ã€ŠUnboundã€‹


 Prologue: An Invitation to Trouble

    Stifling a yawn, I stretched languidly into the plush upholstery of my chair, turning my head away from the mostly blank parchment in front of me. My gaze drifted upwards to the towering bookshelves of Tulsworth Academy¡¯s third library, their peaks obscured by darkness. The everlight lantern I had enchanted in my first year held the shadows at bay, at least in my immediate vicinity.

    Midnight approached, but the library refused to settle. Quills scratched, noses sniffled, and pages turned ¨C a constant stream of small irritations. Convenient, really. It meant I could blame my lack of progress on the noise, rather than admit I¡¯d spent the last hour finding reasons not to start.

    I sighed. History had never interested me, continental history even less so. The history of magic had been a struggle I barely managed to pass, even if my teachers had tutted at me over my essays focusing more on the magic than the history.

    I just didn¡¯t much care for what had happened hundreds of years ago. And the monotonous, droning voice and stale writing style of my teachers didn¡¯t inspire much in the way of excitement. It was almost impressive, really, how they¡¯d managed to make a war between the world¡¯s greatest practitioners of magic a tedious lecture of numbers and places.

    Shaking my head clear of wandering thoughts, I turned back to the parchment and my small tower of books. This was my last assessment before I was officially given the title of Academy Wizard, and I¡¯d already been granted a half-dozen extensions ¨C the tutors tolerated my indifference toward mundane studies, so long as I delivered with magic.

    Leaning forward against the long wooden table of the breakout area, I suppressed my boredom and picked up my quill.

    Naturally, that was when I was interrupted.

    The sound of quickly shuffling feet on the soft carpet floors was all the warning I got before I felt hands settle on my shoulders, pulling me back into my chair.

    ¡°Elias is on vault duty tonight.¡±

    Only one person in this Academy sounded that delighted by rule-breaking. Sebastian and I had been friends since our first year at Tulsworth, a shared period of detention being the perfect pot to brew a lasting friendship, and this friendship had only grown in the dozens of shared detentions that would follow.

    Sebastian was as indifferent to decency as I was to history, with a knack for getting us into ¨C and, usually, out of ¨C trouble. Often in the same evening. It was remarkable he hadn¡¯t yet been expelled, though sometimes it seemed like that was his goal ¨C a spiteful rebellion against the parents who¡¯d shipped him here to be raised by someone else.

    My parents, of course, were dead. So I can¡¯t say I related to where he was coming from in this regard, but his antics did lead to some interesting evenings.

    ¡°I thought Elias was barred from vault duty after last time?¡± I said, attention pulling from the essay once more. I still had hours to do it, so there¡¯d be no harm in a few minutes of conversation.

    ¡°End of the year, brother,¡± Sebastian grinned. ¡°The respectable lot are studying for finals, and the less respectable are celebrating getting one year closer to graduation.¡±

    ¡°Leaving us the reprobates,¡± I said.

    ¡°And degenerates! The opportunists willing to avert their gazes for the right price.¡±

    Sebastian flopped into the chair beside me, his green eyes flicking over my study materials before dismissing them entirely.

    ¡°Elias comes cheap, too,¡± he continued. ¡°We¡¯ve got the coin, courtesy of the bank of Ma and Pa. If you agree to do a minor working for him, he¡¯ll give us all the time we need.¡±

    I knew he was right. We¡¯d dealt with Elias before and his price for access to the Grand Vault of Tulsworth was hilariously rudimentary. The coin admittedly was more than I would be comfortable spending, but thankfully we had Sebastian¡¯s family fronting that cost. Even after ostensibly cutting him off, they clearly had no idea what counted as a reasonable allowance. If history was any indication, apart from the money Elias would also ask for a working. Last time it was a fire-starting charm, a minor enchantment that took me a few hours and would have been easy when I first started schooling. If Elias was willing to do the work, he would likely be able to do it himself.

    Then again, probably not. He was, alas, a talentless hack.

    But for access to the vault? I¡¯d sell my talents in spades.

    I tapped my quill against the parchment, staring at the half-finished sentence. Then, in a moment of profound academic clarity, I abandoned the essay entirely.

    ¡°Shall we go give our favorite scoundrel his payment, then?¡±

    *****

    Sebastian was frustrating to follow, his long legs and excitable nature set a pace my shorter frame struggled to match. The occasional backward glance and smug smile told me he knew it, too. Rolling my eyes and resisting the urge to trip him, I asked, ¡°Are you really still chasing after that book? There¡¯s no shortage of interesting and real things in the vault, you know.¡±

    Sebastian pivoted, walking backward as he shot me another of those infuriating smiles. ¡°Ah, but none as cool as an actual copy of Tulsworth¡¯s spellbook, yes?¡±

    Sebastian had heard a rumor months ago. Deep in the Grand Vault, beyond the sections guarded by nothing more than an inattentive teenager, lay true relics. Pre-War artifacts. Among them, supposedly, was Tulsworth¡¯s spellbook.

    It was nonsense, of course. A wizard¡¯s spellbook wasn¡¯t just a list of spells ¨C it contained their entire thought process, their breakthroughs, the path they walked to power. If Tulsworth¡¯s spellbook still existed, it wouldn¡¯t be rotting in some vault. It would be in the hands of the academy¡¯s professors, studied meticulously in the hopes of reclaiming the magic that had been lost with his disappearance.

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    Or at least, I hoped so. Tulsworth¡¯s vanishing had marked the end of an era. The ninth and tenth circles of magic had become myths. It had been decades since anyone had even advanced to the fifth. One of my professors was only a third-circle wizard ¨C he wouldn¡¯t even have graduated his apprenticeship in the old days.

    But I digress. Even if the spellbook existed, and even if it was hidden in a vault guarded by the likes of Elias, and even if Sebastian somehow found the spellbook without being vaporized, getting it out would be impossible. Something that valuable would be absolutely smothered in enchantments. He¡¯d have better luck convincing a lich to teach him necromancy.

    ¡°If you say so, brother. I look forward to watching you spend an outrageous amount of money to leave with nothing. Again,¡± I said, breathing slightly heavier than I¡¯d like to admit. The last few years had been devoted almost entirely to my arcane studies. Perhaps it was time to incorporate more physical training into my routine.

    Sebastian chuckled, running a hand through his tousled blond hair before spinning on his heel, his long coat flaring behind him as he quickened his pace down the long stone corridors toward the heart of the Academy. The halls were empty at this hour, our footsteps echoing off the walls. Instinctively, I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to spot a wandering prefect or professor.

    I shook it off. We weren¡¯t first-years, bound to our dorms by curfew. Technically, we weren¡¯t even breaking any rules.

    For the next few minutes, at least.

    The late-night chill deepened as we walked, the lack of warmth from the everlight lanterns growing more apparent. I shivered, earning a chuckle from Sebastian.

    ¡°Nervous? Relax, we¡¯re expected,¡± he said, not even bothering to hide the laughter in his eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m cold, you arse. And besides, a little nervousness would do you some good. You get caught too often to be this confident,¡± I muttered.

    At the corridor¡¯s end, a pair of heavy wooden doors stood slightly ajar, a faint orange glow spilling from within. Firelight, distinctly different from the pale blue of my own enchanted torch.

    ¡°Getting caught matters less when you look like you belong,¡± Sebastian shot back. ¡°Confidence, Silas, is everything.¡±

    A familiar voice drifted out from inside. ¡°If you two are done flirting out there, maybe we can get down to business?¡±

    Sebastian jerked his head toward the door, and we stepped inside.

    The antechamber was blessedly warm, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows across walls lined with old, dust-laden tapestries. A thick woollen carpet muffled our footsteps, a welcome contrast to the cold stone halls we¡¯d left behind. The only trace of cold came from the massive stone door at the far end, its surface pulsing faintly with ancient magic, as if it held secrets far older than the walls around it. It seemed to watch us, a silent sentinel to whatever lay beyond. Elias lounged in one of the three plush armchairs in front of the fire, rather than his mandated spot behind the counter.

    ¡°Took your damn time. I was starting to think you weren¡¯t taking this seriously,¡± he grumbled. With a sigh, he tossed the book he¡¯d been flicking through onto the tea table, where it landed beside a half-eaten meal.

    ¡°I have never once been accused of taking you seriously, my dear,¡± Sebastian said, dropping into the chair across from Elias. Without hesitation, he plucked up the fork and speared a bite from the abandoned plate.

    ¡°Cute.¡± Elias¡¯ eyes flicked to me, glinting with the kind of greed only slightly restrained by politeness. ¡°Ah, the little prodigy. Come to join the fun, I assume?¡±

    ¡°You assume correctly,¡± I said, closing the door behind me and stretching my hands toward the fire. ¡°What¡¯s the price?¡±

    ¡°I heard your last haul was quite the success.¡± Elias leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. ¡°An Amulet of Tongues ¨C¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    Elias barely paused. ¡° ¨C is, of course, far too much to ask. But perhaps something lesser? Something within your abilities to make?¡±

    I frowned. The amulet I had picked up in my last foray into the vault was likely my most valuable possession ¨C giving me the ability to understand and speak any language I heard. The magic making up the enchantment was third circle, beyond my abilities to reproduce, and even if I could it would only be for short bursts of time. But a lesser enchantment I could do.

    ¡°I have a Ring of Comprehend Languages. Give me three days? I need it at present, but once I¡¯m finished, I¡¯d happily¡­¡± I trailed off, seeing him shake his head.

    ¡°Then you can come back in three days. No promises on who¡¯ll be guarding the vault then, but I do wish you luck convincing them.¡±

    ¡°You were fine waiting last time!¡± I hissed, fixing him with my gaze for the first time since entering the room. He was dressed as sloppily as ever, his cravat barely making an effort to stay tied, the buttons of his waistcoat mismatched, and a single cuff undone ¨C perhaps as some sort of quiet rebellion against the concept of looking presentable.

    ¡°That¡¯s before I was put on probation. If I might be booted from the Academy for this, I want something other than words to show for it.¡±

    I really did need this ring. The Amulet of Tongues was powerful, but useless for reading, and my essay demanded more than just spoken word. Without the ring, I¡¯d be stuck parsing half-translated gibberish for days. But I could make another. Eventually. And considering the absurd number of extensions they¡¯d already granted me, what was a little longer?

    ¡°Fine.¡± I said, deliberately removing the ring from my finger and placing it on the table, next to the now completed meal.

    ¡°Heartwarming, truly.¡± Sebastian wiped his mouth on the tablecloth with all the grace of a spoiled noble. ¡°Now, since I¡¯ve spent an obscene amount of money on this little adventure, let¡¯s get moving before I start demanding refunds.¡±

    Elias snatched up the ring and pocketed it before making his way to the counter, where he leaned over and rummaged through the clutter with all the precision of a man who considered organization someone else¡¯s problem. After a brief, haphazard search, he retrieved the ritual dagger stored there. It was ancient, which was the only impressive thing about it.

    The enchantment holding for this long was certainly unusual, but that was helped by its base nature ¨C there were no layers of intricate magic at play, just a single rune carved along its face. Sharpness. It would hold its edge forever, which, I supposed, was incredibly impressive if you¡¯d never seen a grindstone.

    Dagger in hand, he led us toward the door.

    The vault entrance loomed before us, a monolith of carved stone twice my height and nearly as wide. Every inch was covered in layered enchantments, the air humming faintly with trapped power. The Grand Vault of Tulsworth was likely the oldest part of the school, with it being where the Archmage Tulsworth stored his various valuables when he was still slinging lightning and rewriting reality as an adventurer.

    Ever since his disappearance, the place had only grown in mystery, with students over the years claiming that he either haunted the vault as a ghost or in truth. The unfortunate reality was that the greatest treasures had long since been looted by professors with either academic curiosity or an eye for resale. What remained was a hoarder¡¯s trove of magical mediocrity: thousands of spellbooks penned by second-rate wizards and baubles enchanted by third-rate sorcerers, gathering dust under the pretense of legacy.

    A swift motion, a sharp hiss of pain, and Elias pressed his bloody hand to the door¡¯s rune-carved surface. The stone drank greedily, wards and safeguards flickering to life, then fading as they were deactivated, satisfied with the guardian¡¯s willing sacrifice. My ears popped as the dormant magic surged, shifting from a low hum to something crushingly tangible. My limbs locked under the weight of it ¨C I might have collapsed had I been able to move. After a moment that stretched into eternity, the magic released its grip. The vault groaned, gears grinding as its massive locks disengaged, and the doors slowly parted before us.

    ¡°Fuck¡¯s sake,¡± Sebastian gasped. At some point, he¡¯d hit the floor, and now he hauled himself upright with a shaky breath. ¡°Never going to get used to that.¡±

    ¡°You have an hour. Any longer, and I might run dry ¨C I can¡¯t keep this open forever.¡± Elias made his way back to the warmth of the fireplace, already losing interest. ¡°Happy hunting, lads.¡±

    Sebastian and I exchanged a look, a nod, and stepped forward into the waiting dark of the Vault.

 Prologue: The Weight of Old Magic

    The first step into the vault was always an experience. Technically a demiplane, crossing the threshold felt like being pressed and condensed, before being stretched back out to your proper size. Not painful, but certainly-

    Sebastian retched, doubling over just as Elias¡¯s half-eaten meal made a violent return ¨C splattering onto boots worth a peasant family''s yearly wage. I sighed through my nose and turned my attention to the inky black surroundings instead. My everlight lantern, a first-year project, was suited for late-night readings and cramped corridors. Against the vault¡¯s endless gloom, it might as well have been a candle in a cavern.

    I reached into my components pouch, each compartment carefully arranged, the placements committed to memory. My fingers found a pinch of phosphorus, just where it should be.

    The vault¡¯s magic hung thick and inert, pooling in the air like fog that refused to stir. I pulled at it, coaxing it forward, forcing it through my body¡¯s channels while carefully skirting the single rotating circle of my core. Overcharging this wouldn¡¯t be dangerous ¨C just blinding ¨C but in the vault, I needed every drop of power for real emergencies.

    The power gathered at my fingertips, threading into the phosphorus. I traced runes for light and movement mid-air, the embered trails lingering for a heartbeat before the spell took hold. The glow at my fingers faded, the darkness pressing in against me, suffocating and hungry, before four globes of pale light flared into existence, drifting outward like fireflies into the night.

    They spread, revealing nothing but discarded scraps and half-finished ideas. Before reaching the shelves of spellbooks and trinkets that made up the vault¡¯s bulk, we had to pass through its true entrance: a junk pile of abandoned magic.

    I gave the mess a cursory glance, nudging an opaque blue orb with my foot. A poorly inscribed rune for water flickered on its surface, barely functional. I¡¯d made something similar in my first year ¨C mostly to avoid the dorm¡¯s communal sinks. Hardly the kind of innovation that belonged in our school¡¯s most hallowed halls.

    Behind me, Sebastian finally pulled himself upright, shaking off the nausea with a dramatic sigh. His grimace melted into a grin as his eyes landed on the bauble.

    "Ah, yes ¨C truly the pinnacle of arcane brilliance!" he declared, sweeping the orb into his hands like an art critic inspecting a masterpiece. A faint pulse of magic, and a weak dribble of water splattered against his boots.

    He didn¡¯t even bother turning it off before tossing it back into the pile. Instead, he fished a pebble from his pocket, muttering the words to his own light cantrip. It flared to life, bright enough to leave spots dancing in my vision. He casually fixed it to the doorframe.

    "That¡¯ll last forty-five minutes. If it starts to fade, meet back here. That should give you plenty of time to admire my inevitable triumphs."

    ¡°If you say so, brother. Just try to leave with something, yeah? Be a shame to spend all that gold and walk away empty-handed.¡±

    With a lazy wave, he ambled off, whistling as he disappeared into the aisles. I sent my lights ahead and followed suit.

    I skimmed the shelves as I made my way deeper into the vault, my lights lingering over anything that looked remotely promising. Nothing stood out. Not that I expected it to; these outer racks were newer additions, stocked with the academy¡¯s more recent works. The kind of artifacts professors added just to say they had contributed to the esteemed collection.

    I wondered, briefly, what Tulsworth would think of what his vault had become. Then I shook the thought loose. This was no time for distractions, I had traded hours of mind-numbing tedium for this.

    As I reached the final row of outer shelves, I slowed, my fingers dipping to my components pouch, instinctively checking for what I might need. The deeper sections held older magic ¨C stronger, but often poorly bound. If handled incorrectly, an artifact¡¯s own power could unravel, taking its wielder with it. More than one student had entered the vault and never left.

    I was looking for spellbooks. Not the newer ones lining the outer shelves, but something older. I¡¯d been stuck at the edge of third-circle magic for the past year. To surpass it, I needed knowledge from those who had done it before, a trait pointedly lacking in my academy professors.

    I flipped open my spellbook, scanning the most recent addition to my repertoire. Misty Step ¨C a short-range teleport, quick to cast, requiring only words. A failsafe. It wasn¡¯t flawless ¨C I had yet to master the casting, and it didn¡¯t always land me exactly where I wanted. But even a few feet of distance could be the difference between walking out of here and being carried.

    I snapped the book shut. No more delays. I had already wasted ten minutes just getting here.

    Stepping past the final shelf, I felt the pressure shift ¨C the kind of weight in the air that told me I had crossed into a space where magic had settled, resting undisturbed for decades. My lights bobbed ahead, illuminating a collection of dusty relics and thick-bound spellbooks. My gaze flicked across the spines, scanning for anything worthwhile.

    The modern wizards who filled this vault did so out of self-importance, adding their works for prestige whether they deserved it or not. The older wizards? Their books weren¡¯t given up willingly. They had been taken. Won in duels, seized after deaths, claimed as trophies. Older wizards didn¡¯t believe in sharing power. Their spellbooks weren¡¯t just locked away ¨C they were armed. Some would rot your mind for reading the wrong page. The worst of them? They didn¡¯t even wait that long. Touch the cover, and you''d be lucky if all it took was your hands.

    Normally, Detect Magic would solve the issue. But casting it from my own reserves would cost me half of what I had left. Casting it with ambient power? That would take ten minutes. Ten minutes I didn¡¯t have.

    I exhaled slowly, weighing my options. The smarter choice would be to take what I could safely examine and leave. But if I was already committing the time¡­

    My eyes drifted deeper into the vault. I¡¯d never gone past this point before. The artifacts here were truly ancient, some of them predating Tulsworth himself. Last time, I hadn¡¯t dared to risk it. But dangerous magic is only a threat if you mishandle it. And if I was already going to waste ten minutes, I might as well make them count.

    Steeling myself, I dropped to the floor and began pulling at the vault¡¯s stagnant magic, dragging it toward me like drawing water from packed earth. It resisted, heavy with age, but slowly, painfully, it began to move. I forced it through my circuits, coaxing it into something I could use, each sluggish inch forward scraping against the edges of my control.

    This would be a long, grueling process. And I would feel every second of it.

    The tug of war finally abated, and with it, a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I was holding. Sweat beaded my brow, and my limbs felt heavy with exertion. Strange, but not entirely surprising. Pulling magic was usually as easy as breathing ¨C just not here.

    I kept my eyes shut, fingers forming familiar seals, mouth murmuring familiar words. This was one of the first-circle spells we learned at the Academy, long reduced to muscle memory. I took a steadying breath and cracked my eyes open.

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    A thousand colors assaulted my senses, magic bleeding into vision and sound. My head throbbed, a sharp, insistent pressure at the base of my skull. I grit my teeth and pushed through. The headache would pass. It always did. Piece by piece, my brain sorted through the chaos, the screaming colors settling into a readable spectrum spanning the aftershocks of every spell ever cast here mingled with the remnants of enchantments long faded. For a moment, I let myself admire the beauty of it.

    Then I looked closer.

    As I feared, none of the spellbooks here were usable. Every one of them reeked of curses, petty vengeance from the long-dead on a future they would never see. The artifacts weren¡¯t much better. Not cursed, but so unstable they might as well be.

    I pulled myself to my feet, my muscles protesting every movement, and pushed forward.

    The deeper I went, the heavier the air became. The magic here didn¡¯t just exist, it clung. It weighed on my limbs like thick humidity, my body responding to an illusion of resistance that wasn¡¯t really there. My lights, on the other hand, surged forward with the opposite effect, flickering almost too bright, eager to impress. A risk I hadn¡¯t accounted for. I needed to move quickly.

    I scanned the aisles with magically attuned senses. They were sparser here, long since ransacked by others before me, but the magic was no less dense for it. The spellbooks, unfortunately, were all obviously and horrifically cursed. One in the corner felt like it was daring me to even look at it. I declined. You don¡¯t take a book up on a bet, especially one soaked in magic this ancient.

    Beyond the books, I spotted several artifacts that still thrummed with power, perhaps even stronger for the years they had spent undisturbed. But anything worth taking was chained down, the bindings glowing with layered enchantments. Not the kind you could dispel, the kind that ripped the hand from your wrist if you tried.

    I gritted my teeth and kept moving. I had come too far to leave with nothing.

    I had hoped to find something untouched ¨C something forgotten, rather than stolen. But the deeper I went, the clearer it became; nothing in the outer shelves would be enough. A second-circle wizard could settle for what was out there. I needed more. The kind of power that didn''t come free, power pried from the fingers of the dead and outwitted from the clutches of those stronger than me.

    Each step was deliberate. Lift, place, shift. Repeat. My eyes flicked across the shelves, scanning for something ¨C anything ¨C that would make this worth it.

    Then, I saw it.

    Or rather, I felt it.

    The hues that filled my vision twisted, bending under some unseen will ¨C an entire spectrum of light calling to me.

    Magic wasn¡¯t supposed to feel desperate. But this did. I felt it as clearly as the ache in my knees, as real as the breath in my lungs.

    Something knew I was here. And it wanted ¨C desperately ¨C to meet me.

    I hesitated, old stories of Faustian deals and Fae trickery flashing through my mind. Then I shoved them aside.

    Powerful, yes; but also bound. If it was dangerous, I would leave it, just as I had the last hundred beautiful, deadly artifacts I¡¯d passed by.

    Still, I dipped a hand into my components pouch. It paid to be prepared.

    I stepped forward and the weight on my limbs vanished.

    The magic slinked away, as if unwilling to intrude on this moment.

    I frowned, and pulled. Magic should never be far from me. It obeyed, too easily. I dispersed it with a harmless crackle of sound.

    It sat alone on a pedestal of warped, age-darkened wood, the shelves around it left bare, as if nothing dared be placed beside it.

    The cover was a deep, inky black, so dark it seemed to drink in the light from my Dancing Lights, swallowing their glow before it could touch the surface. Faint traces of arcane script shimmered along its spine, shifting and writhing like ink refusing to settle.

    Even with my magically attuned sight, I couldn¡¯t tell what material the binding was made of. It wasn¡¯t leather, nor metal, nor anything I recognized. It pulsed, not with power, but with awareness.

    It was watching me back.

    The script shifted again, slithering across the cover like it was trying to form words I could understand. My breath hitched.

    I took a slow step forward, pulse quickening. ¡°Can you¡­ see me?¡±

    The air around the book pulsed in response, a single, deliberate acknowledgment.

    My heartbeat kicked up a notch. Sentient objects were rare. Sentient objects that could act on their own? Unheard of. This was a treasure unlike anything I¡¯d seen before.

    I scanned the enchantments binding it and frowned. They should have been airtight, layered in magic so dense I wouldn¡¯t even be able to see the book beneath them. That was how vault relics were meant to be stored. That was what I had expected.

    And I suppose, technically, it was. But the wards weren¡¯t intact. They were riddled with gaps, the magical equivalent of moth-eaten fabric; frayed, thinning, full of holes. Even I, an amateur at curse-breaking, could see the threads holding the entire structure together.

    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re the reason the wards are falling apart, aren¡¯t you?¡± I murmured, watching the shifting script. ¡°Eating them from the inside.¡±

    No response. No pulse of magic this time. But the longer I stared, the more certain I became.

    I made a snap decision. This was a risk unlike any I¡¯d taken, but I couldn¡¯t leave it behind. I stepped forward, pulling magic from my core, carefully threading it through my circuits.

    Strictly speaking, I didn¡¯t have a spell to break whatever trap was holding the book down. But magic was magic, and when it was this weak, it was fragile.

    Magic surged to my fingertips, eager and restless. I steadied my right wrist, bracing my arm.

    Bolts of force erupted from my palm, Magic Missiles streaking through the air with perfect accuracy. Weak on their own, but numerous. Unerring. Each dart found its mark, striking a fraying thread in the ward¡¯s weave. My vision exploded in a riot of color as the enchantment shattered.

    I had miscalculated.

    The broken wards didn¡¯t simply dissipate. They ruptured.

    Energy surged outward in a tidal wave of technicolor heat, enough to leave nothing of me but a charred memory. Time seemed to slow as the wall of power rushed toward me. I acted without thinking ¨C hands snapping together, thumbs and forefingers forming the simplest shape I knew. A triangle. The last of my magic surged forward as my lips formed a single sound.

    My core emptied.

    Skill and cleverness meant nothing now. My magic burned outward, collapsing into a single concave wall of force. My Shield flared to life, a shimmering bulwark against the oncoming blast.

    It wouldn¡¯t hold.

    Cracks splintered across the surface. I could feel it giving, the rushed assembly of my spell leaving it fragile, imperfect. The avalanche of magic pressed harder. I braced myself for the collapse.

    Then ¨C suddenly ¨C it stopped.

    The wall of energy hung there, suspended, completely obscuring my view of the book. For a moment it simply lingered, its final act of vengeance interrupted. Then, impossibly, it reversed.

    Bit by bit, the magic changed course. Not dispersing, but pulling inward, siphoned back toward the book. Reassembling the ward? No. The energy didn¡¯t settle back into place. It was being devoured.

    This colossal tirade of the arcane, consumed as if it were nothing.

    I hated to admit it, but the book was a more capable wizard than me.

    I licked my lips.

    I had so much to learn.

    What I¡¯d just done hit me like a physical weight.

    I had almost died. My life had been saved by a book.

    I took a slow breath, forcing my pulse to settle. This was going to be a problem.

    Students taking items from the vault was technically illegal, but everyone knew it happened. The powers that be mostly turned a blind eye ¨C provided it was from the outer shelves. Taking something worthless added a certain prestige to the vault, reinforcing the mystique of the professors who had left them behind. They would act with performative outrage that anyone would dare steal from Tulsworth, all while basking in the knowledge that their discarded trinkets had been deemed worth taking.

    This was not that.

    The sheer magical weight of the book alone was enough to date it back an age. And the chains? The vault held thousands of spellbooks, but only the dangerous ones were bound. No one broke bindings. If something was chained, it was assumed there was a very good reason for it.

    I couldn¡¯t leave it behind. My mind was already swimming with possibilities, my fingers itching to study it properly.

    I was taking it with me. I just needed a plan.

    Sebastian would help, and Elias ¨C

    Fuck.

    How long had I been here?

    I turned toward the direction I¡¯d come, searching for the glow of the cantrip we had left behind. Nothing. Not necessarily a problem, this deep into the shelves it would have been obscured anyway.

    My Detect Magic was still up, which should have been a good sign ¨C the spell lasted ten minutes, meaning I hadn¡¯t been here too long. Ordinarily. But the vault¡¯s magic was thick, and I had just been blasted with it. My reserves were empty. There was every chance that whatever power still hung in the air was feeding the spell beyond its limits.

    Either way, it was time to go.

    I crept forward, approaching the thick tome.

    Standing before the pedestal, I extended a hand but hesitated before making contact. The book was¡­ waiting. The magic around it stilled, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

    "If you eat my soul, I¡¯m going to be quite upset."

    I grasped the spine.

    A jolt shot through me ¨C not quite magic, not quite thought, but something deeper. A presence surged forward, pressing against my mind with a single, desperate whisper:

    Escape.

 Prologue: A Step Too Far

    I needed no further invitation.

    Tucking the book under my arm was easier said than done. It was massive, and its raw magic was already numbing my limb. I gritted my teeth and ran.

    My footsteps slammed against the stone floor, the sound bouncing back at me as I tore through the aisles of the inner vault. My Detect Magic still flickered at the edges of my vision, but it was useless now. The book¡¯s aura drowned out everything else, a thick haze of power obscuring whatever lay ahead.

    I reached the middle shelves and forced myself to slow. Not because I was tired, if anything, I felt charged. The ache in my limbs had been replaced with something sharper, a thrumming vitality that urged me forward. I resisted the pull, planting my feet and taking stock of my surroundings.

    The light from the entrance was gone, replaced by the small glow of an everlight lantern.

    That was bad.

    What was worse were the voices.

    Muffled conversation, coming from the entrance. Two¡­ no, three people. One of them was Sebastian. The other two were older.

    Fuck.

    Fucking Elias.

    That rat sold us out.

    I crouched and crept forward, keeping my steps as silent as possible. Peering between the shelves toward the entrance, I spotted them. Sebastian, leaning casually against a heap of discarded artifacts, looked completely unbothered. The two figures standing over him wore the robes of Academy Wizards.

    I stifled a curse. Professors.

    I strained to hear them, catching only pieces of conversation. I shifted forward, slow and deliberate, pressing my shoulder against the shelf.

    The words sharpened. "¨C serious even for you, Sebastian. You¡¯ll be lucky to escape with expulsion for this.¡±

    I recognized the nasal voice immediately. Professor Sullivan.

    Oh, I bet he was loving this. His lack of ability made Elias look like the next fucking Archmage.

    Sebastian let out a sigh, all exaggerated regret.

    "You¡¯re so right, Professor. This was stupid, I don¡¯t know what came over me. I just have this urge to act out. I guess it all started when I was eleven, and Ma and Pa couldn¡¯t make time to come to my ¨C"

    "Enough." The second professor¡¯s voice was smooth, resonant ¨C Professor Valen, head of Abjuration.

    "Where is Silas?"

    Sebastian barely hesitated.

    "The library, I think. He was complaining about some essay he had to finish. Something dull, Abjuration, maybe?"

    The amusement in his voice was obvious. That idiot. This was no time to be pushing them.

    ¡°You smug little ¨C¡°

    ¡°Relax, Samuel,¡± Professor Valen said, exhaling sharply. ¡°Are you truly alone in here, Sebastian? We¡¯ll be closing the door behind us. If you had a conspirator, they could be trapped for weeks before the vault reopens. Easy enough to starve.¡±

    Sebastian didn¡¯t miss a beat, his grin widening. ¡°Professor Valen, you wound me! You suspect me of conspiring?¡± He threw his hands up in mock offense. ¡°I may lack my dear friend¡¯s magical talents, but I assure you, I am quite capable of orchestrating an escapade such as this entirely on my own.¡±

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    ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s a shame. Despite my best efforts, your school has beaten all the interesting parts out of the scamp. A thousand essays have turned him into a bore.¡±

    ¡°We know he¡¯s here, boy.¡± Sullivan¡¯s voice was sharp, irritated. ¡°Elias told us everything.¡±

    Sebastian gasped. ¡°Elias?! The one who let me in? Why, his word is sacred! He could not possibly have lied!¡± He hung his head, the very picture of remorse.

    Professor Valen exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temples. ¡°Sebastian,¡± she said, voice smoothing into something more measured, more persuasive. ¡°You¡¯re a talented student. Not the most devoted, but you have a gift for illusions. The title of Academy Wizard is beyond most, but it is still within your reach. And more importantly, the Academy needs talented students like you and your friend.¡±

    She stepped forward. ¡°Tell us where Silas is, and I can personally ensure that the Headmaster recommends a term of indentured service rather than expulsion. You both get your robes, do a few years serving the Academy, and then you¡¯re free to go.¡±

    Her tone darkened. ¡°But if you don¡¯t cooperate? Prison ¨C or worse ¨C is a genuine possibility. Too many people have been involved in this to write it off as another instance of children being children. Particularly given your record.¡±

    Sebastian paused.

    A heartbeat stretched out.

    His lips parted, his gaze flicking to the side, like he was actually considering it.

    My stomach dropped.

    Then he looked back up, sighing. "You¡¯re absolutely right,¡± he murmured. ¡°It isn¡¯t worth the risk.¡±

    Another pause.

    "Besides, a period of indentured servitude might actually be something he¡¯d enjoy."

    Then his grin returned. He shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ll have to fetch him from the library, though.¡±

    What a bastard. I could¡¯ve kissed him.

    Professor Valen shook her head, disappointed. ¡°Loyalty is a wonderful thing, but I hope you enjoy your principles when they¡¯re all you have left.¡±

    She turned to Sullivan. ¡°Keep an eye on the door. If he¡¯s here, he¡¯ll have to come out eventually.¡±

    Sullivan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°It¡¯s quite late, Professor. How long should I wait?¡±

    ¡°Until someone relieves you, Samuel.¡± Her tone left no room for argument. She turned to Sebastian, gesturing with her wand for him to stand. ¡°We, however, have a date with the headmaster. And he dislikes being woken from his sleep even more than I do.¡±

    Sebastian ambled to his feet, dusting himself off. ¡°Never let it be said that I keep a beautiful man waiting.¡± He winked at Sullivan. ¡°Do try not to get lonely¡±.

    The two stepped into the entrance, vanishing in the way only a demiplane allowed ¨C one moment present, the next, simply gone.

    The moment they were gone, Sullivan¡¯s posture shifted. He rolled his shoulders, exhaling sharply, before scanning the room with a thoughtful hum. Then, slowly, he reached into his coat and retrieved a small crystal focus.

    Oh, you bastard.

    He wasn¡¯t guarding anything. He was about to loot the vault.

    The air hummed as he began the familiar incantation for Detect Magic.

    I ducked back into cover, breath hitching. Even from this distance, I would light up like Sullivan¡¯s lack of talent.

    Seconds. I had seconds.

    Run? No good. I wouldn¡¯t make it far enough before the spell picked up my trace.

    Hide? Useless. There was nothing thick enough to block the detection.

    Drop the book?

    A jolt of displeasure ran through me. Oh, shut up, I thought. Not happening.

    We were in agreement, then. I¡¯d sooner fight him with my bare hands than let him pocket a treasure like this on a whim.

    A sharp intake of breath.

    Hurried footsteps ¨C coming this way.

    I was out of time.

    If he was coming this way, though¡­ the entrance was unguarded.

    My magic was gone, but if Detect Magic was still running ¨C

    I took a breath, running through the Misty Step incantation in my head. I''d never managed it before, but if not now, when? I could do this. My best work was under pressure, and if this buzzing in my ears was any indication, I was definitely under pressure.

    I pulled at the dregs of power still clinging to my core, shaping the pathways with my fingers. The words left my lips, perfectly intoned. The thrill of new magic settled into my bones. I focused on the entrance ¨C just yards away.

    I opened my eyes.

    Nothing.

    The magic fizzled out, fading into nothingness.

    I was dry. Empty.

    The buzzing in my ears grew louder. The walls pressed in.

    No.

    Sullivan was seconds away. I would NOT be taken down by this lackey.

    I reached, blindly, desperately searching for any scrap of power left inside me.

    And then I felt it.

    The buzzing wasn¡¯t in my head. It was in the walls, the floor, the shelves. The entire room reverberated with the book¡¯s power. A jolt in my mind. A hand, offered.

    I took it.

    I pulled, deeper than I¡¯d ever dared. Magic flooded my circuits, raw and eager.

    I focused.

    Get out.

    I reached ¨C

    And the world unraveled.

 Chapter 1: Freefall

    I sank through the fabric of reality, a kaleidoscope of color spiraling around me. The sensation was almost familiar: like being compressed into something smaller, more manageable, before being stretched back out into shape. But this was more. The threads of my existence unraveled, tugged loose one by one in a cascade of disorientation.

    And then the chaos fell away.

    I was falling.

    Above, a brilliant blue sky, fractured by jagged plumes of black smoke. Below, a sprawling cityscape, a tangled maze of steel, stone, and glass, punctuated by the occasional splash of greenery. The sheer height of the buildings twisted my stomach nearly as much as the fall itself.

    I clung to the book. If I was going to die, it wasn¡¯t slipping from my grasp.

    A deafening crash.

    One of the impossibly tall buildings, the apparent source of the smoke, exploded, a wave of shattered glass cascading down its side. Something tore free from the wreckage. A woman ¨C glowing.

    She shot from the debris, a trail of golden light lingering in her wake. Her suit clung to her like armor, dark and flexible, its seams lined with faintly pulsing veins of gold. Not quite fabric, not quite metal: something in between. A white mask obscured her face, featureless but for two narrow eye slits, her gaze locked on the ruined building below.

    I screamed.

    She jerked her head up, her masked eyes widening as they found me.

    And then she took a bolt of liquid fire to the chest.

    The blast sent her hurtling, slamming through one of the massive glowing illusions perched atop a distant building. The image ¨C some incomprehensible shifting picture, like an illusion cast across glass ¨C shattered, raining down in a storm of bright, flickering shards.

    From the smoke strode a beast of a man. Seven feet tall, his suit of blackened metal molded to his form like living armor. He raised one hand, embers still smoldering in his palm, and stepped forward into the air.

    Twin jets of flame ignited beneath his feet, holding him aloft.

    The woman reignited. A pulse of golden energy rippled outward as she shot from the rubble, her glow condensing into a focused, razor-sharp edge. She twisted in the air, slashing an arm through the space before her. Twin crescents of searing light carved through the air toward the armored man.

    He barely reacted. A single shift to the side, and the glowing arcs sank into the stone below, slicing through it like softened wax.

    But she wasn¡¯t watching them hit. She was already moving toward me.

    Then his eyes met mine.

    The armored man tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking from her to me. Confusion gave way to amused malice.

    His palm snapped up. A molten red glow built within his gauntlet.

    And then ¨C

    Twin impacts.

    First: something slammed into me from the side, hard. A rush of golden light snapped around me, slowing my momentum ¨C but not enough. A glimpse of masked eyes, narrowed in focus.

    ¡°Stay still¡ª¡±

    Then: a second impact. Red fire collided with the golden shield encasing me, sending me spinning sideways. The glow fractured under the blowI caught a flash of her reaching for me ¨C too late.

    Gravity seized me.

    Glass shattered around me as I plunged into the wreckage, hitting hard and rolling through dust and smoke. The impact drove the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping as shards of glass skittered across the tilting floor. Metal groaned beneath me, the entire structure shifting with a low, ominous creak.

    Just outside a window, a sudden explosion threw me forward. The man? The woman? I had no idea, but whoever it was, I suspected they were winning.

    Scrambling to my feet, I took stock. A mountain of wooden tables and thick-cushioned chairs had been thrown against the far wall, pieces of shattered glass and jagged metal buried among them. Some kind of lounge? Waiting area? Smaller panels of glass flickered with strange, shifting images ¨C broken versions of the illusory monolith she¡¯d crashed through outside?

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    No time for idle thoughts. I was still dry ¨C empty of magic ¨C and the book remained silent. I had no idea where I¡¯d landed, but the armored man had clearly meant me harm. Sitting around wasn¡¯t an option.

    I pulled myself upright ¨C

    And the floor shifted beneath me.

    Ah. It wasn¡¯t just falling apart ¨C it was actively trying to take me with it.

    That complicated things.

    I took off at a run, no destination in mind, only the certainty that anywhere was better than here. Outside, voices carried over the chaos. Laughter? My amulet of tongues warmed slightly, translating the strange language directly into my mind.

    "You lot are getting desperate! Whoever trained that kid should be fired." The man''s voice was sandpaper ¨C coarse, grating, amused.

    "That was a civilian, Enforcer." The woman¡¯s voice cut through the chaos ¨C calm, practiced, steady. "Stand down."

    I could hear the shrug in his voice. "He came flying right at me. What can I say? Self-defense."

    Alright, so he wasn¡¯t specifically trying to kill me ¨C just an asshole. Better, I supposed.

    The incline steepened beneath me, each step harder than the last. My breath came shorter. We weren¡¯t quite vertical yet, but at this rate, we had minutes.

    And even if I made it to the top ¨C then what?

    Somewhere in the distance, a wailing howl rose and fell in rhythmic bursts, muffled beneath the groan of steel and crumbling concrete. Another explosion tore through the air outside, sending a fresh tremor through the walls. Dust rained from the ceiling, and somewhere below, the shriek of twisting metal gave way to a deafening crash. The building was exhaling its last breath.

    I needed a plan.

    A heavy impact rocked the structure, and I caught myself against the jagged edge of a gaping hole in the wall. I barely had time to register the sting in my palms before my eyes locked onto something strange ¨C something that didn¡¯t belong.

    A metal chamber. Smooth. Too precise. Too uniform.

    Twin doors sat flush within the frame, above them a row of glowing glyphs, flickering erratically ¨C symbols shifting colors before cutting to black. A countdown? A warding mechanism? A warning?

    Whatever it was, it was broken.

    The entire structure slid beneath me, feeling like it was moving inches.

    I needed a plan, fast.

    My options were limited, but I still had my cantrips. Simple magic, twisted from the world around me rather than drawn from within. Firebolt was useless. Dancing Lights, even more so. That left one.

    I exhaled sharply, forming the familiar seal with my hand. A pulse of intent, a whisper of will ¨C Mage Hand flickered into existence. A ghostly outline, translucent and frail. It wasn¡¯t strong, and it wouldn¡¯t last long. More suited to plucking books from high shelves than fighting against gravity and burning rubble. But it would have to do.

    I climbed upward, each step less like running and more like scrambling, the incline growing sharper beneath me. Above, the sky was visible ¨C not ideal. I scanned the wreckage as I moved, directing the Mage Hand toward an overturned desk.

    It gripped the leg. Pulled. Nothing.

    New plan.

    A chair? This one slid free with surprising ease ¨C its legs moved on wheels? A clever design, but as soon as the Mage Hand tried to drag it uphill, it barely budged. Too heavy. Too unwieldy.

    Desperation gnawed at the edges of my mind. I needed something lighter. Something I could actually use.

    Then I saw it.

    A small section of the room, half-buried under dust and debris. The walls were painted in unnatural, almost aggressively cheerful colors, streaked with peeling murals of grinning figures. The furniture was different, too ¨C short-legged chairs, rounded edges, a low wooden fence. Sitting amongst the pile of furniture were a series of plush animals and scattered, poorly done drawings.

    Thank the Nine for gnomes.

    I sent my Mage Hand forward. A small table floated toward me, barely sturdy enough for its intended purpose, but it would do.

    The spell flickered out. The hand dissipated. My minute was up.

    The window yawned ahead, just out of reach. Almost there.

    I braced against the slick stone beneath me, shifting my weight as best I could. Then, leveling a hand at the glass, I shaped the symbols.

    A sharp breath. A flicker of power.

    Firebolt.

    The window shattered, the sound barely audible beneath the chaos outside. A streak of golden light shot past, slamming into the building across from me, and I caught a glimpse of the glowing woman ¨C her movements were sluggish now, her flight unstable. I reformed my Mage Hand, guiding the small table through the shattered window and into the ¨C whipping winds?

    Fuck me, I¡¯d forgotten how high up we were.

    This was a mistake.

    I loosened my cravat, tore open the top few buttons of my shirt, and shoved the book inside. It sat just below my chin ¨C uncomfortable, but there was a lot of that going around at present.

    With my teeth, I ripped the cravat in two, wrapping the fabric around my hands as quickly as possible. Then, before I could rethink this, I leapt.

    My fingers closed around the window frame, the metal groaning under my weight as searing-hot shards of glass bit into my palms. The makeshift bandages did nothing.

    With a hiss of pain, I hauled myself out onto the exterior.

    Now that I was outside, I could see why this place hadn¡¯t fully collapsed. The entire structure leaned against another impossibly tall building, its glass fa?ade shattered from the impact.

    It wouldn¡¯t hold forever.

    It didn¡¯t need to.

    I risked a glance downward.

    It was a long, long way.

    Below, I could see where the building had split ¨C around the second floor, sheared apart as if by some enormous blade.

    I snorted. Sebastian would have something to say about enormous blades.

    Another explosion rocked the air. I caught a glimpse ¨C the glowing woman, her light flickering, diving to avoid a wall of fire. Below, the armored man rose after her, flame bursting from beneath his feet.

    She was losing.

    I was procrastinating.

    Time to move.

    I flipped the table over, carefully setting it against the sloped glass. Then, with what was definitely the worst decision of my life, I cast Mage Hand once more.

    This was so stupid.

    I knelt onto my makeshift board, grabbed hold of my Mage Hand, and pushed off.

 Chapter 2: A Sudden Stop

    I¡¯d never moved this fast in my life.

    The wind howled, ripping at my clothes as I plummeted down the slanted glass. My hands gripped the table legs as tightly as I dared, my stomach flipping with the sheer speed of it. The brutal acceleration was unlike anything I¡¯d ever felt before. The world blurred around me ¨C shattered glass, billowing smoke, and the distant glow of flames reflecting off the building''s jagged edges. I was racing down the length of a collapsing building, taller than anything I¡¯d ever seen, entirely at the mercy of gravity.

    Meanwhile, my ghostly Mage Hand gripped the front of my makeshift vehicle, barely keeping up by sheer force of will.

    A crack splintered below me.

    Glass spiderwebbed, fractures chasing my descent. Any second now, the surface would give way completely, hurling me down into the now very clearly on-fire building below. I had seconds.

    I grinned. This was mad.

    The Mage Hand pulled. Not to stop me ¨C

    To guide me.

    I sent a mental command. The hand jerked to the left, yanking the board with it. The shift was instant, violent ¨C I barely managed to keep myself steady as I swerved just in time to avoid the collapsing window ahead.

    Another explosion rocked the building, sending a shower of debris cascading past me. I ducked instinctively, shards of glass slicing through the air in search of their pound of flesh. The armored man¡¯s laughter echoed in the distance, mingling with the roar of the flames.

    I laughed in answer, caught up in the sheer speed. Adrenaline surged through my veins.

    For how high up I was, the ground was approaching fast. At the bottom¡­ people? A crowd, most behind a waist-high fence. Braver than I, to be so close to this clusterfuck.

    No time to think about that.

    A chunk of the building broke away, tumbling into the abyss below. I swerved sharply, the board tilting precariously as I narrowly avoided the gaping hole. I pulled back on the table leg, trying to balance once more ¨C

    The leg came loose with a snap.

    I swore and clung desperately to my one remaining point of contact. The board bucked wildly beneath me, the loss of stability turning every shift into a fight to stay upright. I adjusted my grip, muscles straining, but it was like trying to steer a sinking raft. My time frame had just gotten a lot shorter.

    Half a dozen floors left. Time to start killing momentum.

    I began tilting my board to the left, searching for a shallower angle, maybe even trying to turn upward if needed.

    Unbelievable, this might actu ¨C

    A blast of fire tore through the building ahead, punching a molten hole straight through the glass. The explosion rippled outward, shattering what remained of the surface I was barreling toward.

    No time to maneuver ¨C

    I threw myself off the board, watching as it was incinerated in an instant.

    Fuck me, wasn¡¯t he busy with the glowing lady? Why was he still hassling me?

    The thought barely registered before impact. The book slammed into my jaw. Stars exploded across my vision as the world spun.

    I hadn¡¯t killed my momentum. I was falling, rolling, slamming into glass over and over again. Desperation clawed at me as I scrambled for something ¨C anything ¨C to slow my fall. A Mage Hand could maybe buy me a second?

    Another impact crushed the air from my lungs. Pain lanced through my ribs. I couldn¡¯t cast. I couldn¡¯t breathe.

    My fingers closed around something ¨C jagged steel, jutting from the wreckage. I latched on instinctively, muscles screaming as I tried to hold. Too fast. Too much force. The metal ripped from my grasp, and pain tore through my shoulder as something gave. My arm went limp, dead weight trailing behind me.

    I was still sliding, but slower. Some semblance of control.

    My working hand scraped against smooth glass, searching desperately for a hold. Then ¨C a gap. An open window. I seized the frame, teeth gritted against the fresh wrench of pain in my shoulder. This time, I held firm.

    Eight stories left.

    If I let go, would I survive?

    I could see faces in the crowd now. Hands flew to mouths, eyes wide with fear as they watched me cling to life. Many held strange steel-and-glass constructs to their faces. Some kind of viewing device? A signal to others? I had no idea. Others ¨C on my side of the fence ¨C wore uniforms. Some blue, some red. They moved with urgency, trying to hold the crowd back, one of the women in blue barking into a small black box. A controlled evacuation? Why were they here?

    If they had a choice, surely they wouldn¡¯t be. Were they unaware of the danger these two posed?

    The building groaned, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through my bones. I caught a glimpse of the glowing woman ¨C her light flickering, her movements sluggish ¨C as she twisted midair, barely avoiding another blast. The armored man was relentless, his flames carving through the air like a predator closing in on its prey.

    I glanced downward. If I timed it right, if I used what little slide remained to break my fall, I might survive. But there was no chance I¡¯d be walking away.

    I was going to die.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to help, now¡¯s the time,¡± I hissed at the book.

    It sat silently against my chest. Dead weight. Nothing more than a book.

    Suddenly, movement from the crowd. A figure ducked under the waist-high fence, striding forward with purpose. Their entire body was wrapped in a mess of padded fabric and salvaged metal plates stitched together unevenly, like function had barely won out over desperation.

    A tight black cloth mask covered their face, leaving only their eyes visible ¨C sharp, focused. Locked onto mine.

    Despite their bulky clothes, something about their movements felt off. Too steady. Too controlled. Their sleeves hung a little too stiffly, like something heavier was strapped beneath them.

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    One of the men in blue stepped toward them, reaching out, only to recoil violently, as if shocked. He staggered back, arms pinwheeling, and toppled over.

    Shouts rang out. A few uniformed figures flinched, hands hovering near their belts, but no one followed as the masked figure strode past. The crowd pressed forward, a wave of murmurs and raised voices swelling behind the barricade. Some looked excited. Others, worried. Flashes of light from their glass contraptions indicated some form of activation.

    The uniformed figures hesitated, their gazes flicking between the fallen man and the approaching figure. One barked into a small black box while another took a hesitant step forward, then stopped.

    No one was stopping them.

    And their eyes never left mine.

    They were coming straight for me.

    Why?

    They drew closer. I could hear them now, just barely over the roar of the flames. But my Amulet of Tongues made that enough. Their voice ¨C hers, I was fairly sure ¨C translated in my ears as though she stood right beside me.

    ¡°Let go! I¡¯ve got you!¡±

    I hesitated.

    She was¡­ small. Maybe a little taller than me, but not by much. The bulk of her clothing exaggerated her frame, but the way it shifted as she moved made it clear; beneath it, she was thin.

    That being said.

    I looked at my other options.

    Oh, fuck it.

    I let go. Weightless for half a second ¨C then the rush of air, the snap of my limbs jarring against the building. I screamed, the pain of my ruined shoulder impacting the cold glass sending my entire body numb.

    The world blurred.

    I came to a moment later, disoriented, woozy. I was sliding ¨C fast, uncontrolled. Panic surged as I realized I had no control. I might have survived the fall feet first, but if I hit headfirst? No chance.

    I was completely at the mercy of gravity.

    And my would-be savior.

    I accelerated, the world spinning as I was all but in free fall now. In flashing glimpses, I saw the edge. The crowd. The patchwork-masked woman ¨C arms outstretched.

    Wait.

    She wasn¡¯t a wizard?

    She was trying to catch me?

    I flailed, grasping for anything to stop my fall. I wasn¡¯t about to be torn to pieces because some child didn¡¯t understand physics.

    Too late.

    The now-familiar weightlessness. Spinning, disoriented. No way to tell if I was about to land headfirst and at least make this quick.

    I closed my eyes.

    A few seconds of rushing wind and ¨C

    I hit something, my back slamming into outstretched arms. And then¡­ nothing.

    Not oblivion. Just ¨C no more falling. My momentum, gone the instant she touched me.

    I snapped my eyes open, met with the barely-contained amusement in hers.

    "I got you, pretty boy! No need to panic."

    My head jerked around wildly. She was holding me in a princess carry, her arms gently supporting my back and¡­ humming?

    "That¡¯s not ¨C how? That should have ¨C momentum doesn¡¯t just vanish ¨C "

    She nodded along like I¡¯d just agreed with her.

    "Yeah!" With one arm, she lifted the sleeve of her jacket, revealing some metallic contraption underneath. It looked almost insect-like, an exoskeleton extending from her elbows down. "Kinetic redistributors! Pretty sick, right?"

    That didn¡¯t ¨C whatever.

    Breathe. I was alive.

    "Right. Thanks. That was¡­ effective."

    "No worries, dude! Try to help where I can, y¡¯know? And Daybreak seems to have her hands full."

    The words barely registered. My brain had already latched onto something else.

    The armored bastard who put me through this entire ordeal.

    If not for him, I¡¯d be out of here by now. With two functioning arms.

    I glanced back toward the fight. No sign of the woman ¨C Daybreak? But he was still there.

    Fuck that guy.

    The thought barely had time to settle before magic surged to my fingertips, unbidden. The words of Firebolt slipped from my lips, a mote of flame forming in my hand ¨C

    I hesitated.

    The murmuring of the crowd shifted, rippling outward like a wave. Gasps, shouts ¨C half a second of delay before I realized why. The lenses of their strange devices had turned toward me, dozens of them locking on like hungry eyes.

    Right. Of course. I¡¯d be making myself a target. And with how today was going, he¡¯d probably shrug it off and throw something worse back at me.

    I shook off my irritation.

    I turned to the girl ¨C judging by her height and voice, probably around my age ¨C and was stopped short by the sheer energy radiating off her.

    "What?"

    "Dude! You¡¯re a super?!"

    She practically dove into her pocket, movements fast and eager, like she¡¯d been waiting her whole life for this.

    "You¡¯ve got your face out ¨C wear this."

    She shoved a plain, skintight black mask into my hands. Identical to hers.

    "¡­What?"

    "Your face! Your identity! Your most important secret!"

    Only now did I realize she hadn¡¯t, in fact, taken a step back. She was way too close. I moved. She moved with me, keeping perfect pace, each word punctuated by another step forward.

    Somewhere above, a crash sent a fresh wave of glass raining down. A yellow glow ¨C Daybreak, presumably ¨C flashed through the smoke, weaving through another blast of fire.

    "Okay!" I raised my hands, placatingly. Taking the mask from her, I tried to pull it over my head ¨C

    Pain flared through my shoulder the moment I lifted my arm. I hissed, the fabric catching awkwardly in my grip. My fingers fumbled with it, trying to stretch it enough to pull down one-handed.

    The girl tilted her head, watching.

    "You good there, buddy?"

    "Fantastic," I gritted out, still wrestling with the damn thing.

    She watched for a second, then clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels.

    "Sick. You got this.¡±

    From the street, a deep metallic groan cut through the chaos, followed by the sound of something heavy collapsing. The fight was getting closer.

    "Anyway, dude, you were about to light him up! What happened?"

    ¡°Can we perhaps have this conversation somewhere other than beneath a building in the midst of collapse?¡±

    Her grin was audible. ¡°Yeah that¡¯s a good call. No idea why you decided to be here in the first place. There are easier ways to get your thrills, man.¡±

    I rubbed at my forehead, gods I was tired. ¡°I didn¡¯t choose anything, an overcharged spell¡­¡±

    My brain sluggishly caught up with what my eyes were telling me. The sky was bright. The sun, blazing. Firelight wasn¡¯t the only thing lighting up the city.

    ¡°¡­It was night.¡± I hadn¡¯t meant to say it out loud.

    The girl turned, following my gaze. Then she grabbed my sleeve and started walking, tugging me along without waiting for permission.

    "Uh¡­ Yeah? At some point. It¡¯s been a while though, dude ¨C are you okay?"

    The street was mostly rubble. It was also, to my eyes, entirely alien. The street was wide, no cobblestone, no tile. Just a uniform black surface, edged by raised partitions. Strange steel constructs lined either side, most of them crumpled and shattered.

    It occurred to me, as I was dragged along, that I had no idea where I was.

    I stopped. The girl glanced back at me as she continued for a few steps, still trying to lead me down a street away from both the crowd and the battle raging behind me.

    "Where am I?"

    "Oh dude."

    She stepped forward, her head tilting slightly. Her voice softened ¨C not quite gentle, not quite pitying. Somewhere in between.

    "You¡¯re in Lockport."

    I searched my brain, not frantically ¨C exhaustion made that impossible ¨C but as thoroughly as I could. Nothing came to mind, either on Elonia or beyond. I cursed internally. Maybe I should have paid slightly more attention in history.

    "Okay." I sighed. No point in a meltdown now. "My name is Silas. I¡¯m a student at Tulsworth Academy. Do you know where that is?"

    She stood stock-still, seemingly frozen in shock. That made sense. Tulsworth was prestigious, even if its talent pool had been dwindling for years. Despite my ability to twist and shape magic with no formal training, they¡¯d been hesitant to let me in. I suspected that had less to do with my skills and more to do with an orphan¡¯s lack of tuition money.

    Then she spoke.

    "There is no way that after I just shoved a mask on your head and reminded you of secret identities you just told me your name."

    She sighed, shaking her head, before raising her hand.

    "Kenzie. Ricochet while I¡¯m in costume."

    I took it, grip cautious, and she nodded, more to herself than to me, like she¡¯d just come to some internal decision. Then, after a pause, she reached up and lifted her mask just enough to reveal her face, shooting me a grin.

    "In for a penny, in for a pound, right?¡±

    She looked about as I expected. Sharp brown eyes set beneath thick, expressive brows, deep brown skin with a warm undertone, framed by a mass of dark curls that had been hastily shoved under her mask. A quick flash of white teeth as she grinned again, then, just as fast, the mask was back in place.

    I opened my mouth to respond, but a sharp crack split the air above us. Something ¨C no, two somethings ¨C shot overhead.

    "Oops! Cavalry¡¯s here. We should probably not be here when they start asking questions." Kenzie shot me a look. "Unless you wanna have a nice, long chat with the law about why you were hanging out in a no-go zone after an evacuation."

    I glanced back at the two figures ¨C not just people, supers. One in what looked like ornate golden knight¡¯s armor, sword and shield in hand, squaring off against Enforcer. The other, a man in tight-fitting silver clothing, knelt beside Daybreak, checking her pulse.

    I exhaled, dragging a hand down my face, readjusting the mask.

    Fine.

    One thing at a time.

    I followed Kenzie down the alley.

 Chapter 3: Not Quite Right

    The alley dumped us into another stretch of unnatural black stone ¨C seamless, too smooth underfoot. The sounds of combat continued behind us, with the added twist of what sounded like cracks of thunder joining the mix. It was quieter, though, now with some distance.

    It was¡­ wrong. Something about this place didn¡¯t fit. The buildings were impossibly tall, stretching skyward with an impossible smoothness and symmetry. Strange symbols glowed from signs overhead, shifting and blinking in some facsimile of a language I did not understand. Even the air smelled off ¨C sharp and metallic, with a pungency unlike anything I¡¯d ever experienced.

    I slowed, my brain struggling to make sense of it all. The immediate danger was gone, but my body was only just realizing it.

    All thoughts were pushed to the side in favor of one.

    I was in pain.

    Like a dam breaking, the full weight of the past half hour came crashing down. My shoulder throbbed in protest, my ribs ached from the impact, and my limbs felt like they¡¯d been dragged behind a carriage for several miles. The book pressed against my chest like dead weight, every step jarring the bruises blooming beneath my skin.

    Kenzie threw me a glance. ¡°Hey uh¡­ You don¡¯t look so good, man.¡±

    ¡°Appreciate the observation.¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± she said, cheerfully. ¡°Try not to pass out, yeah? I know a guy, but I don¡¯t really wanna carry you there.¡±

    A deep breath to steady myself. I¡¯d overcome worse than this.

    ¡°I can walk. What do you mean you know a guy?¡±

    ¡°As in I know a guy!¡± Another glance. I could hear it in her voice, she was enjoying this. ¡°Someone who can help us, specifically. Well, can help you. I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°I can see that.¡± I said dryly. A cleric would be useful right about now. I had a small stack of coin in my components pouch for emergencies, and losing an arm¡¯s function definitely qualified. I¡¯d need to save some, though, for bartering a way home once I figured out where "home" was in relation to here.

    ¡°Anyway, you want me to grill you now or after the doc patches you up?¡± She slid in too close. Again. I stepped back. She matched it.

    ¡°I really don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, Ken-Ricochet.¡±

    She shot me a thumbs up. It was almost reassuring, to see a familiar gesture. Though I could do without the sarcasm.

    ¡°Oh sure you do! You drop out of a collapsing building way after the evac signal, gripping that book like your life depends on it. So what¡¯s the deal? Corporate espionage? Info broker? ''Cause neither explains the whole goth wizard aesthetic you''ve got going on.¡±

    I shot her my best ¡®mind-your-own-business¡¯ glare. She raised her hands, placatingly.

    ¡°Relax, dude. Corporate espionage is a victimless crime in my book anyway. Just curious, especially since your power doesn¡¯t really match the vibe.¡±

    ¡°And what, pray tell, is the vibe?¡±

    I glanced up. The sun blazed overhead ¨C too bright, too hot. No fall should feel like this. South of the equator, then? Gods, how far did I go?

    ¡°For info brokers? I don¡¯t know, man, all like, dark and spooky stuff? Controlling shadows, people forgetting you when they don¡¯t see you. You know, Sneaker powers.¡±

    Something gnawed at me, some fragment of my brain trying to scream that something important had just been said, but I couldn¡¯t latch onto it. I needed to sleep.

    I waved a hand, dismissively. ¡°If someone was capable of modifying memories, I am sure they would find information broking a little below them. As for shadow control, it¡¯s quite rudimentary, really. At a base level, at least.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You just said shadow control was ¡®rudimentary.¡¯¡± She spoke the last word with her shoulders back and nose raised, voice dripping with mockery.

    ¡°¡­Yes?¡±

    ¡°What the fuck does that mean?¡±

    ¡°It means what I said. It¡¯s only second circle. Any self-respecting Veilborn can get there after a few years of study.¡±

    Kenzie stopped walking. ¡°Okay. Pause.¡±

    I stopped, secretly glad for the break. The sounds of battle had faded behind us, leaving only the quiet of the empty streets, except up ahead. A steady, rumbling drone underscored the murmur of voices, growing louder as we approached. Figures moved in the distance, walking unbothered alongside creatures of steel and glass, hurtling past at impossible speeds.

    Domesticated, then?

    ¡°You keep saying weirder and weirder shit, dude.¡±

    I looked at her, blankly. ¡°I am doing nothing of the sort.¡±

    Her eyes met mine. Unflinching. Then widened, a fraction. She grabbed me, by the good arm, and hurried me down an alley, off the street.

    ¡°Look, I can tell it¡¯s been a long day for you, so I am going to ask this as gently as possible.¡± She paused, collecting herself. ¡°Where are you from?¡±

    ¡°I told you already.¡± I gave a half-hearted tug to free my arm.

    She did not let go.

    ¡°Humour me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve lived at Tulsworth Academy for the past few years ¨C I¡¯m boarding there until I am certified.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Great. And where is Tulsworth Academy?¡±

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I blinked at her. Tulsworth was known everywhere. Even back at the orphanage, we played make-believe as wizards and knights, conquering the world one hallway at a time.

    The silence was stretching. Her eyes ¨C did she ever blink? ¨C locked on mine. There was something here that I was missing. Go along with it, for now. Get your bearings.

    ¡°Tulsworth Academy is in Northern Elonia, a few miles from the Cerulean Sea. It¡¯s very famous, probably the most prominent school of magic in the world ¨C how do you not know this?¡±

    Her eyes closed, slowly. She thought for a moment. ¡°You mentioned something about an overcharged spell, back at the skyscraper.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s a real thing, and you¡¯re not fucking with me?¡±

    I nodded, slowly. ¡°To what possible end would I be fucking with you?¡±

    She laughed ¨C nervously? Hard to tell without seeing her face.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know man. But you¡¯re telling me you can cast magic?¡± She glanced around, making sure we were alone, I guessed. ¡°Maybe keep that on the down-low for now, yeah?¡±

    She raised a hand to ward off my following question. ¡°I¡¯ll explain later, okay? I promise. Just for now¡­ can you trust me? Please?¡±

    I hesitated before nodding stiffly.

    ¡°Okay, great!¡± I could hear the relief in her voice. ¡°Thank you. Now, put these on.¡±

    She tossed me a rather large backpack. I struggled to catch it one-handed and stumbled back a few steps. I looked up, ready to rebuke her, only to find her halfway through shedding her outer layers, the heavy jacket already bundled on the floor as she unbuckled the straps securing the exoskeleton to her frame.

    I was right, she was thin. And, to my mild alarm, her arms and shoulders were bare. She wore a sleeveless top, something that would be an undergarment at best in polite society. Yet she looked entirely at ease, unbothered by the impropriety.

    I¡¯d heard of such casual treatment of dress in tales of adventurers. Cultural mores, I supposed. I set the bag down, rifling through it one-handed. The fabric was decent enough, but the fashion was¡­ abysmal.

    I looked up at her, pulling the mask from my face to raise an eyebrow. She, in the midst of tying her hair back, shot me a quizzical look.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Do you have anything maybe a little bit more formal? I¡¯m not quite as comfortable walking these streets looking like a common urchin.¡±

    She laughed, loud and unabashed. ¡°Sorry, your highness, but this is what we¡¯ve got. Now hurry up, your fancy getup is gonna draw attention. News will be out by now that there¡¯s a new Super running around.¡± She slung her gear into a larger bag, tightening the straps. ¡°The Heroic Secrecy Act means the press won¡¯t release any photos of your face once you made it clear you were hiding your identity, but your whole ¡®Mr. Darcy¡¯ vibe is gonna have people putting two and two together real fast.¡±

    ¡°I understood the first half of that.¡± I unbuttoned my jacket, fingers brushing against the book still pressed silent against my chest. I drew it loose, carefully placing it in the backpack.

    I glanced up. Kenzie was barely a foot away, watching. Too intently. She¡¯d seen.

    I eventually found something passable, a plain white undershirt, buttonless, with some illegible text scrawled across the front. The trousers were thick, coarse, and an unappealing shade of blue. At least the brown jacket was simple, even if it lacked cufflinks. I supposed I should be grateful my elbows wouldn¡¯t be exposed. After a quick and hissed conversation, Kenzie left me in the alley, rolling her eyes all the while, and I got changed.

    It wasn¡¯t quick, one handed, nor painless. But it was done.

    I emerged, freshly dressed and feeling like a slightly lesser man, to find her using one of the same glass and steel devices I had seen amongst the crowd. The screen was bright, and her thumbs flew with a practiced speed as she activated it, each tap with an associated sound and image flashing on its face.

    ¡°I saw those, in the crowd. What is it?¡±

    She gave me a quick look, shock writ on her face, before turning her attention back to the device. ¡°It¡¯s a cell phone. It¡¯s pretty standard around here dude, everyone has one. You didn¡¯t have them back at Tulsworth?¡±

    I hummed, considering. I¡¯d remember if I¡¯d seen something like this before. But then magic took up most of my time. Maybe this was some niche invention I¡¯d simply never encountered.

    ¡°Not that I know of. What is its purpose?¡±

    ¡°Oh, all sorts of things, dude.¡± She gestured for me to follow, slipping the ¡®cell phone¡¯ into her pocket. ¡°Started with texting and calls, but now it¡¯s for everything: news, maps, shopping, you name it.¡±

    I wanted to demand she speak plainly. To shake her, maybe. But I was spent. Instead, I fell into step behind her, too drained to keep up with her nonsense. She also seemed content to share this silence, lost in thought if her furrowed brow was to go by.

    After a few minutes of her leading us through alleys, pointedly not in the direction of the crowds and their metal creatures, she slowed, pulling level with me.

    ¡°This is the Doc¡¯s house!¡±

    The place in question was not visibly distinct from the surrounding buildings ¨C where it impressed in size, it lost points in grime. The building appeared comprised of multiple levels of entry, though she was gesturing towards a small set of stairs that lead down, into what looked more like a basement or wine cellar. There were windows, though they were obscured by curtains ¨C as well a thick metal bars.

    This looked less like a healer¡¯s home and more like a place you went to disappear.

    ¡°¡­And what god does this ¡®Doc¡¯ keep to, out of curiosity?¡±

    ¡°Weird question!¡± She hopped down the steps, two at a time, before rapping on the door with her knuckles. I followed her down, slower and with a Firebolt on my tongue.

    The door opened, partway, with a small line of chain preventing it from being forced open. From inside, a pudgy man, with small, beady eyes and the deepest widow¡¯s peak I¡¯d ever seen looked out. He looked to be human and in his mid to late 50¡¯s, though the unshaven stubble and sleep filled eyes gave him the illusion of being a fair bit older.

    Kenzie gave him a wave. The man grunted, closing the door. I heard the clicking of metal, and the door opened wide, the chain no longer holding it in place. ¡°Come on in kid. And other kid.¡±

    The man fixed me with a look that had my hair standing on edge. Assessing me, though I couldn¡¯t intuit what he was looking for. Whether I was dangerous? Robbable? I¡¯d lived in comfort for too long, my senses had dulled.

    He grunted again, moving out of the way and allowing us entry. The room beyond was surprisingly well kept, despite what the stains on his shirt and the visibility of his elbows would have indicated.

    A living space, with a small table holding a half-eaten sandwich, stood before another device; one of those glass illusions. Flashes of the battle played across the glass pane, shifting images paired with scrolling text. Then ¨C an image of me. Masked, mid-motion, Firebolt in hand. My breath caught. How had they captured it so clearly?

    The man continued onwards, and my attention was torn from my visage to the rest of the house. To the right, a small and simple kitchen, with benches clearly for the preparation of food, was filled with devices whose purposes were entirely opaque.

    Beyond that, a room with a series of beds, four in total. Each an identical, off-putting white, with strange machines sitting beside them. This was the room he was leading us towards.

    I followed, nervously, and realized that Kenzie had been talking the entire time.

    ¡° ¨C appreciate you seeing us on such short notice! I¡¯m fine, no issues at all, but my friend here had a nasty fall! Could you take a look at his shoulder?¡±

    The man grunted again, gesturing for me to approach with a meaty finger. I stepped forward tentatively, keenly aware of his size advantage. In my current state, if he grabbed me, there wasn¡¯t much I could do.

    ¡°Take off your jacket.¡±

    I hesitated but obeyed, setting the backpack down first ¨C carefully, always in view ¨C before struggling out of the jacket. The movement sent a fresh bolt of pain through my shoulder, a sharp hiss escaping before I could stop it. ¡®Doc¡¯ nodded to himself, turning away to rummage through a cupboard. He pulled a clear bag of liquid from a pile, then gestured to one of the beds.

    ¡°Lay down.¡±

    I glanced at Kenzie for reassurance. She didn¡¯t even look over, still in the other room, watching our shifting reflections dance across the glass ¨C No concern, no hesitation.

    My instincts screamed at me to run. Something was off. But run where? With what energy? I was barely standing as it was. No real choice. Not at this point.

    Slowly, warily, I lowered myself onto the bed. Doc scowled slightly, his eyes lingering on my boots, but said nothing. He pulled up a chair beside me.

    ¡°Alright, this is gonna feel a little funny.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate your concern, but this is hardly my first time receiving treatment, ¡®Doc.¡¯¡±

    His hand pressed against my forehead.

    A strange numbness seeped through me, dragging the weight from my limbs. My eyelids grew heavy.

    And then ¨C nothing.