The council chamber stood nearly empty.
Maps of the surrounding regions still glowed across the central table, each one marked with pulsing red indicators where tears had begun to widen. Reports arrived in a constant stream—disturbances in the northern marches, refined underworld entities sighted near the eastern trade roads, structured attacks on isolated outposts. The collective strength of the full council would have been their greatest asset in containing the crisis. That option no longer existed.
They had been forced to split.
Elyndra Silverveil stood at the head of the table, silver hair catching the dim light of the remaining scrying crystals.
The decision had not been made lightly. Dividing their forces meant each member would face threats with only a fraction of the power they could have brought to bear together. Yet the alternative—allowing entire regions to fall while they remained concentrated in one place—was unacceptable.
The other council members had already departed, each bound for a different sector of the growing emergency. She alone remained to coordinate the capital and its immediate surroundings.
She turned to the captains of her personal mage corps. None of them were human. A tall night-elf with pale violet eyes stood at the forefront, flanked by a stone-skinned gargoyle mage whose wings were folded tightly against his back, a serpentine lamia channeler with scales the color of polished obsidian, and two more elven war-casters whose staves already hummed with ready power.
"Deploy in overlapping rings around the town," Elyndra ordered, voice calm but absolute.
"No gaps. I want continuous surveillance on every approach, every line, and every residual fluctuation in the barrier network. If anything larger than a bird crosses the outer markers, I am to be informed before it takes a second step."
The night-elf captain inclined her head. "Understood, Lady Silverveil. Do we engage on sight or hold for confirmation?"
"Hold only long enough to identify the nature of the threat," Elyndra replied. "These new arrivals are not the mindless spawn we faced before. They are refined. Intelligent according to the reports pouring in. If you hesitate too long, you may not receive a second chance. Prioritize the safety of the civilian sectors, but do not allow any entity to establish a foothold inside the walls."
The gargoyle mage’s gravelly voice followed. "And if a tear opens directly within the town?"
Elyndra’s expression did not change. "Then you collapse the immediate area and buy time. I will redirect what forces I can. We no longer have the luxury of perfect solutions."
The captains exchanged brief glances, then bowed and moved to carry out the orders. Their footsteps faded down the corridor as they began issuing secondary commands to the wider mage units already stationed throughout the capital.
Elyndra remained alone for a moment longer, eyes fixed on the central scrying map. One particular signature had vanished only minutes earlier—Jason’s. His mana presence, distinctive and overwhelming even at a distance, had disappeared in the span of a single blink. There had been no gradual fading, no sign of travel by conventional means. One moment he was within range of the settlement he had claimed. The next, he was simply gone.
It was not a coincidence.
The threat he had warned them about—the widening of the tears, the arrival of more dangerous entities, the potential collapse of the barriers between realms—was unfolding exactly as he had described. She had felt the global shift in the same moment the other council members had. The fact that Jason had vanished at the precise turning point of the crisis told her he had already moved to confront the source directly.
She could not follow him. Her responsibility remained here.
But Jason had not been alone in this world. He had partners. Allies. People who would have a way of reaching him and the happening if the situation around their settlement deteriorated further.
Elyndra turned from the table and activated a secondary communication crystal keyed to long-range contact protocols.
She would reach them. Quickly.
Outside the chamber, her mage units were already spreading into position, forming layered rings of surveillance and ready force around the town. The air itself felt heavier than it had only hours before, charged with the pressure of realms pressing closer against one another. Elyndra Silverveil stood at the center of the remaining defenses, fully aware that the true test of their divided strength was only beginning.
-
Kaelen woke to the weight of something wrong.
It was not a sound that pulled him from sleep, nor any obvious alarm. It was a pressure in the air itself—an unsettled tension that settled over the town like a low storm. He sat up on the edge of the bed, remaining arm braced against the mattress, and listened. Distant voices moved through the streets below in hurried clusters. Footsteps were too fast, too frequent for ordinary morning traffic. People knew. Whatever was happening, the unrest had already spread far enough that no one could pretend otherwise.
Jason was nowhere in the room.
Kaelen’s eyes shifted to the Ant King. The massive creature stood near the window, six arms held close to its body, golden eyes fixed on the horizon with an intensity that bordered on agitation. The Ant King rarely displayed anything resembling emotion. Seeing it unsettled now only confirmed what Kaelen already felt.
Something had changed while he slept.
A sharp knock struck the door.
The Ant King moved instantly, posture shifting into a defensive stance. Kaelen raised his remaining hand.
"Stand down," he said quietly.
The creature hesitated, then settled, though its attention never fully left the door. Kaelen rose, crossed the small room, and pulled the door open. Kaelen thought it listened to him but that wasn’t the case.
Two armored figures stood in the hallway. Neither were of the patrol unit.
One was a broad-shouldered minotaur in council colors; the other a slender night-elf whose expression remained carefully neutral. Both carried the formal bearing of official messengers rather than simple guards.
"Kaelen," the night-elf said. "You are summoned by the council. Immediate attendance is required."
Kaelen stared at them for a long moment, then let out a short, humorless breath.
"Summoned," he repeated. "By the council." He glanced down at the empty space where his other arm should have been, then back up. "I’m not Jason. I can’t move armies or tear open realms or whatever it is he does. I have one arm. What exactly do they think I’m going to contribute to the grand scheme of things?"
The minotaur’s voice was deeper, more direct. "The summons is not a request."
Kaelen’s expression flattened. "I’m not interested."
He moved to close the door. The night-elf’s hand caught the edge before it could shut fully.
"This is not an invitation you can refuse," she said, still calm. "The situation has escalated beyond regional containment. Tears across multiple territories are widening. Entities of greater intelligence and power are beginning to cross. The council has already dispersed its members to respond. Your presence is required because of your connection to Jason."
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He did not open the door wider, but he also did not force it closed.
"What about Jason?" he asked.
"His mana signature vanished without residual trace," the night-elf answered. "The timing coincides with the most significant expansion of the tears. Lady Silverveil believes he has already engaged the source directly. In his absence, certain contingencies must be addressed. You are part of those contingencies."
Kaelen leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, the weight of the conversation settling over him. The unrest in the town, the Ant King’s agitation, Jason’s sudden disappearance—it all aligned too cleanly. Something was very wrong. He could feel it in the same way he had once felt the approach of a dungeon collapse, a low certainty that the ground beneath everything was about to give way.
Yet even as the worry registered, another colder truth rose beside it.
There was nothing left in this world he truly cared about. The guild he had once belonged to was gone. The people he had failed to protect were gone. The version of himself that might have answered a call like this without hesitation was gone as well. Jason had pulled him out of the wreckage and kept him moving, but even that bond felt distant now, worn thin by too many losses and too much residual guilt.
"I don’t care what the council wants," Kaelen said finally, voice low. "And truth be told, not even Jason could sway me on that."
The night-elf studied him for a moment longer. The minotaur shifted his weight but did not speak. Outside, the sounds of hurried movement continued through the streets. The air still carried that same unsettled pressure.
Kaelen did not step back to allow them entry. He also did not fully close the door.
The summons hung between them, unanswered, while the larger crisis continued to unfold beyond the walls of the room.