The Mages' Tower. Night.
The tower was quiet.
Mirena sat at the workbench, the artifact before her, its surface dark and still. The mana stone was beside it—small, dark, pulsing faintly in the dim light. She had been preparing for this for days. Calibrating the crystals. Adjusting the lenses. Studying the artifact's resonance patterns until her eyes burned and her head ached.
Tonight, they would try something new.
Alistair stood across from her, his staff in his hand, his face drawn with exhaustion. The other mages had gone home hours ago. The tower was empty except for the two of them and the soft hum of the artifact.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Mirena took a breath. "Let's begin."
---
She placed the mana stone in the center of the circle.
The crystals around it began to glow—faintly at first, then brighter, their light reflecting off the polished stone floor. The air shimmered above the circle, heat rising in waves. The stone pulsed faster, its rhythm quickening.
"The artifact amplifies ambient mana," Mirena said, her voice low and focused. "We can't replicate that. Not yet. But we can use the stone as a focus. A power source."
Alistair watched the crystals, their glow steady now. "And the spatial fold?"
"The rings fold space into pockets. The artifact folds space between worlds. We're trying for something in between. A small tear. Just enough to prove the theory."
Alistair was silent for a moment, his eyes on the pulsing stone. "And if it fails?"
Mirena met his gaze. "Then we try again."
She raised her hands.
---
The crystals flared.
Light burst from them, white and blinding, filling the room. The mana stone hummed, a deep vibration that Mirena felt in her chest, her bones, her teeth. The air in the center of the circle rippled—then split.
The tear was small, no larger than her fist. Its edges flickered, unstable, like a flame in the wind. But it held. On the other side, Mirena could see the wall of the tower. The same room. Different angle. The stone was rough, the mortar cracked—details she had never noticed from her side.
She reached through.
Her fingers passed into the tear. The air on the other side was cold, still, unfamiliar. She pushed her hand farther. Her wrist. Her forearm.
On the other side of the room, inches from Alistair's face, her hand emerged.
He stared at it, his eyes wide. "You did it."
Mirena pulled her hand back. The tear flickered, shrank, collapsed. The mana stone cracked—a sharp sound, like breaking bone.
The crystals dimmed. The light faded.
"It worked," Mirena said. Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking.
"For a moment."
"It worked."
Alistair moved to the table. Picked up the cracked stone. Its surface was webbed with fissures, dark and dead. "The power required was immense. This stone is ruined."
"We'll need more. Stronger stones."
"And more precision. The tear was unstable. It could have collapsed on your hand. You could have lost your fingers."
Mirena looked at the artifact. It sat dark and still, as if nothing had happened. "We're close."
---
The lenses flickered.
Mirena turned. One of the lenses on the table was glowing—faintly, softly, pulsing in a rhythm she didn't recognize. The light was pale, cold, different from the warm glow of the crystals.
"What's that?" Alistair asked.
Mirena moved to the lens. Placed her hand on it. Closed her eyes.
The artifact's resonance patterns were stable. The strangers were in their rooms—she could feel their blessings, muted but present. The spatial echoes from their experiment were fading, ripples settling in still water.
But there was something else.
A spatial disturbance. Small, brief, deep in the eastern forest. Not the artifact. Not the strangers. Not their experiment.
Something else.
Something familiar.
The cold, hungry trace she had felt in the canyon. The wrongness that had hung in the air before the portal opened.
"The hunters," Mirena whispered.
She opened her eyes. Looked at Alistair.
"They're here."
---
Alistair's face went pale. His hand tightened on his staff.
"How close?"
Mirena looked at the map on the wall. The eastern forest was marked with the tear's location—the same area where the strangers had emerged weeks ago. She had noted it then, marked it, studied it. Now the hunters were there.
"Too close."
"The guild—"
"The guild doesn't know." Mirena stood, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "I need to tell Grog."
Alistair moved to the window. Looked out at the dark city. The lights of the guild hall were visible in the distance, faint but steady.
"They've been watching us," he said.
Mirena nodded. "Waiting."
"For what?"
Mirena looked at the artifact. At the cracked mana stone. At the lens that had detected the hunters' presence. The cold light had faded, but the memory of it lingered.
"I don't know," she said.
She grabbed her staff and left the room.
---
The corridor was dark.
Mirena walked quickly, her footsteps echoing on the stone. The tower was silent, the other mages asleep in their quarters. She passed the research rooms, the storage closets, the stairwell that led down to the main floor.
Her mind raced.
The hunters were here. They had been watching. Waiting. For what? For the artifact to recharge? For the strangers to let their guard down? For something else?
She reached the door to the guild hall.
Pushed it open.
The great hall was empty, the fire low, the lanterns dim. Garret had gone home hours ago. Grace was in her room. Sera was at the front desk, asleep in her chair, her sword across her knees.
Mirena walked past her. Climbed the stairs to the third floor.
She knocked on Grog's door.
---
The door opened.
Grog stood in the doorway, his sword in his hand, his eyes sharp. He had been awake. He was always awake.
"The hunters," Mirena said. "They're here."
Grog's jaw tightened. "Where?"
"The eastern forest. Where the strangers emerged. They've been watching."
Grog stepped into the corridor. Closed the door behind him.
"How do you know?"
Mirena held up the lens. It was dark now, cold, but she could still feel the echo of the disturbance.
"The spatial magic. I detected a tear. Small, brief, not ours. The same wrongness as the canyon."
Grog was silent for a moment. "How many?"
"I don't know. At least three."
"The strangers?"
"Still in their rooms. The hunters haven't moved on them."
Grog looked at the window at the end of the corridor. The night was dark, the stars hidden by clouds.
"They're waiting."
Mirena nodded. "For what?"
Grog shook his head. "I don't know. But we need to be ready."
He walked toward the stairs.
Mirena followed.
The guild slept.
Outside, in the forest, red eyes watched.