Chapter One
It was the evening of summer’s final day. A grand celebration was underway. In the villages surrounding the capital of the Duchy of Zalen, people rejoiced at the end of the hardest season of the year — when they’d toil from dawn until deep into the night, working the fields, gathering the harvest, brewing beer, and handling countless other tasks that weighed on the shoulders of country folk.
Now, tall bonfires would be lit. Laughter would echo through the streets, and the air would brim with joy and festivity. The village elder would roll out a keg of beer — and there was even a chance they’d get a taste of the famed Ereind Ale. After all, the villagers had earned it. They’d worked hard and deserved a reward. And who cared if Ereind Ale was typically served only in the finest taverns and city inns?
Ereind — a city renowned for its mercenaries — was also famous for its beloved ale, brewed exclusively within its walls. Those who knew the recipe had tried and failed to recreate it elsewhere. Neither master brewers nor determined laborers, hoping to stock up for long evenings after work, could replicate the flavor.
Right now, a hundred-liter cask of that invigorating, top-shelf brew — crafted by the hand of Lorriño Saguinteu himself — was heading to the home of a certain nobleman. Under its heavy load, the old cart groaned and creaked in protest. At the reins sat a young servant named Anji, who had been entrusted with the purchase and safe delivery of the precious cargo.
Since the age of twelve, Anji had served Reymund Valeyn, a mage renowned across the region — not just any mage, but one of the senior heads of the Magisterium and the owner of a mansion he’d built himself, dedicated to the study of every known school of magic.
Visitors to the duchy, upon learning who lived in the manor just off the South Road, often envied the nearby villagers. What luck to live so close to such a celebrated spellcaster. From his academy days, Valeyn had displayed a rare gift: the ability to wield all elemental branches of magic taught there. Such elemental versatility was a talent almost unheard of — a gift that set him apart even among the greatest spellcasters.
Yet despite all the praise Master Valeyn received, Anji found his master far too harsh, sharp-tongued, and utterly intolerant.
“I forgot to lock the cage with those awful flowers. But it’s not my fault that every time I feed them, they try to bite my finger off. No, not my finger, my head.”
He shuddered at the memory of the jaws of the Salan Mousetraps — carnivorous plants, ancient relatives of the long-extinct Mellorns. They hunted prey like animals, and when the southern wind blew strong, their leaves would spread wide and lift them into the air. Carried by gusts, they’d soar skyward, changing their entire habitat in one flight.
As usual, his silent companion merely wagged his tail, occasionally letting out a deep purr.
“Why don’t you say something?”
The cat, Anji’s invariable companion, was still lying on the luggage racks and trying to catch the ever restless tail with his paw.
“Because you’re a cat. And as everyone knows, ordinary house pets don’t talk.”
Anji the cat was a gift. And not from just anyone, but from Master Valeyn himself — on Anji’s very first birthday celebrated in the magician’s house. The guy had just turned thirteen.
Sebastian and Marie Fugo, Anji’s parents, were researchers and scholars. Their work required them to send their son into service and head westward themselves. Though they lacked even the faintest trace of magical talent, they were still respected — revered even — within the magical community. After all, how could one create new rituals without obtaining knowledge and ingredients previously unknown?
After his parents’ departure, responsibility for Anji fell to Master Valeyn. But to the guy, it felt more like the other way around — as if he were the one looking after the mage. In truth, it turned out exactly like that. Cleaning, cooking, shopping, running errands — all of it rested squarely on the narrow shoulders of the guy.
And the older he got, the more responsibilities he was given. Eventually, his tasks began to involve magic.
The mage presented his servant with his very first magical item — a circlet. Crafted by his own hands. While Valeyn wasn’t an enchanter by trade, the item turned out remarkably well.
Anji had been thrilled — it was his very first artifact. Made just for him. Meant for him alone. But his excitement quickly turned to disappointment when he discovered that it was a simple communication tool. The master had decided to make life easier for himself by no longer yelling across the house or wondering where the guy had gone off to. Now, he could speak to him directly — right into his head.
Later on, after refining the circlet, the mage even managed to take partial control over Anji’s body — just enough to prevent him from mishandling dangerous items, like explosive powder or delicate artifacts.
“Did you decide to stop by the capital?”
The mental message caught the guy so completely off guard that he nearly tumbled off the luggage racks into the muddy road softened by the first autumn rains.
“Why are you taking so long? The guests will be here any minute, and my servant is still nowhere to be seen.”
The mage’s annoyed voice rang clearly in his head.
“I’m already on my way back from Zalezhek, Master.”
“And what were you doing all the way out there?”
Anji could feel the mage’s emotions leaking through the connection — he was starting to boil.
Much to the mage’s shame, the young man had yet to learn how to communicate telepathically without voicing his thoughts aloud. The guy opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get the chance.
“Hurry up, and don’t give me a reason to be ashamed of you. Did you get the ale? And everything else I asked for?”
“Yes, Master,” Anji replied, knowing full well he was lying. He hadn’t managed to find everything on the endless list. Some of the merchants simply shrugged. Others recommended he go all the way to the capital.
But admitting that now would mean enduring a full day of lectures and reprimands.
“Good. Get a move on — you still have plenty to do.”
The mental link snapped, and the circlet turned cold again — another irritating side effect of wearing it.
“Did you get everything, Anji? Move it already! How long must I endure your endless failings?”
Only the horse’s snort and the soft, steady breathing of the cat answered him.
Valeyn paced through the mansion, preparing for the long-awaited ritual — one that would, at last, enable the creation of an artifact the Magisterium had spent years developing. It was meant to be installed on Cape Johnsguard to shield a part of the mainland from the Twisted — nightmare creatures from beyond the sea.
This day held the power to change the fate of thousands — to free them from fear, from the threat of becoming something unnatural. Something no longer of this world.
The setup consisted of elemental conduits and energy cores from every known school of magic, including some from the reserve stock — items that were supposed to remain untouched. Valeyn felt a sharp pang of regret as he laid these precious components out on the ritual table. Some he had safeguarded for years, others he’d acquired at absurd prices, and a few had come into his hands by means he preferred not to revisit. But the knowledge that it was all for a noble cause — and that such powerful objects should never circulate freely — helped steady his hand.
Of course, this wasn’t everything. Several components were still en route — to be delivered by other participants in tonight’s operation. Some were being delivered straight from the Magisterium’s vaults.
For now, only Valeyn’s collection stood in the chamber where the ritual was to take place. Arranging them safely had taken no small effort. A single misstep could cause a premature magical reaction — and potentially trigger catastrophe. A significant portion of the array would serve as the artifact’s core. How it would ultimately be transported was still a mystery — and one Valeyn had agonized over for days.
Thankfully, Master Argus had offered his help. The seasoned enchanter — a specialist in magical itemcraft — had aided Valeyn many times before on similar ventures.
“Okay… air and astral crystals — side by side,” Valeyn muttered, nudging the two faceted stones into position.
Ten circles, intricately linked. Not the most complex design, perhaps — but certainly one of the most demanding in raw magical input. One of the most secure laboratories on the second floor — typically used for practicing high-risk incantations — had now been completely transformed into a single giant testing ground.
Every table, every bookshelf had been cleared out well in advance by his servant. It had taken the guy an entire week to get the room into proper shape. The guy had sweat buckets doing it, but Valeyn had considered it a useful exercise — both for discipline and endurance. He firmly believed he’d raise the guy right. And when Mari returned, he’d have no reason to regret the time he’d invested. The guy would prove himself worthy of the responsibility — however unwillingly it had been thrust upon him.
Anji had already begun to show curiosity — a hunger for science and the unknown. A shame, Valeyn often thought, that the guy hadn’t inherited even a spark of his parents’ magical gift.
From the first floor came the sound of the door knocker. It was a small artifact, but its charm lay in how its sound carried evenly through the entire house.
“Well, the first ones are arriving. And the guy is still off wandering somewhere…” Valeyn muttered, annoyed that he’d have to play Butler on top of everything else. The knocking continued — steady and rhythmic.
“I even know who that is,” Valeyn muttered under his breath as he approached the door.
Out of all the expected guests and participants of tonight’s ritual, only one had a temperament so legendarily impossible — Felicia Gonze. A volatile witch with a wild streak and a personality sharp enough to cut glass. She could push anyone to the brink. And it seemed she was already getting started.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” the mage called out, hurrying forward — more to save the door from destruction than out of any sense of hospitality.
The door — ancient oak, crafted from the remnants of one of the first ships to sail to the Barrier — was anything but ordinary. Yet now it trembled in its frame, clearly under magical assault — though, ironically, it hadn’t even been bolted shut. Anji, off on his errand, had once again forgotten to lock it.
Valeyn turned the handle — and the knocking stopped. Hovering in the air before the mage was… something. A creature no larger than a cat, adorned with delicate wings and impossibly large eyes. The most remarkable thing, however, was the unmistakable aura of elemental magic it radiated.
Behind the creature stood a middle-aged man with a clearly receding hairline. A pince-nez perched on the bridge of his nose, which he adjusted with one hand while holding a thick tome in the other. He appeared completely unaware — or entirely uninterested — in the master of the estate whose doorstep he now occupied.
“Ahem, ahem,” Valeyn cleared his throat politely, announcing his presence.
No reaction.
The man turned a page, then ran a finger along the lines of text, tongue slightly protruding from the corner of his mouth — a clear sign of deep intellectual concentration. He’d done that ever since their days in the Academy.
Valeyn smirked and conjured a small gust of wind. It sent the floating creature tumbling and the book’s pages fluttering in every direction.
“By the gods!” the man cried, scrambling to collect the scattered sheets as they drifted away like autumn leaves.
“What a disaster!” he grumbled, now frantically piecing the pages back into their rightful place. At last, he looked up — and finally noticed the figure in the doorway.
“Valeyn! My dear old friend!” the visitor beamed, sweeping his free hand in an extravagant gesture before tucking the book into a magical case strapped to his belt.
“Hello, Marko. I’m glad you made it. Come in, please.”
Valeyn stepped aside, holding the door open wide. Marko always brought a smile to his face — and today was no exception. Not because he was laughable, but because he carried a kind of childlike enthusiasm into everything he touched.
He gave the impression of a man constantly on the move — though clearly not when it came to caring for his physique, as his rounded belly made evident. But behind that unassuming appearance hid a sorcerer of rare and formidable power. With nothing but his will, he could inspire fear, pain, longing — even madness — in the minds of the unprepared. He was, without question, the Magisterium’s most powerful mentalist. Minds, dreams, thoughts — those were his elements. And he excelled at them.
It was no surprise that lords and dukes often hired him — not just to shield their thoughts from prying eyes but also to uncover the loyalty of their subjects.
Now, the creature’s owner lured it with some kind of treat and tucked it into a cage concealed beneath his bottomless robe.
The mages made their way deeper into the estate, toward the drawing room. As they stepped inside, the fireplace flared to life — simple magic, yet always welcome.
Settling into his chair, Valeyn sent a mental signal to his servant, asking him to bring and pour wine for himself and his guest. But the thought quickly soured as he remembered the guy hadn’t returned yet. Typical.
With a quiet sigh, the mage stood up, preparing to fetch the wine himself.
“What will it be? Red?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “If I recall, that’s always been your preference.”
“Your memory is as impeccable as your attention to detail. Bravo,” Marko replied with an exaggerated grimace as if the decision required great internal struggle.
“Though today… This evening calls for a rosé, I think — something light, from the Central Isles, perhaps, if you have it.”
“Excellent choice, my friend,” Valeyn said with a faint smile. “You know, I think I’ll join you. It’s been ages since I had a proper Iatiran vintage.”
Funny. He hadn’t even thought of Iatiran rosé until Marko mentioned it. Perhaps Marko’s empathic gift was at work, quietly and unbidden. Valeyn doubted Marko would waste effort just to divine which wine the master of the house was in the mood for.
He headed down to the cellar — part wine vault, part cold storage for magical ingredients that required low temperatures. Finding the correct shelf, he paused and frowned. He realized it was time to replenish his stock. After all, his cellar wouldn’t refill itself with a snap of his fingers.
Sure, it was technically possible to conjure wine out of thin air — but the energy cost was ridiculous. A mage could rupture his core or even burn out a part of his inner essence trying something that wasteful. No wizard, warlock, sorcerer, or even hedge witch would risk that for a few bottles of wine. At least, not sober.
There were only four bottles. If he placed an order next time he visited the capital, it would take a month — maybe two — for them to arrive.
Returning with the wine in hand, Valeyn noticed the room had grown more crowded. There were four guests now. The concentration of magical energy was unmistakable — even from outside the chamber. None of the arrivals were making any effort to hide their strength. If anything, they radiated it.
Marko stood beside a striking young woman clad in a long, dark green gown, the back of which was daringly bare. Her bare skin was concealed only by a few deliberately placed strands of raven-black hair. Under the light, her hair shimmered — flashing hints of deep green and sapphire blue.
The enchantress served as an advisor to the head of the Druidic Order — and happened to be an accomplished necromancer in her own right. Beneath that graceful, refined exterior, behind the disarming smile that had broken more than a few hearts, lay a power strong enough to crush the armies of minor duchies.
Valeyn knew that firsthand. She had broken his heart once, too.
The moment she entered, his pulse faltered. As if sensing it — sensing him — she turned her head with the natural grace of a predator.
“Alexia, greetings,” the mage mouthed silently. His voice had failed him, and his throat felt dry. He gave a subtle spin and a formal bow — first to her, who held his gaze for just a second too long, then to the rest of the room.
Several other familiar faces were now gathered there.
The witch Felicia Gonze, sister of the Northern Mountains coven. She was the one Valeyn immediately suspected when he heard the ruckus at his door. The guest stood on Marco’s other side, dressed in travel clothes lightly dusted from the road. Apparently, she hadn’t come by carriage, but had ridden the entire way — straight from the capital.
Fergus, head of the Astral Magic Department, sat quietly in an armchair, observing the room. A scholar and an expert on all things related to the “Twisted,” he was one of the few who truly understood the danger posed by those reshaped by the world’s dark underside. As always, he was silent and lost in thought. His cloak shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow — a unique artifact by any measure. He had explained only once how he’d come to possess it:
“I brought it back from beyond the Barrier — while I was asleep.”
A strange remark — but he surely knew what he was talking about. No one dared ask any further questions.
Valeyn bowed once more — this time, to all his guests.
“Rey, I hope you don’t mind that I let our friends in early?”
“I’m glad to welcome each of you. I’m grateful for—” The greeting was abruptly cut off.
“Oh, spare us with the speeches,” Felicia interrupted bluntly, as usual.
“Better pour the wine — or did you bring that bottle just to show off?”
Valeyn’s startled gaze darted between the bottle and the brazen witch. The others smiled politely, careful not to offend their host. Composing himself, the mage moved to the table, where glasses had already been set out.
He uncorked the bottle, releasing a delicate aroma of flowers and tropical fruits into the room. None of the guests declined the offered drink. With glasses in hand, they settled around the fireplace. Alexia perched herself on the armrest of Valeyn’s chair — much to his visible discomfort.
“Valeyn, is everything ready?” Fergus’s quiet voice cut through the lingering silence. His question cut straight to the heart of why they were here. The forced levity in the room felt strained, casting an uneasy mood over them all.
“We’ve poured so much time and effort into this,” he continued. “But only you know how close we really are. Tell us — can we truly achieve what we set out to do?”
The room fell silent. The question hung heavily in the air — though few had dared to voice it aloud. It was no simple matter. For months now, Valeyn had devoted himself entirely to this one goal — more meticulously than ever before. He had poured every spare moment into it, giving himself completely. But he could never admit it — not openly. To do so would make him look pitiful, even though everyone here knew the truth: they were attempting the impossible — to divide the world across all its planes. Such magic belonged to gods alone. And yet, ordinary people had dared to tamper with the laws of existence — to rewrite rules once believed unshakable.
Reymund took a long sip and cast his gaze over the room. In every face, he saw a trace of pleading — each person clinging his hope on this event.
He exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts.
“We’ve set out to achieve something worthy of the gods. And I believe that those gathered here tonight — those part of this endeavor — are the very people capable of making it real.”
Those who had been holding their breath now smiled — quietly, in unison. Sometimes, a few words of belief did more than any spell ever could. And Valeyn knew that well. He had achieved the impossible more than once — thanks to mentors who had believed in him far more than he had ever believed in himself.
The tension in the room melted away. Conversation resumed — relaxed, effortless. The conversation resumed, relaxed and easy. Alexia laid a gentle hand on Valeyn’s shoulder — a quiet gesture meant only to reassure. But gods, how he wished it were more than that. He caught the thought, cursed it silently, and gave his head a small, deliberate shake — just in time to meet Marko’s piercing gaze. They locked eyes — a silent game of who would flinch first. Then the mentalist turned away, launching into a spirited rebuttal of the witch’s offhand remark about the ethics of love curses.
The road leading from the main trade route had not been kind. There were no tracks to follow — carts came through rarely, horses even less. Yet the villagers nearby knew exactly where this road led — or more precisely, to whom.
Anji had only a few versts left when he heard the heavy snort of horses behind him. Turning, he saw a lavishly decorated carriage closing in — costly, that much was obvious.
“More of Master Valeyn’s guests, no doubt,” he muttered.
Though the carriage was much larger — and surely heavier — than Anji’s creaky little cart, it was gaining on him with alarming speed. Four horses hauled what looked like a house on wheels — yet they showed no weariness, their pace unrelenting.
By all rights, Anji should have pulled aside to let the nobles pass. But the road was narrow, its edges steep and sloping — there was nowhere to go. There was no avoiding the encounter.
And though he was, in a sense, under a great mage’s protection — being Valeyn’s servant — that wouldn’t spare him the usual sneers or string of noble insults. Such things, he’d learned, came naturally to the well-bred — especially when aimed at commoners like him.
A young man sat high atop the carriage’s front bench. As their carriages drew within just a few meters, the stranger called out:
“Hey! You on the cart — you’re headed to Lord Valeyn’s estate, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Only one road out here — and it goes straight to him.”
The man fixed his gaze on the guy — or more precisely, on the object adorning his forehead. Truth be told, Anji hated wearing it in plain sight. Maybe it was fate mocking him. Maybe just bad luck. He tried to hide the diadem and kept his hair grown out just to cover the shameful thing. The village kids, upon spotting the ornament, never missed a chance to poke fun at him — and all his efforts to prove it was a real artifact were wasted on their stubborn, thick skulls.
Now, the stranger’s irises shifted color. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like sunlight reflecting strangely off his face, but Anji knew better. A faint blue glow shimmered in his gaze — a dangerous sign to most locals, who would likely start praying for mercy, certain they’d just encountered a Twisted One and that their time had come.
But Anji had no fear. He didn’t serve a farmer. He served as a mage. He recognized it immediately.
This man had magical potential — likely a practitioner with the rare ability to sense magical artifacts at a glance without preparation or tools. What Anji had learned so far told him one thing — this man possessed real power.
He looked to be in his early twenties — meaning he must have already graduated from the Academy. That alone made Anji take a second look at the man trailing behind. Since the carriage was trailing his cart, Anji had to half-turn in the saddle just to keep the conversation going.
“Quite an interesting thing you have there on your head,” the man remarked casually. Anji felt an involuntary urge to touch it, but controlled himself.
“You’re no ordinary guy, that’s for sure,” the man said, breaking into a wide grin.
“Who are you talking to, Emilie?” came an elderly voice from inside the carriage. A small window creaked open and out peered a silver-haired old man with a tiny pair of pince-nez perched on his nose.
“Just a lad,” Emilie said, slowing the reins. “We can’t pass each other; the road is too narrow. But we’re going one way — he’s headed to Lord Valeyn’s place, too.”
“Oh? Come to beg the Great Mage to take you on as a student?” The old man gave a sly smirk.
“Don’t bother. He won’t take you. Believe me — I’ve tried. Name’s Argus Valentine.”
Anji opened his mouth to answer, but the old man talked right over him, barely stopping to breathe. The man up front — Emilie — just smiled and glanced between his uncle and the road.
Argus, still enjoying the sound of his voice, launched into a story about how he once tried to get Valeyn to take on his nephew — then just a guy — as an apprentice. That guy, as it happened, was none other than the man currently holding the reins.
“My nephew is no stranger to talent and strength, and he’s been trained in the use of weapons. Everyone on my brother’s side is all about fighting. I’m the only one who turned to magic. But Valeyn said no. ‘Doesn’t take students,’ he claimed. So if you’re thinking you’ve got a shot, I’d turn that cart around and save yourself the trouble, guy. By the way, what’s your name?”
“Anji, sir. Anji Fugo.”
The old man’s eyes widened so dramatically that it looked like he might faint. He gave a ragged cough.
“Fugo, you say?” he repeated, more softly this time, staring at the guy as if seeing a ghost. But before Anji could respond, Emilie pointed ahead.
“There it is — the estate.”
Less than a hundred meters away stood a two-story stone manor with a steep red-tiled roof. The narrow road led directly to a pair of wrought-iron gates half-consumed by creeping ivy.
“Finally made it,” muttered the old man before pulling the window shut and vanishing inside.
Anji turned back around and focused on guiding the cart. The road here was better paved and wider, bordered on one side by a small pond that the path split to curve around. To the right of the main building stood the stables — already occupied by a carriage unfamiliar to him. It seems the guests arrived sooner than the master expected.
That wasn’t great news. It likely meant Master Valeyn had been forced to greet them himself — which probably hadn’t improved his mood any.
The best option was to approach from the other side near the stables, as there was a door leading to the corridor connecting the kitchen and the storage rooms. Knowing there was a feast planned for tonight, Anji had arranged for help: a girl named Nico, who worked at the inn along the northern road.
It had taken a lot of convincing to get her to agree — everyone in town knew who Anji worked for. In the end, he had promised her two silver coins from his stash. Anji knew for sure he couldn’t manage on his own, and the master mage didn’t concern himself with such trifles. Earlier, he had handed Nico the key to that very side door — the one he now pulled up beside, leaving the cart and its precious cargo of provisions. He hurried inside, baskets in hand. As he had hoped, the door was unlocked.
He passed through a short stone hallway and entered the kitchen, where the hearth blazed, and the rich scent of stewed herbs and meat filled the air.
Nico stood at the counter in a white apron. Her dark hair was tied back with a matching ribbon. Her striking looks and graceful figure were welcome additions to her real strength — her love for cooking. The girl had only recently moved from some distant lands and had just begun working at the local tavern.
“Hi, Nico!” Anji set down the basket of vegetables he brought at the girl’s request. He’d also bought the ingredients from the mage’s strange list. Even Anji, who knew little about cooking, could tell that no decent meal could come of it.
“In advance of the unasked question, I’ll tell you: I bought everything you asked for,” said Anji, “here is part of it. The rest is in the cart. I’ll bring it to you.”
Outside, a group of four stood near the cart — two men and two women. Anji recognized two of them.
One of them was a man, whose name was actually Emilie, and the second was a girl. She was already a guest at Lord Valeyn’s estate, accompanying her mentor, Mistress Felicia. The girl dreamed of joining the coven, of becoming one of the sisters. Anji had learned about it at their last meeting a little less than a year ago. They’d had a lot of time together then. Clarissa’s mentor was constantly with her master. For almost three days, no one had disturbed them. The girl talked a lot about magic, and she did it so enthusiastically that she even made Anji regret that he did not possess this great gift. The people near the cart were arguing fiercely.
“Someone will have to guard the horses and the carriage. And I’m afraid it won’t be me,” a young man with a thoroughbred appearance stepped forward, addressing the small crowd.
“I’m a bodyguard, and I’m supposed to be with the one I’m guarding.”
The girl with black hair, dressed in travel gear and looking like she expected trouble, sneered, “Lantz, you’re right. But wouldn’t it be better if you guarded what you were told to?
“We were given clear orders to guard this carriage. Or have I gone deaf?”
The object of their dispute was parked near the stables — a wagon, not a true coach. Not nearly as fancy as the old man’s carriage that Anji had arrived in. It was painted blue, with large wheels, and tall enough to have a step and a footboard. Two windows faced them, each wide enough for a person to slip through without difficulty. At the back, a metal tank — probably for water — was attached. The vehicle was built for long journeys with moderate comfort.
Far from the disputants stood an old man Anji had met, Master Argus. He studied the carriage carefully, then nodded to himself as if reaching a decision and quickly headed toward the manor. Meanwhile, the argument kept growing louder.
“Lantz,” someone said, “we all want to attend. Let’s be fair and draw straws. The two who get the short ones stay behind to guard. The other two go inside. If things get tough, we’ll switch. How does that sound?”
Everyone eyed the suggestion suspiciously. It was clear nobody wanted to be left outside, much less stuck guarding the horses. Trust was a rare and fragile thing among witches and warlocks.
The first to notice the watcher’s presence was the girl whose name Anji didn’t know.
“Hey, guy! Come here. We need your help. Can you take a break from your tasks and assist a couple of gentlemen?” The girl glanced at Lantz’s arrogant expression. The others’ curious eyes shifted toward the newcomer.
“Are we going to trust a servant to settle our disputes? What has this world come to,” Lantz said, throwing his hands up to the sky as if appealing to all the gods.
“Good day, Lady Clarissa! Greetings, gentlemen!” Anji bowed politely to each in turn. Etiquette was one of the first things the new servant had been taught. Besides, his parents had done their part in raising him properly. The girl simply nodded in response, and Emilie winked.
“Look at this well-mannered servant,” Lantz said, placing his gloved hand firmly on Anji’s shoulder. A saber hung at his waist — not just any weapon, clearly marking some rank or order. His grip lingered just a moment too long — not painful, but unmistakably dominant.
“How can I help you?” Anji’s eyes locked on the man who seemed to be trying to assert dominance at his expense.
“Well, we need to draw lots. And it turns out the fairest way is for you to do it,” Clarissa said, stepping toward the group before things escalated. This woman, like many others trained in diplomacy, had a talent for defusing tension. Women seem to have an instinct for this kind of thing, they try to settle disagreements right away. Her smile grew even more dazzling, but Anji knew it was just a tactic. He remembered her exactly like this from before — the last time they’d encountered common bullies while he was out shopping in town, and she was just getting some fresh air. Behind that brilliant smile lurked a true witch’s nature. All she lacked was the pointed hat and a broom to complete the picture of a storybook witch. Otherwise, her wicked witch persona matched perfectly the tales told in taverns along the trade routes.
“So, dear Clarissa, you’re saying this is a servant?” Lantz put expressive emphasis on the last word, lacing his voice with disdain. “Might it be more fitting to settle disputes between two noble gentlemen?” His hand clenched Anji’s shoulder even tighter, causing sharp discomfort that only grew worse with every second.
The man turned his gaze to the beautiful girl, who approached him far too close for what society would consider proper conversation. He broke into a smile, naively assuming she was flirting with him. Watching all this, To Anji, though, it was no harmless flirtation — it was a slow, spiraling disaster.
“You think so too, Alma?” he heard Lantz ask.
“What a stroke of bad luck,” Anji thought. “If I caused a scene now, I risked angering the master’s guests. But I don’t want to endure such neglect either. Besides, my shoulder is already aching badly.”
Anji couldn’t bear it any longer and placed his hand over the one still gripping him, trying to gently remove it. With this gesture, he inadvertently shifted everyone’s focus from Clarissa onto himself. However, the emotions changed as well. In an instant, the gallant façade vanished, replaced by the righteous fury of an insulted noble, as if it wasn’t him who had crushed Anji’s shoulder to the bone but rather Anji who dared to trespass upon the most sacred.
“How dare you touch me, you mutt?” the man roared. A quick, barely noticeable strike to the solar plexus knocked the air out of his lungs. The blow was fast and precise. Even Anji, with little training, could tell this was no amateur’s blow. His legs buckled; he managed to stay on his feet but had to take a few steps back.
“Where do you think you’re running off to, scum?” the man began losing his temper. “How dare you lay a hand on a nobleman? I’ll teach you some manners!”
Anji, trying to catch his breath, felt a hand on his arm, yanking it toward him; then he heard a strange rustling sound. Blinking, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He was standing with one hand clutching his chest while the other arm, stretched out and twisted, was in the power of the furious gentleman. Moreover, he was holding the very same broadsword, raising it above his head, clearly about to do something that seemed unthinkable and unbelievable.
“This will serve as a lesson!“
The sword began to descend, clearly meant to sever his arm. When it reached his forearm, the sword struck something greenish. For a moment, it seemed to him that as if a faint, greenish band of light had wrapped around his wrist. Lantz couldn’t believe his eyes and instinctively lashed out again, this time aiming higher — at Anji’s chest or head.
But once again, something stopped him from delivering his so-called noble justice. The sword struck the metal of the other blade Emilie was holding. He instantly realized what was about to happen and rushed to stop the brutal assault, blocking the blow with his sword. The girls didn’t stand idly by either.
“What are you doing?” Clarissa shrieked, holding one hand up. A reddish light poured from her fingertips, creating a small area around her palm.
The second girl conjured a green glow that radiated from both her hands.
“Are you out of your mind, Lantz? What the hell are you doing?” The girls pulled the furious man aside and stood in front of him, covering Anji. Emilie, still holding his sword with one hand, approached Anji and helped him steady himself.
“Anji, right?” Emilie’s voice sounded quiet and confident. “You should get out of here. We can handle ourselves here. Don’t let this spoil your day.”
Anji nodded frantically, still in a state of shock, started to back away, then turned, grabbed the basket, and headed for the door. Looking up, he saw Nico’s frightened face. The girl was probably watching everything, furtively peering out from behind the door.
With each step, Anji’s face darkened with rising fury, and anger took away the power of speech. As he got closer, he could no longer perceive anything that was going on behind him. It was as if someone was still behind him, but his mind refused to process what had just happened or react appropriately. He just silently handed the basket to the stunned girl, who also silently accepted it and continued to stand there without moving.
Anji moved along the side of the building. He wanted to hide — to run from everyone and curse the whole world. He had never thought of himself as a coward or weakling. But now, for the first time in a long while, he felt afraid — right here, in a place he had come to think of as home.
Still burning with anger, Anji kept his pace steady, resisting the urge to bolt around the manor’s edge. Circling it, he slipped into the nearby garden. After a short walk, he found himself near the greenhouse that adjoined the far wall of the house. He climbed inside through a window that never fully shut — held ajar by a stubborn vine curling up from below. The vine, like many oddities cluttering the manor, had been a gift from a traveling merchant.
This place had often served as a refuge — a spot to think, to calm down. As he wandered through the greenhouse, he nearly stumbled into the gaping jaws of that loathsome flower — always seeming on the verge of escape. Beautiful, but dangerous.
The greenhouse soothed him. It brought order to his thoughts and settled his emotions. It was exactly what he needed after a moment like this.
Suddenly, the circlet on his head grew warm — a clear sign that the mage had remembered to summon his servant. And just when it seemed that his thoughts were finally beginning to settle.
“Anji, are you back yet?”
“Yes, Master.”
“How’s dinner coming along? And we could use some appetizers, too. Where have you been? Are you trying to anger and disappoint me? You know how important today is. Don’t make me worry about you on top of everything else. Make sure everything is perfect.”
As always, the connection vanished before Anji could reply. The mage didn’t trouble himself with politeness — he demanded, as he always did, instead of making a proper request.
“I’m so tired of this life. What sin did I commit to end up here?” The question, spoken aloud with bitter sorrow, was directed at the parents who had abandoned the guy to the mercy of the mage. It was time to go back — to finish sorting through the purchases and help Nico with the cooking. The guests were likely growing restless by now. Reluctantly, Anji crawled out of his makeshift refuge and headed straight for the kitchen, where he was immediately swept into the whirlwind of meal preparations: fetching, washing, clearing, drawing water — everything that needed doing. In addition to everything else, Anji had to stop now and then — by the mage’s orders — to greet new guests and haul their belongings to the rooms prepared for them. Thankfully, all the chambers had been cleaned and set up in advance. The last of the guests turned out to be the most unusual of all. Or actually — no longer human. A true Distorted had come to visit Lord Valeyn. This woman, and by the presence of some definite signs it is a woman, came on horseback without any escort. A long leather cloak covered her from head to toe, hiding every part of her body save for her gloved hands. When the rider dismounted and pulled back her hood, Anji — for the second time that day — felt an overwhelming urge to run and hide.
After all, every child knows that encountering a Distorted — or even a Distortion — spells certain death.
These beings, under the influence of an unknown force, underwent a change after their death. Actually, death is caused by those very metamorphoses. It is said the first of these creatures crossed the sea, bringing ruin with them. Some are almost indistinguishable from living beings, but these are the fewest in number. Even fewer of them retained their sanity and their memories. They can be considered to have remained the same. Most looked like shadows, ghosts that passed through walls as if they weren’t there. They drifted across the land like locusts, ever on the prowl for fresh souls.
One day, Mr. Valeyn was holding what he called a lecture — in truth, more of a rambling monologue. Anji, cleaning the room at the time, was an unwilling audience. One theory claimed they hunted not for flesh, but for souls — and that the transformation began with the soul’s corruption. Those unfortunate enough to be caught rarely remained themselves — most soon joined the hunt for the living. And now, it seemed, such a being stood before Anji.
“Good afternoon, young man! My name is Sylvia Montague. I’ve come at the invitation of Mr. Valeyn.”
Anji blinked. The woman looked perfectly human — too human, perhaps. It took all the courage Anji could muster to regain her composure and approach the woman. Her appearance struck a strange balance between fascination and fear. Her eyes were a deep violet, and her face — pale gray — was marked with irregular metallic nodules that shimmered unnaturally. Every Distorted was unique — no two alike. And worst of all — a mere touch from such a creature could be enough to turn someone like Anji into one of them. Mages, on the other hand, were shielded by their magic. The woman before him was an anomaly — something that shouldn’t exist. That meant one of two things — either she had passed through some forbidden place that altered her, or her magic had been entirely spent, consumed in the process of her transformation.
“Good day, madam. Lord Valeyn awaits you. May I escort you to your chambers?”
“No need to trouble yourself, darling,” the woman said, clearly sensing that any fear had passed — she was a guest now, nothing more.
“Tell me, have the other guests arrived yet?” she asked as she moved toward the house.
“Yes, to my knowledge. I believe you’re the last expected guest.”
“Show me to the others.”
The main lounge had been set aside for the gathering — a warm room with a fireplace and a vast table, large enough to seat all the guests in comfort. That was where he was meant to escort her. They walked to the main hall. Anji opened the door, let the woman pass through, then quietly closed it behind her and slipped into a side corridor.
After several turns through the manor’s corridors, they stopped outside a room where a heated argument echoed beyond the door.
“Is this where I’m supposed to go in?”
The guy simply nodded and turned toward the kitchen. The woman stepped inside. There, the argument had already been raging for over an hour. Reymund had gathered everyone to explain the ritual’s finer points — there could be no misunderstandings. Any mistake might prove fatal. The ritual was staggeringly costly — a feat that could bankrupt kingdoms. The magical components alone could purchase a duchy. And the time of the mages? Bought not only with gold, but favors and secrets more precious still. One guest had yet to arrive — and her role was crucial.
A persistent fear gnawed at Reymund: what if she’d lied — what if she never came at all? Aside from those gathered here, only two others truly understood what was at stake: the Distorted — five years in her cursed form — and a renegade mage, once Reymund’s closest friend. They had called on him for one reason alone — his unmatched brilliance. But that brilliance came at a cost. He’d been expelled from the Academy before he could finish his training — or earn the mage’s ring that granted legal use of magic.
A man gifted in both healing and necromancy — a truly terrifying combination. Hugo Perni was not a nobleman. Expelled from the Academy, he wandered for years before, like many mage-hermits, turning to mercenary work. In that world, even a drop of magic earned respect — and protection. Such people earned both respect and protection — a rare combination for mages without ties. He paid for every ounce of knowledge with blood — but earned it through sheer talent and grit.
The thought of an old friend — who’d chosen the worst time to grow a spine and decline the invitation — cast a shadow of regret.
“Reymund, are you even listening to me?”
Lost in thought, the mage didn’t hear Felicia’s question. Now, she loomed over him like a storm cloud.
“You said we have sources in reserve. You said all the sources? From every school?”
The witch was not used to such brazen disregard for her person and showed it openly.
“Yes, I prepared four elemental accumulator artifacts. Marco crafted the mental accumulator at my request, while Alexia brought both the druidic and necromantic ones. Fergus even forged an astral cluster just for this ritual.”
Reymund knew that practitioners of astral and chaos magic hated hearing terms like ‘astral accumulator’ or ‘chaos core.’ So, he intentionally used a term that wouldn’t offend their guest’s sensibilities.
“If I recall, the Blood source was your coven’s responsibility?”
“And what about Chaos?”
It was the most delicate issue. After all, he had entrusted it to someone unknown — not just a stranger, but something… other. Moreover, among other things, what they planned to do was meant to kill creatures exactly like her. The risks were immense; he knew he could not afford to look away from her — not even for a second. In his mind, she was just a woman. Nothing more.
“He’s supposed to be brought too,” the man lowered his gaze under the scrutiny of everyone present. Felicia, like a wild beast, caught the uncertainty in his words.
“So this is our elusive final guest — the one we’ve all been waiting on?”
“Calm your temper, witch,” said one of the latest arrivals — the elemental mage Belen, stepping in on the magician’s behalf.
“Try that again, and see what happens!”
Without turning her head, the witch raised her hand toward the speaker. Her fingers glowed burgundy, and a pair of runes woven from pure magic shimmered into existence before her palm. A masterful feat — materializing spell templates. It’s impressive but useless, especially in magical duels. Still, nearly everyone in the room could perform something similar within their own school of magic — some even across two or more.
Crackles of lightning echoed through the room. The magician was an adept of the fire school, whose strongest manifestation was lightning. That was exactly what he was thinking of unleashing against his unexpected opponent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please extinguish your sources. Be so kind.”
Marco’s voice, usually gentle, melodic, and even a bit flirtatious — like the purr of a well-fed cat — now snapped like a whip, intolerant of any objections. A touch of magic slipped into his tone — unintentionally, but unmistakably.
“Everyone needs to calm down and relax now. There’s still a difficult evening and an even tougher night ahead. With all these artifacts around, I’m afraid to even sneeze — lest something explodes.”
The joke landed perfectly, diffusing the tension better than any lecture ever could.
Rosalyn, his beloved and a water mage, gently placed her hand over Belen’s — a silent plea to stand down. Though not as strong alone, together they formed a magical synergy that magnified their spells manyfold. It was precisely because of this unique trait that they were here today.
Before the witch could lower her hand with the prepared spell, the door swung open, and Sylvia Montague herself entered the room — one of the representatives of the Distorted. Within fractions of a second, three spells flew toward her. One was from Alexia — something from necromantic magic. A blood-red orb burst from Felicia’s fingers. And from the far corner flashed a multicolored beam.
There, distant from everyone else, stood a man who always tried to avoid unnecessary attention. He was a representative of the temple, invited to oversee the upcoming ritual and properly document its execution.
Reymund reacted lightning-fast and managed to cast a shield woven from different schools of magic in front of the girl who had just entered. It was his shield. In fact, at that moment, he removed his protection and redirected it onto the guest. He didn’t need any hand gestures for this, as mages can shape the forms they need using only the power of their mind.
The green and red orbs evaporated as soon as they touched the barrier’s surface, but the Templar’s spell ricocheted. It bounced back toward the people gathered around the fireplace.
Reymund realized he wouldn’t reach it in time — the spell was already loose. A beam of violet-black energy hurtled toward the gathered mages, pulsing with chaotic power. And in an instant, the stream of murderous magic turned into translucent birds, which, circling the people, flew past without hitting anyone present.
“Well… that escalated,” Lord Argus muttered, arching a brow.
“Chaos magic at its finest,” Reymund muttered as he rose and walked toward the girl still standing with her hand extended.
“Let’s refrain from further magical theatrics, shall we, my friends? You all deserve an explanation. This is Lady Sylvia Montague. And before anyone begins asking questions — yes, both Lady Montague and I are in full control of our faculties. It was a deliberate and well-considered decision — to invite one of the Distorted to this ritual. Only someone like Lady Sylvia understands the true nature of what we face. I will not debate this. You entrusted me with this task — and if I am wrong, the blame is mine alone to bear. If I’m wrong, it’s my burden to bear.”
“Greetings. My name is Fergus.”
The sorcerer stepped closer to the girl and made a gesture to indicate that he would be allowed to kiss her hand in greeting.
“An honor to meet a representative of the Astral Brothers,” Sylvia replied, extending her hand.
The other men rose in turn, each offering the same courteous gesture of greeting. With genuine warmth, the young women apologized for their earlier hostility and the magical outburst.
“I understand perfectly. That is exactly why I am helping you. I cannot change what I have become, but I can help others avoid the same fate.”
The young women’s eyes widened, while the men exchanged glances of quiet respect.
“Then allow me to apologize once again for this misunderstanding,” Alexia said, bowing deeply — more than one might expect from a woman of her standing. And considering the status of the Sylvia she had welcomed, it was something out of the ordinary altogether. Yet, it did not stop her in the slightest.
“Well, now that the introductions and preliminaries are over, shall we get down to business?”
Felicia, as if from nowhere, pulled out a blood-red stone, approached the table, and placed it down. The others followed, laying stones one by one at equal distances from each other. It seemed as though the space had become thick with the magic spilled into it. In the end, six stones remained on the table — those brought by the guests.
“Well, I think we can start dinner now. After a short rest, with renewed strength, we’ll get down to business since everyone is here,” Marco said, clearly with his mind focused mainly on the meal, being one of the chief food enthusiasts.
“You’re right. I’ll arrange everything now,” the mage sent a mental signal, putting a bit of power into it.
“We and the guests are ready to begin dinner. Is everything prepared?”
“Yes, it’ll be ready soon. I’ll start bringing everything to the table shortly,” Anji replied, hesitating for a moment.
“Don’t delay,” the mage ordered, sensing Anji’s emotions. “And bring some more wine from my cellars, as well as a couple of bottles I asked you to buy. Everyone could use a little relaxation.”
The concentrators had long been gathered in the hall where the creation of the strongest artifact in decades — or at least among those known —was to take place.
The ritual was scheduled for midnight, as it is the best time for casting spells and enchanting artifacts. All participants in the upcoming event unanimously agreed on this.
Lady Montague took one of the chairs by the fireplace, turning it so she could see everyone present while also feeling the warmth with her other side.
“I will allow myself to ask a question — perhaps the answer has already been given today, but unfortunately, I have not heard it. How exactly will the artifact be transported? It is forbidden to carry it through the astral plane. Moreover, applying magic to it, especially for a prolonged period, is hardly a good idea.”
“Yes, you are right. It shouldn’t come into contact with other forces. We will place it in a special container.”
“You mean you simply want to hide it?”
“No, not at all,” the mage smiled and glanced at Argus.
“The point is, our storage isn’t just a room. It’s a pocket dimension — tethered to an object.”
“And this object?”
The woman made an uncertain gesture, signaling to those around her that she wasn’t quite sure what he meant.
Valeyn met the woman’s violet gaze, pondering whether he should reveal this part of the plan to everyone, especially to the Distorted. After weighing the pros and cons, he decided to take the risk. He had convinced everyone to take this risk. Now it was his turn to show trust — and resolve.
“It’s the carriage by the mansion gates — the storage is inside it.”
The guests exchanged uncertain glances. The guests tried to determine if the mage was joking or telling the truth. Valeyn remained silent. After a long pause, it became clear to everyone: he wasn’t joking.
“Reymund, dear,” Alexia tried to speak softly, careful not to spark another conflict. “Are you sure this is the right decision? There’s still time to change everything. We will support you as our leader.”
Her voice was enveloping, inviting one to wrap themselves in it and sink into bliss — that’s how enchanting it was.
The mage stood up, walked over to the window, and looked outside. The room was at the corner of the building, and part of the window faced exactly the place where the object in question stood.
Everyone fell silent. Although Reymund Valeyn was neither the head of the Magisterium nor a seasoned elder, everyone recognized his talent — the genius of a multi-element mage.
Blessed with both brilliant intellect and boundless potential, he was capable of bearing great responsibility.
“When we finish, and I see the structure of what we’ve created, I will give the final decision,” the mage said without turning to his interlocutors.
It was not a sign of disrespect but rather the highest degree of his concern regarding the matter under discussion.
Fergus rose and stepped into the center of the room.
“I am ready to trust Reymund. I believe that only under his guidance will our plan succeed. But for now, I would like to change before dinner, as we have all just arrived from the road. I also need some rest and meditation, and I recommend you do the same. Now, please excuse me.”
The sorcerer headed for the door, and nearly everyone followed his lead.
The temple guardian approached the man standing by the window, deep in thought. He had not introduced himself, only requesting to be called “the temple guardian” or “the man of the temple.”
“If I may offer my reflections…”
Reymund nodded approvingly, continuing to watch the diligence and the group of people around it — the servants and protégés of the guests. They were strictly forbidden from entering the premises while the ritual details were being discussed. Everyone knew what youth was like and how it tends to poke its nose where it’s not wanted.
The Templar received the approving nod and continued:
“The decision to transport the artifact this way is correct. You chose a fairly inconspicuous diligence. Put a simple groom inside, and no one will suspect a thing. But I insist on security. The temple is ready to provide people who won’t stand out from the crowd. The journey to the cape is long, and the area is dangerous — we’ll be passing through lands infested with the Distorted.“
The mage disliked how the man had already assumed the role of escort — without permission. It’s a temple, and they’re like those kids, sticking their noses in where they’re not wanted.
The mage mentally sent orders to the servant to come in and set the table without further questions. The mage realized where the conversation was going and how it might end. That was why it had to stop.
For a while, they all stood in silence. No one dared to speak first. Anji arrived at just the right moment. The Templar had already started to fidget, clearly intending to say something.
“Master, may I start setting the table?”
“You were told to do it silently. A ghost to slip in, unnoticed,” the mage muttered mentally, and continued aloud: “Yes, Anji. Get started, the guests will be down soon. Have you shown everyone to their rooms?”
The Templar stepped away from the window, nodded to his former interlocutor, and headed toward the exit of the lounge. Anji stepped aside, allowing the man to pass. Then he turned to the table and began to push, trying to center it. The heavy table creaked and resisted the effort.
Without looking up, Reymund asked, “Anji, tell me — am I a talented mage?”
He already knew the guy wouldn’t flatter him. That wasn’t in his nature.
“Well…” Anji paused, the table creaking beneath his hands. He took a deep breath. “Many say so about you. But I don’t trust hearsay.”
“So, no?” Reymund’s brow rose at the statement.
“I didn’t say that. On the contrary, I wanted to explain why yes.”
“And why is that?” The guy’s answer surprised him again.
“Because that’s what my parents told me about you,” the guy said, his gaze fixed on the tabletop. His words were honest, sincere, and inspiring confidence.
“Thanks, Anji.”
At that very moment, as he began closing the door, the table the servant had been struggling to move suddenly glided smoothly into its rightful place.
For the rest of the evening, Anji darted between the kitchen and the sitting room, where the table was being set. Nico had accomplished the impossible, preparing more than ten different dishes — including a whole pheasant, bought earlier that day from local hunters at the market.
They dined for a long time, initially in silence. Everyone was lost in their thoughts and concerns about the coming evening.
Gradually, the tension eased thanks to Marco and Felicia, who became the life of the party. A friendly atmosphere settled in, allowing the guests to relax and forget their worries for a while. Even the ever-watchful Templar and the stern Fergus offered the company a few reserved smiles.
After a hearty dinner, Master Valeyn stood and, nodding to invite Master Argus, led him toward the chamber where everything was already prepared for the ritual.
“Master Argus, it’s time to begin. We’re the first to start. Let’s double-check everything — set up all the concentrators and prepare the vessel.”
“I’ve been looking forward to this moment,” the old man replied eagerly, following briskly behind the mage.
They entered a spherical room at the very heart of the estate. The walls, crafted from black-and-white marble tiles, were threaded with inlaid gold filaments. Even without the ritual paraphernalia, the chamber itself was a priceless treasure to any mage. Now, it was stripped of all unnecessary items — meticulously prepared for the ceremony ahead.
In the center of the chamber stood a massive device composed of five bronze rings, each serving a distinct purpose. Every ring channeled two streams of magic. The outermost was the Elemental Ring, designed to gather energy from elemental accumulators. Once activated, it would begin to spin, setting the inner rings in motion.
The next step was to contain the energy within the remaining rings, releasing only the flows belonging to the second ring — the Ring of Nature. This ring housed the magic of the Druids and the magic of Death.
The third ring represented the Magic of Life, encompassing Mental Magic and Blood Magic. The fourth was the Spatial Ring — the most enigmatic of all, capable of producing unpredictable effects while granting immense power. It united the forces of Chaos and the Astral into one.
Finally, there was the Ring of Enchantment, a concentrating and directing ring. Like the magic of enchantment itself, it embodied the understanding and skill to manipulate magical structures. Its purpose was to draw and compress all the gathered energies into the center of the device.
There, a similarly crafted object — only miniature and made from one of the rarest materials on the entire continent — would be placed. It was distorted gold, a substance formed only when gold resides within a being undergoing distortion or transformation into something utterly alien to this world.
Gold forged in this way, having undergone the necessary metamorphoses, gains the unique ability to store vast quantities of diverse magical energies without breaking down. It is the only material capable of holding more than two different streams of magic simultaneously.
The older man gazed in mute amazement at the grandeur of this design.
“Master Argus, may I?” the mage extended his hand, eager to receive the item for which the venerable master had been summoned.
“Yes, yes,” the old man hurriedly patted the pockets of his coat. Retrieving a small box, he opened it — and the room was instantly bathed in a soft golden glow. The mage admired the magical and jeweler’s craftsmanship.
“Argus… you… That is exquisite,” Raymond began, faltering as he was captivated by the beauty of the enchanted piece. “Let’s place it in the central sphere.”
The older man handed over a pair of gloves to isolate Valeyn’s internal source from the artifact, preventing it from absorbing the mage’s life energy. He vividly remembered the moment when one of his apprentices touched a similar item with bare hands — and died within seconds. The sight was horrifying; the apprentice had become like a twisted creature, only partially transformed.
The artifact was carefully placed at the center of the entire apparatus. The men then took turns inspecting all the concentrators set on small pedestals. Next to each concentrator, they began arranging pre-prepared items representing various magical schools. Although Reymund considered this step unnecessary, Argus insisted on it.
“Better to do everything we can since we don’t know how many drops of power might be missing. That way, everyone gets at least a little extra strength.”
Soon, thanks to the efforts of the two mages, all the necessary preparations were complete.
“Anji, please call my guests and escort them to the ritual chamber.”
This time, the mental link was unusual— the presence of so many different magical sources made it hard to focus.
“I’ll do that now, Master. Anything else?”
“Please also take care of the guests’ attendants.”
“They all settled in the gazebo by the pond. They flat-out refused to enter the house. They said they were instructed to stay here. I didn’t argue. Very well, Master, I’ll bring them some food and drinks.”
The guests were sitting in the parlor, engaged in a leisurely conversation, waiting to be called. When the servant entered and invited everyone to follow him, it seemed as if they didn’t understand the language being spoken. But after a brief pause and a moment of hesitation, they all rose as one and started following the young man. After leading the mages to the correct door, the servant stepped away. One by one, the guests entered the chamber.
Anji went back into the kitchen, where Nico was still at work. The girl was worn out; a strand of hair had slipped free from under the white headscarf she wore, but Nico paid it no mind.
“Nico, how are you holding up?” Anji asked, having just cleared away all the dirty dishes that had cluttered half the kitchen. The girl was busy prepping food for the next day — or maybe in case any of the guests wanted a late-night snack.
“There’s still a lot to do, but I’ll manage,” Nico said, clearly trying to sound stronger and more resilient than she felt. She’d been cooking all day without sitting down, and it was wearing on her.
“Anji, can I ask you something?” she asked hesitantly.
“Of course, ask away.”
“Can I stay here overnight? It’s a long way home, and it’s already late.”
Anji looked at her, surprised. He hadn’t even thought about her needing to stay or how she’d get home. Seeing his reaction, Nico quickly added, “I’ll sleep right here in the kitchen and make breakfast for your guests in the morning. But if the master objects, I can leave.”
Anji had a vague idea of how Master Valeyn might react to kicking out a young woman late at night — but before he could figure out what to say to Nico, something darted between his legs. His pet cat leaped onto one of the barrels, usually filled with water, and hissed fiercely. Then, at eye level, a shadow flickered so fast that in the dim light cast by the brazier and a few candles, it was impossible to make out who — or what — it was.
Only after a few seconds, when the animal landed, did Anji recognize the strange creature sitting opposite the cat — the very same curious beast he’d glimpsed once before, locked up in Master Marko’s quarters when he’d helped with the belongings.
“Ran away, you little rascal,” Anji muttered.
Nico let out a quiet squeak, startled by the creature. It wasn’t frightening— just very unusual. The cat remained bristled and tense while the strange animal reached out with its paws, trying to pet the displeased feline, which only made the cat even more bewildered. The creature behaved almost like a person, stretching out its limbs in an earnest attempt to soothe the annoyed cat.
“Fine, let it roam. If anything happens, that’s not my problem — or the masters’,” Anji said with a shrug. “So, what were we talking about? Oh, right, I almost forgot — we need to prepare food for the guests’ attendants.”
“Of course, I’ll get it ready now. There’s still a bit left,” Nico replied.
Under the white cloth lay a few pieces of meat, some vegetables, and other provisions. The woman transferred everything onto a silver platter brought from the pantry and added a loaf of bread. Meanwhile, Anji fetched some wine and poured it into a decanter. With the food arranged neatly on a tray, he headed out to the gazebo in front of the manor.
Nico watched him go, and he smiled at her as he closed the door behind him. She blushed and reflexively tucked a restless strand of hair behind her ear.
The gazebo stood just a few steps away from where the carriage was parked — the very carriage they’d been ordered to guard. After all attempts and pleas to be allowed inside were denied, the group retreated to the gazebo for some shelter. There was a small brazier and a couple of lanterns there. Unlike the manor, the outside air was warm, so the brazier was used more for light than for heat.
Lantz was chatting with Alma while Clarissa sat on a bench, her feet resting on a low fence that separated the gazebo from the surrounding foliage. Emilie leaned against one of the columns supporting the roof. His eyes glowed faintly as he tried to peer inside the manor, at least on a magical level, to see what was happening.
“It’s started,” he said quietly, alerting the group to the event he was witnessing. “Incredible. With power like that, you could change the world.”
Indeed, through his magical sight, he could see the space around a small spot deep inside the house ripple with gathered energy.
A young man, a servant of the manor’s master, was walking toward them carrying a tray of food. As he approached, the servant noticed Emilie’s glowing eyes but didn’t react. He simply walked past and set the tray down on the table, which already held a decanter, a plate of food, and some glasses.
Everyone except Emilie immediately reached for the food.
“I’m starving. It smells so good… mmm,” Clarissa said greedily, licking her lips as she grabbed a piece of meat.
“I think I could eat all of this by myself,” Alma poured herself some wine and dove into the food as well.
Anji’s gaze landed on Lantz, who was smirking arrogantly at the servant. To Lantz, he wasn’t a person — just someone obligated to follow orders and carry out tasks. Wanting to avoid any potential conflict, Anji turned to leave — but didn’t get far.
“Wait, where are you going? Stay and share a drink with us. Tell us what you do.”
Lantz was mocking him.
“I have to go.”
“Then pour us some wine before you leave.”
“What, you can’t manage it yourself?”
“You’re asking for trouble again, brat!” Lantz started to rise, ready to continue his harsh lesson for the proud servant that had begun earlier that day.
“Something’s not right. Hey, you guys, listen up!” Emilie called out, clearly agitated. He turned toward the others sitting in the gazebo.
Suddenly, Anji felt a sharp pain as his diadem dug into his head, burning like fire. The sudden agony clouded his mind, but the sensation showed no signs of fading. Chaos erupted around him; the four in the gazebo jumped to their feet and rushed toward the mansion. Suddenly, it became as bright as day. Anji was swept along a few feet as if a powerful gust of wind had knocked him off his feet and dragged him across the ground. Another flash of pain struck, this time in his abdomen. Then, the glowing light vanished. Moments later, Anji’s consciousness faded as well, plunging the entire world into darkness.
