If anyone had asked Alaric Kestrel how his evening was going, he would have said quiet, productive, and nearly over.
His shift was supposed to end at 10 o'clock, and he was already tasting sweet, glorious freedom.
At 9:57 he left his office whistling like an idiot, when the universe flipped him off and set his plans on fire.
Rewind sixty seconds. On an ice continent, two Alphas, a Queen, a Gamma, and three Master Mages stood in darkness.
The ancestors had just counted down and their flame was gone. All three mages stood with their hands up, magic ready, producing zero portals.
"Any time now," Maelor called. "One-second window my ass."
The ancestors did not respond.
The floor rumbled.
CRACK.
The door they'd come through cracked straight down the center like something on the other side had hit it.
"Son of a bitch!" Aeron yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin. "Portals! NOW!"
