mana?”

“It is more than possible,” Cassius said grimly. “It is probable.”

The silence that fell wasn’t empty; it was heavy, suffocating with the weight of our shared dread. Cassius began to pace, the soft scuff of his boots against the marble floor the only sound.

Finally, Amelia broke the quiet, her voice forged with new resolve. “The darkness is gathering faster than we anticipated. We need to keep moving.”

“You’re right,” Cassius concurred. “Should we postpone the search for Aelindoria?”

“No,” Amelia insisted, shaking her head. Her gaze found mine, clear and steady. “Keep looking. As I told you before, fate is on your side. Trust your instincts. You have no idea where they might lead.”

Her words were a balm, a momentary stay against the rising tide of fear. We need to keep moving. I clung to the thought, a mantra against the memories that threatened to surface.

“We have to,” I said aloud, sliding off the desk. “We can’t let K’tthar return. And we have to find a way to break Cassius’s curse.” I turned my attention back to Amelia. “How is Lyra?”

“She remains… withdrawn,” Amelia replied with a sigh.

“And Noctis?” I pressed, hoping for some good news.

A bit of light returned to her eyes. “That, at least, is progressing. The contract is signed. He’s already preparing for a mission for us in the forest near Riverwood.”

“That’s a start,” Cassius agreed. “And we need to finish our own preparations for Elderain.” He picked up a heavy, leather-bound tome from the table and opened it to a page bearing a detailed, cross-hatched illustration of a field of flowers. “You must burn this image into your mind. Every flower, every stone. It is the only way to ensure an accurate jump.”

“Why don’t you begin now?” Amelia suggested, rising from her chair. “Knowing you’re safe, I can gather the last of your supplies.” She offered a warm, reassuring smile. “I won’t be long.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Cassius claimed the chair Amelia had vacated, his presence filling the space in a quieter, more profound way. “Time to study,” he prompted gently.

I sank into my own chair, pulling a familiar blanket around my shoulders like a shield. I drew the heavy book closer, my world shrinking to the intricate drawing of Elderain.

“Don’t just see it,” Cassius’s voice was soft, pulling me from my trance. “Memorize the image, yes, but feel the place. Imagine the crisp chill of the morning air, the scent of pine and flowers. Teleportation is an art of sensation, not just sight. We cannot afford another miscalculation.” A faint, almost sad smile touched his lips. “As… eventful… as our last one was.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. “I thought you enjoyed our detour.”

“I did,” he confessed, and for a moment the smile was genuine, though it didn’t quite reach the sorrow in his eyes. “It was the first time I have felt the sun on my skin in… a very long time. I had forgotten.” He shifted, a shadow of old pain crossing his features. “I truly believed I would never see the outside of that cell again.” His gaze fell to the weapon at his side. “Much less hold a blade like this.”

With a reverence that felt almost holy, he unwrapped the sword and laid it on the desk. It was unadorned, but its simple, elegant lines seemed to hum with a latent power.

“I’m no expert,” I admitted, my eyes tracing the flawless steel, “but I can tell that’s special. What makes an elven blade different?”

“Balance,” he said, his voice a low thrum of appreciation. “And lethal grace. They are lighter than human steel, an extension of the arm, not a burden to it. And the edge…” He paused. “An elven edge never dulls. It can part steel like parchment.”

“Then I’m glad you found it,” I said softly. I reached out, my fingers hesitating before gently closing around the scabbard. It was cool and smooth. I lifted it—it was impossibly light—and secured the blade within its sheath with a soft click. “It suits you.” I slid it back across the desk to him.

“As am I,” he replied, his voice distant. He looked away, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky beyond the window, and a profound stillness settled over him. It felt like a private moment, so I turned back to my task.

The world narrowed to the book. I let my eyes trace every blade of grass, every tree, every tree in the drawing of Elderain. Closing my eyes, I let the image reform behind my eyelids, building it piece by piece. I didn’t just see it; I tried to be there. I conjured the whisper of a breeze against my skin, the phantom scent of blossoms, the faint, humming echo of ambient magic. The illusion felt real, present, peaceful.

The illusion shattered.

When I opened my eyes, the vision of Elderain dissolved, replaced by the sight of Cassius. He was on his feet, moving with a sudden, lethal grace that made the air crackle. His chair lay overturned. Every line of his body was coiled like a predator, his hand fused to the hilt of the elven blade.

“We have company,” he said, his voice a low growl. His eyes, sharp as honed steel, were locked on the door. Then they flew to me. “I thought you said elves were legends to humans.”

“They are,” I stammered, my mind racing. “There’s no one else—”

My words were cut short by three sharp, deliberate knocks on the chamber door.

It was not a request. It was a summons.

A cold dread, absolute and pure, washed over me. No one should be here.

Especially an elf.