The Mages' Tower. Night.
Mirena sat at the workbench, the artifact before her.
It pulsed faintly—dark, smooth, warm. The light from its surface cast shifting shadows on the walls, dancing across the scattered notes and diagrams that covered every available surface. She had been studying it for hours, comparing it to the rings, to the old texts, to the residue left behind by the portal in the canyon. Her eyes burned. Her head ached. But she couldn't stop.
Alistair sat across from her, his staff across his knees, his eyes tired. He had been helping her since dawn, but even he needed rest. His hands trembled slightly when he reached for his tea. The cup was empty. He hadn't noticed.
"The cult," Mirena said, not looking up from her notes. "When they opened the portal, they used sacrifices. Human life force."
Alistair nodded slowly, setting down the empty cup. "The old texts mention it. Blood magic. Sacrificial magic. The mana concentration in the world was low then. The veil was thick. They needed power from somewhere, and the creatures hadn't yet begun to spread their cores into the soil and water."
Mirena set down her quill. The ink had dried on the tip. She dipped it again. "How many?"
Alistair shook his head, his expression grim. "The records are incomplete. Dozens, maybe. Enough to tear a hole in reality." He paused, staring at the artifact as if it might offer answers. "The portals they opened were unstable. They moved randomly across the kingdom, opening and closing without warning. But they were self-sustaining. Once opened, they didn't need a connection to this world to stay active. The sacrifices provided enough power to keep them going."
Mirena looked at the artifact. Its surface rippled with faint light, like heat shimmering over stone.
"And this?"
"The artifact is different." Alistair leaned forward, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret. "It absorbs mana from the atmosphere. It pulls in ambient energy, amplifies it, compresses it. Then it releases it all at once to open a stable portal." He gestured to the artifact with a weathered hand. "But only for a short time."
"How short?"
"Minutes. Maybe less. The portal is stable while it's open—no random movements, no unpredictable shifts—but once it closes, the artifact is drained. It needs time to absorb more mana before it can be used again."
Mirena picked up the artifact. It was warm, humming against her palm. She could feel the energy inside it, coiled and waiting, like a beast resting between hunts.
"How long?"
Alistair shrugged, his shoulders stiff with exhaustion. "Days. Perhaps a week. The strangers said forty-eight hours, but they've been using it for a long time, jumping from world to world, running from Vorlag's hunters. The internal structures may be degraded. The crystal may be cracked. We won't know until we can examine it more thoroughly."
Mirena set it down carefully on the velvet cloth. "And the destination?"
"Random." Alistair's voice was flat, resigned. "You can't preselect where you want to go. The artifact goes where it wants. The strangers were trying to reach a safe house—a world they knew, a place where Vorlag doesn't have a presence." He shook his head. "They ended up here."
Mirena was quiet for a moment, staring at the artifact's pulsing light. "The mana concentration in this world is higher now. The creatures—"
"The creatures are producing mana. Their cores are seeping into the soil, the water, the air." Alistair nodded, a hint of wonder in his tired eyes. "The artifact will recharge faster here than in most worlds. Perhaps much faster."
Mirena stood. Walked to the window.
The city was dark below, the streets empty, the stars bright above. Somewhere out there, the strangers waited in their cells. Somewhere beyond the veil of reality, beyond the void between worlds, Aldric was alive. She had to believe that.
"If we could control the destination," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "If we could adapt the artifact's mechanism, or combine it with what we've learned from the rings—"
"We can't." Alistair's voice was gentle but firm. "Not yet. Maybe not ever. The artifact is ancient. It was crafted by someone who understood spatial magic better than we do. Better than anyone alive."
Mirena turned from the window. "The cult opened portals with sacrifices. We have mana. More mana than they ever dreamed of having."
Alistair frowned, his brow furrowing. "You're talking about replicating the cult's method."
"I'm talking about adapting it." Mirena moved back to the table, her hand brushing the artifact's surface. "The artifact is stable but random. The cult's portals were unstable but self-sustaining. If we combine the two—the stability of the artifact with the directed power of a ritual—"
"We don't know enough." Alistair's voice was heavy. "The cult's methods were barbaric. They killed innocent people to fuel their magic. Are you prepared to do the same?"
Mirena's jaw tightened. "No. But we don't have to. We have the creatures. Their mana stones hold power—more power than the cult ever had access to. We could use them as a fuel source instead of blood."
Alistair was silent for a long moment, staring at the artifact.
"The creatures are producing mana," he said slowly. "The mages are studying them, dissecting them, trying to understand how their cores work. But the process is slow. And we don't know if the mana from the creatures can be channeled the same way as life force."
"Then we find out."
---
Alistair was silent for a long moment.
"The strangers' artifact recharges in two days," he said at last. "When it's ready, they'll leave. They'll jump to another world, and we may never see them again."
Mirena met his eyes. "We need to study it before then. Every detail. Every mechanism. Every scrap of magic we can extract from its structure."
Alistair nodded slowly, pushing himself to his feet. His joints cracked. He winced. "I'll gather the mages. We'll work through the night. Every available hand, every spare crystal, every lens we have."
Mirena sat back down. Picked up her quill. The ink was fresh now.
"Thank you," she said.
Alistair walked to the door. Paused with his hand on the frame.
"Mirena."
She looked up.
"If we find a way to open a portal—if we find Aldric—what then?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "He's been gone for weeks. Months, soon. The void between worlds is not kind to those who travel it alone."
Mirena was quiet for a moment, staring at the artifact's pulsing light.
"Then we bring him home," she said. "No matter what state he's in. No matter how long it takes."
Alistair held her gaze for a moment. Then he nodded and left, his footsteps fading down the stone corridor.
Mirena returned to her notes.
The artifact pulsed on the table, dark and warm and waiting.
She thought about the cult. About the people they had sacrificed. About the blood that had soaked into the stones of their ritual sites. She thought about the creatures, their mana cores still growing inside their bodies. She thought about the strangers, running from world to world, never stopping, never safe.
She thought about Aldric.
He had stepped through the portal to save them. He had closed it behind him, knowing he might never come back. He had made that choice alone.
She wouldn't let him stay alone.
She dipped her quill and began to write.
There was work to do.