The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 49

Davian stared ahead grimly as he walked alongside Elder Eilinar down yet another flight of dimly-lit, rough stone stairs, deeper into the heart of Tol Athian.

"You’re angry," noted Nashrel, giving him a sideways glance.

"Yes," Davian replied bluntly, too frustrated to be polite. He gritted his teeth for a few seconds in silence, then scowled, unable to contain his exasperation. "You and the Council are making the wrong decision. Having Gifted available to heal the wounded would save many lives."

Nashrel made a calming gesture. "I’m on your side, Davian. If I had my way, we would be at the Shields as we speak," he said calmly. "But the others did make some valid points. The palace can hardly expect us to help, not if they’re not willing to change the Tenets so that we can at least defend ourselves."

"But you won’t even talk to them," said Davian in frustration.

"And as we told you, if changing the Tenets is not a part of the discussion, there is little point."

"But if you just -"

"It’s not just the king’s stubbornness regarding the Tenets, Davian." Nashrel stopped and turned to him, a serious look on his face. "This vitriol we’ve been hearing from him - these open threats against the Gifted - isn’t something we can just ignore. You have to understand… all of us remember the Unseen War like it was yesterday, and what we’ve heard coming from the palace has been stirring up old memories. Old fears. "

"So the solution is to hide in here and hope it all goes away?"

Nashrel frowned at that. "Show a little respect," he said quietly, anger just beneath the surface. Davian coloured, knowing he’d overstepped, but Nashrel started walking again before Davian could respond. "I know you’re frustrated, but the Elders on the Council went through things during the war that you can only imagine. Since then, being behind these walls is the only way many of them can feel safe. Fates, I can name four Elders who haven’t left the Tol in near twenty years! These are deep-seated fears, Davian - not the kind that can be easily overcome. Especially not when they are fed by the king like this."

Davian shook his head. "Maybe you’re right," he conceded. "But it doesn’t excuse the way they’re abandoning everyone. It doesn’t give them the right to bury their heads in the sand while the Blind threaten their city. Even the Gifted from Tol Shen have realised that."

Nashrel didn’t respond for a while. The stairwells and passageways seemed to narrow the further down they travelled; here, Davian would have been able to touch both walls simultaneously with his elbows if he’d tried. The rock of Ilin Tora itself had slowly transformed from the carefully carved, light-brown texture of the upper levels to a jagged, menacing black, rough-hewn and almost volcanic in its appearance. The air was musty, and there was such a fierce chill to it that Davian shivered despite his thick cloak.

Eventually the Elder sighed. "There’s some merit to what you’re saying, Davian. And the news about Shen surprised me. But the Council have made their decision; what’s done is done." He shook his head. "Just be glad they agreed to let you see Tenvar. I wasn’t sure they were going to do that much, to be honest, after you… expressed your displeasure about our decision not to fight. And Tol Athian is not in the habit of giving strangers free access to prisoners, either."

Davian grunted. "I can’t say I appreciated having to Read them like it was some kind of parlour trick, though," he said in disgust.

"They needed proof that you were really an Augur - some guarantee you weren’t lying - before they could let you down here. It was not unreasonable." Nashrel gave a slight smile. "Anyway, Fethrin and Ielsa certainly regret making you do it."

Davian snorted. "They brought that on themselves."

"That they did," said Nashrel in amusement.

They turned down another passageway; here Essence orbs had been replaced with traditional torches, so sparsely placed along the hallways that it was almost pitch-black when walking in between them. The only sound was the constant echoing of the two men’s boots on the hard stone, and even that faint noise was quickly swallowed by the darkness.

They emerged into a long hallway, wider and better-lit than those preceding. Rather than blank black rock, iron doorways with small barred windows lined the passage, and from the occasional cough, Davian could tell that the dungeon had at least a few occupants.

Finally they came to a stop in front of a cell, one of the last in the hallway. Dark though it was, Davian could make out the crouched human form within. He waited until Nashrel unlocked the steel-barred door, then turned to the Elder.

“I’d prefer not to go in there unarmed.”

Nashrel hesitated, then drew a short dagger from his belt. "Use this for anything but self-defence, and Augur or not, I’ll have you thrown out of the Tol. Immediately."

Davian nodded. "Of course."

“Davian!” came a familiar voice from inside the cell. “I see the Gifted know what you are, now. And haven’t turned you in yet. Good for you.” Tenvar walked forward so that his face was pressed up against the bars of the tiny window. He looked like he hadn’t washed in days, and his beard was growing out to give him an entirely unkempt look.

Davian glared at him, fury burning in his stomach. “Stand back,” he growled.

Tenvar did as he was told.

Davian opened the door with one hand, gripping the knife in the other. He doubted Tenvar could overpower him in his evidently weakened state, but there was no point taking the chance.

Davian entered the cell warily, but Tenvar had taken a seat on the opposite side of the small room. Despite his condition he looked relaxed, even a little smug, his legs crossed and reclining as if the stone bench was the most comfortable chair in the world.

Davian felt another flash of anger. “I’ve come to find out who you’re working for. And how to stop the Blind,” he said, keeping his tone as calm as he could manage.

Tenvar smiled. “Ah, so that’s what they decided to call them. How unoriginal. And they’re here already, are they? Faster than I expected,” he said cheerfully. “Thank-you for that information. Nobody had told me I would be rescued quite so soon.”

“Rescued?” Davian gave a bitter laugh. “You’re not going anywhere, Tenvar. I’ll see you dead before I see you free.”

“Threatening my life?” Ilseth sighed. “Davian, you forget that I know you a little. Not well, perhaps, I’ll grant you that. But enough to know that you’re no murderer. You don’t have a violent bone in your body.”

Davian said nothing for a moment, then took a deep breath. He wasn’t here to argue with Tenvar or rise to his taunts. He was here to Read him, plain and simple.

He concentrated, reaching out until he could feel Tenvar’s mind. He was immediately, unsurprisingly presented with a locked box.

Davian examined the box in silence. There were other memories outside it but Davian didn’t bother to look at them; if Tenvar didn’t feel the need to hide them, they were unimportant. He tried to remember how he’d broken into Malshash’s box, but the longer he stared at Tenvar’s, the more impregnable it seemed to become.

“I’m shielded, Davian,” said Ilseth, his tone relaxed, even slightly amused. “I’ve kept my thoughts private for forty years. From before the real Augurs fell. You’re not breaking in.”

Davian didn’t reply, but allowed his focus to wane for a few moments. Ilseth was putting all his concentration into maintaining that shield; even if Davian tried forcing the box open he would probably fail. He needed Ilseth’s attention elsewhere.

His stomach churned a little, but it needed to be done.

He leaned over and as coldly as possible, plunged his knife into Tenvar’s thigh.

Tenvar screamed in surprised pain; even as Davian pulled the knife out again, he slammed into Tenvar’s mental box with everything he had. It disintegrated, and Davian moaned as Tenvar’s agony flooded through to his own mind. He ignored the pain, clenching his fists.

Behind him, he could hear Nashrel yelling something, rushing into the cell. If Davian was going to get information, he had to be quick.

He searched for a way to stop the Blind, but to his frustration he discovered that Tenvar knew very little of the invasion. It made sense, he supposed; if he’d had something so vital in his memories then Devaed would surely have found a way to have him killed, tucked away in a Tol Athian dungeon or not.

Davian moved on to the question that had been burning inside him for so long now. Why had Tenvar given him the Vessel, sent him away before the slaughter of everyone else in the school?

He located the memory he was after, then took a deep breath.

Davian waited.

The small room was dark, dank, and had a musty smell which made him sporadically wrinkle his nose in disgust. A jumble of discarded boxes were heaped in the corner, where the damp had already contrived to rot through some of them. Otherwise, the room was empty. There were no windows this far beneath the surface of course, but his lamp, set down in the middle of the room, lit the black stone walls well enough.

He hoped this meeting would not take long. Being discovered in this section of Tol Athian, so deep beneath the ancient foundations, would result in questions he may not easily be able to answer.

He began to pace, tracking an imaginary path along the cold stone floor. He had received this summons so abruptly, so directly, that he did not know what to expect. For the thousandth time he pondered the possibility that it was a trap. The message had been written in an ancient Darecian dialect; there were only four or five people in Andarra who still knew that language, so a ruse seemed unlikely. Why he was being called upon at this vital moment, though – now, when he was so close to succeeding – he simply could not imagine.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he marched back and forth, mentally categorizing the possibilities. None of them were good.

Behind him, the lamp went out, plunging the room into darkness.

He froze mid-step, a shiver running up his spine as he heard the door to the stairwell creak shut. The hair at the base of his neck began to prickle.

“You have come,” a deep voice rumbled in approval.

Davian turned. The room seemed lit again, but it was a cold, pale luminescence, as if he were seeing through the darkness rather than by a natural light. In front of the closed door stood the faint outline of a lone man, cloaked and hooded, face shrouded in shadow. The stranger made no move to enter the room further.

“I would not refuse a summons from the master we serve,” said Davian. The man had to be using kan to manipulate Essence, illuminating the room but keeping himself in darkness. Not a trap, then – something more terrifying by far, in fact, though Davian could not fathom how one of them could be on this side of the Boundary.

They weren’t a myth, then. This was one of the Venerate.

The hooded man nodded, oblivious to Davian’s train of thought. “That is good,” he growled. “Then you would not refuse a task from him, either.” Davian thought he must be altering his voice somehow; certainly no-one could naturally sound so gravelly. Distracted by the thought, the stranger’s words took a few moments to sink in.

“It would be an honour to serve Lord Devaed in any task,” he said, almost tripping over the words in his haste to respond. The Venerate were not to be trifled with, but the question burned within him - he hesitated a second longer, swallowing hard, working up the courage to continue. “Before we proceed… if I may ask… why now? I mean no disrespect, but what could be worth risking my place here, so close to the end?” He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, not to know.

There was a long silence; though Davian could not see beneath the other man’s hood, he could feel his gaze burrowing into his skull.

“Do you know why I chose this place to meet?” The words were spoken so softly that Davian barely heard them.

He shifted, his sense of unease growing. “No.”

“I chose it because the walls here have no Remembering.” The man raised his hand, brushing the stone with his fingertips. “In this room, Tenvar, I can do whatever I please.”

There was no warning.

Davian gasped as the index finger of his right hand began to burn; a second later a shriek ripped from his throat as agony coursed through him, nerves screaming as they were sliced open. He grasped the finger tightly but to no avail; he collapsed on the floor as it began to tear open from the tip downward, slowly splitting fingernail and then flesh in a shower of blood and pain, the bare bone itself splintering as impossibly fine strands of Essence pulled it carefully, inexorably, in opposite directions.

“Stop!” he sobbed, writhing helplessly. Already the finger was split down to the second joint. He moaned, heart pounding wildly, trying to focus on anything but the pain. “Stop,” he choked again.

After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the force exerted upon his rent flesh vanish. Essence flowed around him; his hand began to cool, and something dropped wetly to the floor. The pain eased. He sat up from his prostrate position, then turned away and retched, the bile acidic in his throat. The small, pulpy mass of twisted and torn flesh next to him was all that remained of his forefinger. On his hand, the dark red blood had vanished, and a smooth, scarred stump sat where the finger had been taken off. Only a throbbing remembrance of pain remained.

“That is a reminder,” the man said quietly. “I chose only a finger, to punish your insolence. I could as easily have chosen something more… important.” Davian shuddered, scrambling backward away from both the mangled digit and his attacker, until his back was pressed against the cold stone wall. The man seemed not to notice. “You are not here to question,” he continued, “but to serve as your master sees fit. Do you understand?”

Davian nodded, eyes wide with fear.

“Now. We received your message. You think the escherii’s attacks have finally borne fruit – that the heir is hiding in Caladel?”

Davian swallowed, his nod vigorous this time. “Nashrel insisted on holding the Trials there early this year. It’s for reasons of efficiency, supposedly, but that’s a weak excuse at best - it seems clear they are trying to get the boy out of harm’s way.” He paused. “I have already made sure I am part of the group going there. If my suspicions are correct, Eilinar will reveal the true purpose of the journey just before we leave.”

“Good.” Suddenly the stranger was moving, striding across the room; Davian pressed further back against the wall, as if trying to sink into the stone itself. The man stopped directly in front of him, towering over him.

Then, in one smooth motion, he retrieved something from beneath his robes. He held it out to Davian.

“Take it,” he instructed.

Davian leaned forward hesitantly, then removed the item from the man’s gloved hand, almost snatching it in his haste to retreat again. He managed to drag his gaze downward for a moment, giving the object a quick glance. It was small, small enough to fit snugly in his palm, and appeared to be a metallic cube of some kind.

As Davian took the object, the man’s sleeve pulled back slightly. Davian saw it for only a moment, but there was a symbol tattooed on his wrist – the ilsharat, the symbol of the Boundary, he thought – that seemed to glow as Davian touched the box. He looked back up straight away, knowing he was not supposed to have seen what he had. The other man, fortunately, appeared not to notice.

“There is a boy in the school at Caladel called Davian. He is an Augur - barely aware of his abilities, however he knows how to discern deception. You know how to counter that?”

“Of course,” said Davian, still dazed.

“Good. You are to give him that box, and tell him that he needs to deliver it for you. It doesn’t matter what reason you give, just ensure it is something that he can believe, and that it motivates him sufficiently to go through with it. Allow him to leave the school safely and undetected.”

Davian nodded. He had a hundred questions, but he knew better than to ask most of them. “Where is he to take it?”

“North,” replied the man. “Tell him to head north. He will know where to go thereafter.”

Davian coughed. “My lord, if there were something more specific, perhaps it would be easier to….” He trailed off, realising what he was saying. “As our master wishes. What of the heir?”

“He dies, as planned. Along with the rest,” said the man. “No survivors, no-one to confirm that Davian is missing. Understand: this is even more important than killing Torin Andras. Davian must deliver the box at all costs.”

Davian repressed a frown. That was explicitly different from what he’d been told before. Still, there could be no doubt that this man had been sent by Aarkein Devaed. Whatever had caused the change in plan, it seemed he was not to be privy to it.

He gave a weak nod. “It must be important,” he said cautiously.

The man paused. “It will ensure our master’s return from his exile in Talan Gol. It will ensure our victory, Tenvar.” He leaned forward. “Is that motivation enough for you?”

“I will not fail you,” Davian managed to stutter out, but the other man had already spun, heading towards the door. A shadowy swirl of kan covered the messenger as he reached the heavy oak, and he seemed to melt through the wood, vanishing from sight. As soon as he had gone, the room was once more plunged into darkness.

Davian huddled further into the corner, eyes squeezed shut, nursing his hand and choking back the sobs that threatened to explode out of him now that he was alone.

He did not move for a very, very long time.

Davian gasped as he dragged himself out of Tenvar’s mind, stumbling backward and then crashing to the ground as Nashrel tackled him.

He allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and shoved bodily against the wall, mind still reeling from the impact of forcing his way into Tenvar’s thoughts, as well as what he’d just seen.

"Give me the knife," said Nashrel, his voice high with tension. "And don’t move."

Davian released his grip on the bloodstained blade, letting it fall to the ground, his mind spinning. The stranger had been linked to the box, just as Caeden was. What did that mean? That Caeden was associated with him, somehow? That the box had been linked to someone else initially? It hadn’t been Caeden himself; the man in the hood had been too tall, too thin - and the hand Davian had seen was wrinkled, the hand of an older man.

Another thought struck him. Given what the stranger had said at the end, why would Malshash have told him to follow through on getting the box to Caeden… unless Malshash wanted Devaed to be freed? Davian went cold at the thought. He’d never once considered it before, but after what he’d just seen….

He clenched his fists. The memory had told him a little… but not enough. And in many ways, it had only raised more questions.

"What did you do to him?" Nashrel’s voice broke through Davian’s train of thought.

"I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to kill him," Davian reassured the Elder. "I just needed to disrupt his concentration so I could get to his memories. I knew you’d be able to heal the wound. He’ll be okay."

"I’m not so sure about that."

Davian frowned, twisting from his position pressed up against the stone wall to see what the Elder was talking about.

Ilseth lay, mouth and eyes wide open, on the floor. Nashrel had already used Essence to heal his leg wound, but the man’s expression was… vacant. Lifeless. His chest rose and fell, but it was as if a light had gone out behind his eyes.

Davian grimaced. Malshash had warned him about the possibility of doing permanent damage.

For a moment he felt glad, like perhaps some form of justice had been done.

Then he recoiled at the thought, felt bile swirling in his stomach. He’d wanted vengeance for those who had died at Caladel, certainly. For what had happened to Asha. But he wasn’t the kind of man to take it with violence.

Was he?

Davian swallowed. His emotions had been… murky, ever since accessing Malshash’s memory back in Deilannis. He still felt like he’d done those things at the wedding, killed all those people. Just as he now rubbed at his forefinger, vaguely surprised to find it intact.

He shook his head to clear it. He would deal with whatever this was later. For the moment, he had more important things to worry about.

He shivered as he remembered the hooded man’s words to Ilseth. It will ensure our victory.

Then he froze.

"We need to leave," he said to Nashrel suddenly.

The Elder grunted. "You certainly do. Because I warned you what would happen if you used that knife."

"No." Davian looked at him, urgent. "There’s something you need to know. We need to get to wherever you store your Vessels."

Davian’s heart pounded as he explained. Whatever else happened, whether he was an enemy or just a pawn in all that was happening, Caeden needed to be kept far, far away from that box.

Caeden sat on the low stone wall next to Kara, silent as he digested what the princess had just told him.

He stared out over the empty courtyard, the only other people in view a pair of distant guards as they went about their pre-dawn patrol. The space would be full of soldiers soon enough, and given the news, today more than ever the mood during their training would be sombre. The Blind had defeated General Jash’tar’s army. Were coming straight for the city.

Caeden shivered a little, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was just from the crisp night air.

He glanced across at the princess, chest constricting a little as he realised that it meant his time with her was rapidly drawing to a close, too. These early morning conversations between them had become a routine over the past week; Kara would slip out of her rooms without her father’s guards realising, knock at his door, and the two of them would come out here and spend hours just… talking.

He knew the princess was being nothing more than friendly, but Caeden had begun to live for those times. Though he’d often enjoyed his talks with Wirr, Davian, Taeris and the others, the spectre of his past had always hovered over those exchanges. Around Kara, that never seemed to be the case. Their conversations were more relaxed, lighter somehow even if the topics were serious; it seemed that with her, for just a few hours each day, he was able to forget all the problems he faced – that they all faced – and just take pleasure in someone else’s company.

Today, however, was different. Kara had looked exhausted when he’d opened his door this morning, and now he knew why.

"How soon until they arrive?" asked Caeden, his stomach churning.

"A couple of days - maybe less, if they push. Nobody is really sure." Kara watched Caeden’s expression. "What are you and Taeris going to do?"

Caeden hesitated. He hadn’t confided Taeris' contingency plan to the princess - not due to a lack of trust, but rather because Caeden didn’t want to put the princess in yet another awkward position. Knowing her as he now did, Caeden had no doubt that if he told Kara that he and Taeris were intending to break into the Tol, she would feel guilty for not acting on the information. Would feel party to whatever happened as a result.

But he realised now that he couldn’t leave her completely in the dark, either. She hadn’t made him put the Shackle back on - if he left without warning, she would think he’d just run away, abandoned the city. Abandoned her.

Before he could speak, though, he spotted a harried-looking Taeris hurrying towards them. Caeden grimaced, but nodded to the older man and stood.

"Caeden," said Taeris in half-irritated relief when he got a little closer. His eyes widened as he recognised Caeden’s companion, and his demeanour transformed. He gave a low bow. "Your Highness. I… I’m afraid I will need to borrow Caeden for a while."

Kara nodded slowly. "That is fine, Taeris," she said, suddenly the cool and formal version of herself that Caeden now saw only on occasion. She turned to Caeden with the hint of a wry smile. "Perhaps there will be an opportunity to continue this sometime later today."

She began to walk away. Caeden watched her go in frustration, knowing why Taeris had come to find him.

"Your Highness," he abruptly called after her. "Please wait a moment."

He hurried over to the princess, ignoring Taeris' surprised look.

"I’m not sure we will get the chance to speak again before the Blind arrive, Your Highness," Caeden said in a meaningful tone, locking gazes with Kara. "I think other matters may… keep me away."

Kara looked between Caeden and Taeris for a few seconds, then nodded in understanding. Her eyes were suddenly sad.

"Then we will just have to wait until after everything is over," she said softly. She stepped forward, her lips brushing against his cheek. "Fates guide you, Caeden."

Caeden swallowed, blushing. "You too, Kara," he said, quietly enough that Taeris couldn’t overhear.

Kara just nodded, then turned and disappeared back into the main palace building without another word.

Caeden watched her go, then turned to Taeris and opened his mouth to explain.

"I… don’t want to know," said Taeris gruffly, shaking his head. There was something approaching an amused smile on his lips, though it faded almost straight away. "You’ve heard about the Blind?"

"Just then," said Caeden. He hesitated. "The Travel Stone is really our only option?"

Taeris nodded. "It is now, and we should think about using it straight away. It’s early enough that we might catch some of the Gifted still asleep in the Tol, maybe buy ourselves a couple of extra minutes to get the memory device working." He glanced around. "We can’t just open the portal out in the open, though; the last thing we need is someone seeing and trying to interfere. Doing it from my quarters would be best."

Caeden nodded, and they started towards Taeris' rooms.

After a few minutes they rounded a corner and Taeris issued a soft, panicked curse. Caeden looked up at him in alarm as the scarred man faltered, breaking his stride for a moment as he stared down the hallway ahead.

Caeden followed his gaze. A blond-haired man in a fine blue cloak was walking towards them, though he was absorbed in reading some papers in his hand and hadn’t yet noticed their presence. Caeden glanced at Taeris, who had now bowed his head, evidently doing his best to hide his face from the stranger.

The Administrator looked up just before they were past and came to an abrupt halt, holding up a hand to indicate that they should do the same.

"Taeris Sarr," he said once Taeris had stopped, a quiet certainty in his voice.

Taeris' shoulders slumped, and he nodded. "Duke Andras," he responded dully.

Caeden’s stomach twisted. The duke was one of the people that they had been desperate to avoid, that Taeris was certain would turn them over to Administration.

The duke studied Taeris and Caeden for a long moment.

"Try not to be seen," he said.

He turned his attention back to his papers and walked off without another word.

Taeris and Caeden both gaped after the Administrator for a few seconds.

"Why didn’t he raise the alarm?" asked Caeden.

Taeris shook his head in confusion. "I… I don’t know," he admitted. "But let’s get moving before he changes his mind."

They made it to Taeris' rooms without further incident; the few other people they passed in the hallways all seemed distracted, hurrying about their business and paying little heed to the two men.

Once they were inside Taeris turned to Caeden, still looking a little shaken.

"Before we do this - I need to make one thing clear, Caeden. This was a last resort for good reason. I can get us in, but not out again. If we let the Gifted catch us, they will lock us up and we’ll be of no help to anyone… so whatever happens, you’re going to need to get free. Fight your way out if you have to, but make sure you get to the Shields by the time the Blind get here. Even if that means leaving me behind."

Caeden didn’t reply for a moment, wanting to protest, knowing that this was his last chance to change his mind. He’d suspected that this would be the way of things, ever since Taeris had told him the plan… was he really was capable of fighting his way out of Tol Athian, though? He knew he probably had the raw strength; if his memories were fully returned, he would hopefully have the skill as well.

But whether he would be able to do it without hurting anyone was another matter entirely. Despite their stubbornness, the Gifted were to a large extent innocent in all of this, and Caeden had no desire to injure anyone at the Tol. Deep down, though, he understood that an escape without casualties may turn out to be impossible.

And he did need to escape - needed to do everything he could to fight the Blind.

"I understand," he said reluctantly.

Taeris gave him a relieved nod. "Are you ready? Once we start this process, Administrators will be on their way. We won’t get a second chance at it."

Caeden took a couple of steadying breaths. "Ready."

Taeris put his hand above the Travel Stone and closed his eyes. A stream of white energy started pouring from him into the stone; he stayed like that for several seconds before stopping the flow with a slight shudder.

He picked up the stone from the table and held it out, away from his body. The Vessel began to glow; a shimmering line of light appeared in front of Taeris, growing, spinning and expanding until it was twice Caeden’s height and just as wide.

Then it vanished, replaced by a hole that simply hung in the air. Caeden peered through it into what appeared to be a vast storage room.

He glanced at Taeris, who made an impatient gesture.

“Go. Quickly,” the Elder said through gritted teeth. "I can’t hold it open for more than a few seconds."

Caeden braced himself, then tentatively stepped through the hole. He’d expected some sort of sensation or resistance, but it was no different to stepping through a doorway.

Taeris followed and the portal blinked shut behind him. He stepped quickly over to a nearby table, scooping up a polished black stone and pocketing it before turning to Caeden.

“Now,” he said, “Let’s find this device.”

Caeden barely heard the words.

On a shelf, not far from where the stone had been, was the bronze box.

To Caeden’s eyes it burned like the sun, though he knew only he and Davian saw it that way. Taeris probably hadn’t even noticed it yet.

The tattoo on Caeden’s wrist was shining brighter than ever, too, even through the fabric of his shirt.

“Where should we look?” asked Caeden, not taking his eyes from the Vessel.

Taeris shuffled his feet, casting a nervous glance towards the door. “It’s large. A pillar of stone, about three feet tall if I remember correctly. If we just -”

Taeris' voice faded into the background.

Caeden stepped forward, reached out his hand, and picked up the bronze Vessel from the shelf.

The explosion nearly tore him from his feet.

He stumbled backward, throwing a hand to his eyes to shield them from the intense red light that had erupted in front of him. Taeris was yelling something at him, screaming it, but there was a roar of power that drowned out everything else.

When Caeden’s eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, he felt a stab of fear. Before him was an enormous vortex of pure red fire, swirling and coalescing, stretching from roof to ceiling. He stared at it for a few moments in shock, then glanced down at the box in his hand. It was warm, but its glow – so bright a moment ago – had vanished.

As had the glow from his wrist.

“What is it?” he screamed to Taeris.

“I don’t know!” Taeris yelled back, only just audible. “We should leave it be, though! There’s no telling what it does!”

To his left, the door to the storeroom burst open.

Caeden turned to see a wild-eyed Davian rushing inside, followed closely by a red-cloaked man he recognised as Elder Eilinar. Both men stared at the vortex in shock, then headed straight for Caeden.

"Caeden!" screamed Davian, seeing the box in his hands. "Put it down!"

Caeden barely heard, even his shocked delight at seeing Davian alive registering as only a minor distraction. Somehow he knew that the vortex was meant for him. He was supposed to step into it. It would take him… he wasn’t sure where, but it was somewhere he wanted to go. Somewhere he needed to go.

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he yelled, including both Davian and Taeris in the apology. “I have to do this.”

"Caeden! Don’t!" It was Taeris. "We need you here!"

Caeden closed his eyes. Breathed steadily.

Then he spun, sprinting as hard as he could towards the tunnel of fire. He could sense Taeris and Davian both moving to stop him, but he was too fast. He was always going to be too fast.

He leapt into the vortex at full speed, bracing himself.

There was heat, the briefest instant of feeling like the flames were dancing on his skin. The shouts behind him faded.

And then he was somewhere else.