Location: Eldorian Royal Manor, neutral kingdom of Azmar in the world of Aethalgard.
Vivian, her composure regained but an edge of steel still in her stride, turned away from the stunned Tristan, leaving him to nurse his bruised ego and aching body. Callum and Kel, watching from a distance, followed her, a new, profound respect for Lady Alura's (or rather, Vivian's) unexpected capabilities etched on their faces.
As Vivian neared the edge of the garden-like space, a familiar low, insistent buzzing began to thrum at the edges of her perception. It was the same disorienting sound she'd experienced on her run back on Earth, but this time, it intensified rapidly, vibrating through her very bones. Her vision blurred, the vibrant green of the heartwood trees twisting into indistinct shapes and the path before her dissolving into a swirling vortex of colors.
Really? Now?
A sudden, dizzying lurch pulled at her, and she stumbled, reaching out blindly for the nearest solaris bloomwood bench, her fingers closing on its warm, smooth surface just as the world shifted.
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SWITCH
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In that same instant, back on Earth, Ally was in the relatively quiet hotel room as a temporary measure arranged by Ben's private investigator friend Mike after the incident at Ben's apartment and Alex Greyson's unsettling pursuit. Ally was sitting by the window, idly watching the mundane traffic of Vivian's world and inhaling the scent of antiseptic, stale coffee and a light woody smell from Ben's aftershave.
Vivian was on sick leave from the fire station, a convenient cover for Ally's inability to act as Vivian. The recent chaos, the apartment fire, and the unnerving realization that Alex had tracked them down, had left her feeling restless and vulnerable. Still, she passed the time idly contemplating how to recreate the lemon tart from the cafe. Maybe shadow berries?Firefruit?
"Friend Ben? Could you use your light box to tell me the recipe for my lemon tart?"
Ben, who had been trying to coax an impetuous Marmalade out of his cat carrier welcomed a break from the orange, furry feline. Without turning his head, "Why don't we try to make one together? That way you can see the ingredients and how they are used."
"You mean… I would have to cook?"
Before Ben could respond, her vision blurred and her head buzzed, followed by a dizzying sensation of being pulled through a narrow, shimmering tunnel. The muted sounds of the city, the hum of the air conditioning—all vanished, replaced by an impossible silence.
When her sight cleared, she was no longer in the sterile hotel room. Instead, she saw familiar towering, impossibly green trees with a faint glow. The air smelled of something ancient and clean, a familiar scent of damp earth, heartwood, and the salty sea.
A silver-haired man with worried purple eyes stood before her, preventing her from falling. Beside him, a hulking black-haired Barklar looked equally stunned. In the distance, a man with gold eyes lay sprawled on the ground with a bruised jaw, seemingly laughing to himself. Ally's red eyes widened. This was Azmar. This was Aethelgard.
Meanwhile, Vivian found herself sitting in a plush armchair in an unfamiliar hotel room. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of an air conditioning unit. Ben was across from her, his face a mixture of relief and exhaustion. This was Earth. That was Ben.
Marmalade leapt out of the cat carrier quite suddenly and claimed Vivian's lap with a loud purr. Following the fastidious cat, Ben— seeing the sudden appearance of Vivian's green eyes—immediately understood. "Vivian!" he exclaimed, relief and concern warring in his tone. "You switched back! You're really back here, right?"
Vivian nodded, still dealing with the nausea from the dizzying transition of the forced switch. "I don't know for how long. Is there anything you need to fill me in on?"
Ben sighed. "Too much."
"I figured," Vivian said, still adjusting to her surroundings and fighting back nausea. "What is the most pressing?"
"Yeah, which one? Maybe… While you were away," Ben took a deep breath and sped through the summary, "Ally had a bit of a run-in with Alex Greyson. She accidentally set my kitchen on fire trying to demonstrate some magic, and then Alex tracked us down at the firm's safe house. She… You have been on sick leave from the fire station since, so you won't have to report for duty immediately. It's been a bit of a whirlwind."
"She could use magic here?" Vivian was more than surprised.
Ben nodded then added more details of the recent events, including Ally's attempts to manage the situation with Alex and the subsequent chaos. Vivian's brow furrowed. Alex Greyson. This needed to be handled. "Ben," she said, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic crispness, "I should speak with Alex. Immediately. I think there's a big misunderstanding. Do you have my phone?"
"Vivian, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Ben."
He surrendered the phone.
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Location: GIG HQ, Downtown San Francisco, California, on Earth
Two hours later, Vivian sat across from Alex, the CEO of GIG in his office. Alex, with his usual inscrutable expression, listened as Vivian, maintaining perfect composure, attempted to explain why she had been uncharacteristic lately. "Alex," she began, her voice calm and measured, "I apologize for any… unusual conduct you may have observed from me recently. I was feeling quite ill when we ran into each other. You probably noticed that I was shading my eyes and my face was flush with fever. Unfortunately, the medication I was prescribed had some rather potent side effects. I assure you, it was purely a medical matter, and I am currently headed back to my clear-headed, normal disposition."
Alex's eyes, sharp and assessing, never left hers. He nodded slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "I see," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're feeling better, Vivian. And thank you for the explanation." Outwardly, he accepted her words, his professional demeanor unwavering. Inwardly, however, a tiny, persistent voice whispered: Suspect. Very suspect indeed.
"Again, my apologies if I did or said anything out of character. As soon as I'm cleared, I'll be able to resume my work on the arson investigation. I hope you'll bear with me as I get caught up." Vivian stood and gave a small, polite bow in deference before leaving his office and quickly making her way back to the elevator.
The bow was a familiar gesture by Vivian, like biting her lip was her longtime habit. But Vivian had done neither of those things when he met her at the cafe. Alex knew the pieces didn't quite fit, and Alex Greyson had a keen eye for inconsistencies.
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Location: San Francisco, California, world of Earth
After the awkward conversation with Alex, Vivian rode the elevator down to the parking garage beneath the building. The smoothed concrete floor reflected the harsh fluorescent lights meant to make the parking lot seem safer.
Vivian headed to her car in the garage with her mind consumed by the arson investigation and how to get back on track after her unscheduled holiday to Aethelgard. It was so consumed, in fact, that she was startled at the sudden appearance of a dark sedan, which had pulled up beside her. Two burly figures emerged, carrying metal bats with menacing looks on their faces.
One stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "Ms. Lorenson. We've been asked to relay a message to you. Some things are best left alone."
"Wait. What? Who are you? Who gave you the message?"
The other said from behind his partner, "We were told that if you hesitated we should tell you that it's time to wrap up your investigation and walk away. You keep digging, you're going to end up just like your father."
"My… father…?"
Vivian had already prepared to defend herself through her usual physical means—a shift in stance, a calculation of escape routes. But the mention of her father's death, the callous weaponization of her grief, ignited something far colder than anger.
It wasn't like the adrenaline rush she was used to when at a fire scene. It could only be described as a vacuum in the form of a sudden, starving emptiness that grasped at everything from her very core. It was a cold, consuming sensation that pulled heat away from everything around her.
The fluorescent lights overhead briefly glowed violet before dying. A high-pitched frequency could be heard that rose sharply, before silencing abruptly. When all was done, the garage plunged into absolute darkness.
"Great," one of the men muttered in the blackness. "Another power outage? Just grab her."
But Vivian could feel… something. A heavy, static pressure in the air, rushing toward her like water down a drain. Her skin broke out in goosebumps—not from fear, but from a sudden, biting cold that seemed to leech the warmth right out her surroundings, including the building.
Car alarms chirped and died instantly. The humming machinery of the building groaned and went silent. To Vivian, it felt like her body was drinking the very air, her veins processing energy that wasn't hers.
In a bubble of unnatural dark, the men shifted, their boots scuffing the concrete as their arms groped around for anything they could find. "Where is she? I can't see a thing."
"Over here, I think. My phone light… Hey! My phone ain't working…Use… your…" The voice trailed off. A pale, cold light had bloomed in the center of the garage— and it wasn't a flashlight.
Vivian looked down at her hands. Sharp, geometric patterns—white and stark against her skin—were tracing themselves up her arms, glowing with intensity. She drew in a quick breath and held it as she stared in disbelief.
She knew these marks.
The memory slammed into her, vivid and unforgiving. She was eight years old again. She was standing in the dark, barefoot on gravel, her family… no Ally's family, dead. She was looking at her hands, terrified, as symbols had burned across her skin just before she woke up blocks away from her home after sleepwalking. It was the same night that Vivian ran back home only to find out her father was dead.
That nightmare… Panic rose in her throat. Is it happening again?
"What the hell?" the man on the right stammered, his voice pitching up. "Is that... is that her skin?" The metal of the first bat clattered on the garage floor.
"It's just a trick, right?" The other responded, sounding unsure. "Very funny, lady. There must be someone else in here. Hey! Whoever you are…!" But the rest of what he said faded into the background.
Vivian looked up from her hands. The stolen energy demanded release. She didn't know what was happening, only that the nightmare was real, and these men had triggered it. What would they know about my father? They don't know. They don't know anything. The eight-year-old girl inside was hurting and wanted them to feel the fear they were trying to inflict on her.
She exhaled and gave in, letting the pressure go.
It was a silent burst, a ripple, a wave. But the impact on men was immediate and terrifying. They couldn't see the glow of her skin anymore. Their eyes glazed over, wide and staring into the dark.
"I swear it was an accident. No... not the basement… Please, Mom. It won't happen again," the man on the left whispered, dropping his bat. He curled inward, trembling like a child. "Don't make me go down there, please..."
The other man—the one who had threatened her—stumbled back, his hands clawing at his face. "She was right behind me," he explained to the empty. "Is that her? Let me through! It… can't be her! I swear, she was right behind me! I only lost sight of her for a second," he sobbed.
Vivian watched, frozen in confusion. She wasn't touching them. She hadn't even moved. They were fighting ghosts, besieged by their own private horrors.
The surge in her veins peaked, becoming painful, cold enough to burn. Instinctively, she imagined herself clamping down and then severing the connection to whatever well she had tapped. The white geometric brands she had seen on her arms faded quickly, though they still tingled as a reminder it was just beneath her skin. The oppressive heaviness in the air lifted, leaving behind only the smell of petrol and the stale air of a parking garage. Ambient light from across the street floated in through the exit of the garage once again.
The men gasped, snapping back to reality, released from their personal hells. They looked at Vivian without their previous intimidating façade of thugs. Now, their faces held primal terror from reliving their nightmares. Without a word, they scrambled into their car, but it wouldn't start. Even though Vivian still hadn't moved, they clawed at each other to exit the vehicle from the opposite side to Vivian as quickly as they could muster. Finally finding their footing, they awkwardly sprinted for the exit, abandoning their car and leaving its doors wide open.
Vivian numbly walked to her own car. Her fob didn't work. She opened the driver's side door manually. The interior lights didn't turn on. She tried the ignition. Nothing. It was dead.
She sat there, looking at her hands again, trembling. It felt like she had done something, but she was no longer clear on what that was.