Everyone froze in their tracks.

Otter's pulse thundered in his ears, too loud, too frantic. He was certain the figure at the end of the hall could hear it too, the way a predator might sense the rabbit's heart before it bolts. He was also certain this was not the shadowy figure that had haunted him over the last months, the one that had saved them in the marsh. He had come to recognize that one's presence. This felt different.

The shape didn't advance. It lingered—silent, unhurried. In the dimness, its outline blurred with the shadows, neither wholly man nor shadow. For a heartbeat too long, it stood motionless, and then—with a liquid smoothness that raised the hairs along Otter's arms—it slid sideways through a doorway and vanished.

For a breath, no one moved. Jasper shifted as if to speak, but Erin's sharp glance cut him off. She moved first, silent and precise, twisting the nearest handle and slipping through. The others followed in a quick line, every footstep measured, breath held.

On the other side, Milo finally let out a strangled whimper. "I don't like this one bit."

"Quiet," Erin hissed. Her voice was a blade in the dark, low and urgent. She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then swept the gesture outward. Stay sharp. No mistakes.

The room they entered was worse. They'd left the windows behind, and what little light remained bled only in a faint sliver from beneath the door. Shapes dissolved into blackness. They could barely make out each other's outlines.

The silence pressed thick around them, broken only by the shallow rasp of their breathing. Even Jasper, normally restless, stood frozen as if unwilling to stir the air.

Milo's hands fumbled at his belt until he pulled free the hearthstone. A soft orange glow bloomed between his palms, hesitant at first, then steady. Its warmth pushed back the dark in a fragile circle, stretching their shadows like warped silhouettes along the walls.

And those walls weren't bare.

"Uh… guys?" Milo's voice cracked as he raised the stone higher.

The glow revealed carvings—thin, deliberate grooves cut into the plaster. Circles fed into triangles, triangles into spirals, each line intersecting with exact precision. The patterns interlocked like cogs in some unseen machine, running floor to ceiling, wall to wall.

Jasper's brow creased. "That's… not graffiti."

Sage drifted closer, her fingers hovering over the designs but never quite touching. Her voice was barely a whisper. "No. This was planned. A system of some kind."

For the briefest moment, the orange light caught within the grooves. Otter's breath snagged in his chest. A faint shimmer—blue, like veins of lightning trapped under glass—flickered and died.

"Did you see that?" he asked.

Erin nodded grimly. "I saw faint marks in the hall earlier. But not like this. I didn't think much of it at the time."

Milo edged closer, face bathed in glow as he studied the network of lines. His lips moved silently at first, piecing shapes together, then his whisper quickened into thought made audible.

"Circles for anchoring… triangles for focus… spirals for flow. Not random. Never random. It's a ward. Or… part of one."

"Part of?" Jasper asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

Milo's fingers twitched toward the wall, but he jerked them back before making contact. His eyes didn't leave the runes. "This… this is no apprentice scrawl. Whoever carved it was a master. And it doesn't feel like a trap. Too elaborate. This was meant to hold something. Or guide it."

Sage exhaled slowly. "Then where's the rest?"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Nobody answered.

Otter tore his gaze from the wall and swept the rest of the room. The hearthstone's glow was dimmer than a torch, but enough to sketch the space in shades of amber. The center held several stacked crates, their wood swollen and warped with age. Abandoned years ago, maybe decades. Dust clung in sheets. Otherwise, the place was barren.

The silence pressed harder now. No drip of water, no rat scratching in the dark. Just their breathing—and the stark memory of that figure at the hall's end. Otter's gut twisted. They weren't alone.

At last, Erin shifted, gesturing to a door on the right-hand wall. "We keep moving." Her voice was steady, but Otter caught the tightness beneath it, like a bowstring drawn taut.

They formed up again, every step cautious. The hearthstone's light clung close around them as Erin reached for the door handle.

She eased it open, wincing as the hinges groaned.

The room beyond was small, boxlike, claustrophobic. A battered workbench sat square in the middle, its surface buried under clutter: quills worn down to nubs, ink bottles toppled and dried in black stains, scraps of parchment curling at the edges. Symbols filled every inch—circles, triangles, spirals—scrawled over and over in cramped, obsessive handwriting. Columns of numbers marched down margins, tight and precise. Candle stubs had melted into hardened rivers across the wood. The smell of old ink clung sharp in the back of the throat, mingled with something acrid and herbal, like burnt resin.

Sage stepped forward, lifting one sheet between gloved fingers. The ink gleamed faintly in the hearthstone's glow. "These are fresh."

Milo leaned past her, eyes darting across the mess. He pulled another page closer to the light, and his breath hissed through his teeth. "These match the wall carvings."

Otter's stomach tightened. "Someone was working in here?"

"Is working," Milo corrected, voice gone thin. He pointed to the margins filled with equations. "These aren't idle doodles. They're refinements. Calculations. Whoever's behind this knows exactly what they're building."

Jasper scowled, flexing his jaw. "So… not a squatter."

"No." Milo swallowed. "This is the hand of a Spell Lord."

The words hit like a dropped stone. Even a middling Spell Lord was dangerous, sanctioned or not. Whatever was happening here, Otter wasn't eager to find himself on the wrong side of it.

"Anybody think we've found enough to placate the cobbler?" he muttered.

Erin shot him a flat look. "Does your mind feel at ease now?"

He winced. She had a point. "Alright. Let's at least look for names. Something we can hand off to someone who actually knows what they're doing. But careful. Put everything back exactly where you found it. No reason to tip them off."

The room was too cramped for comfort, so they pressed shoulder to shoulder around the workbench, each breath stirring dust motes that drifted lazily in the hearthstone glow. Ink and parchment gave the air a dry, acrid weight.

Sage leafed through a stack, scanning quickly before sliding each page back into place. "Glyphwork diagrams," she murmured. "No names. Nothing personal."

Jasper smoothed out a crumpled scrap. "Looks like a schedule. Days marked, notes scrawled. But I don't understand the shorthand."

Milo leaned in, brow furrowing. "Not shorthand. Activation sequences. Testing intervals." He tapped the rows. "They've been running cycles every night for more than a week."

Otter felt a chill crawl up his spine. "Testing what?"

Milo shook his head, grim. "That's the part I can't read. But it's escalating. Each cycle's stronger than the last."

Erin had wandered to the far corner of the bench. She carefully unfolded a sheet, eyes narrowing as she read. "This one's different. A letter." Her voice dipped lower. "Confirm delivery of reagents to Mr. Rosner by week's end. Ensure warehouse remains secure until next trial."

"Rosner?" Jasper frowned. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Otter's head snapped up. "Wait. I know that name."

The others looked at him expectantly. Erin arched a brow. "Well? Don't keep us waiting."

Otter rubbed the back of his neck, unease prickling. "I've heard it before… just can't place it."

"A merchant, maybe?" Milo guessed. "Someone with money? Maybe they have a store named after them?"

"Or some big donor the Academy puts on plaques," Jasper muttered. "Ghosts with gold. People you've never met, but everybody's supposed to know them anyway?"

But Otter shook his head. None of that rang true. The syllables tugged at him like a hook in the gut. He sifted through memories—early days at the Academy, names called in roll, whispered conversations at their dorm table, Levi ducking his head when talk turned to families—

And then it hit, sudden and cold.

"Levi," Otter breathed. "Levi Rosner."

Milo wrinkled his nose. "Levi? Our Levi?"

"That's his family name." Otter swallowed. "Didn't he say he had to stay in Aurelia this summer? To help his father?"

"That's right," Erin said. "I thought he was lying because he couldn't come with us."

"Anyone know what his family does?" Otter asked.

No one answered.

"Well, that's a lead," he said finally. "We find Levi, we find out if the Rosners own this warehouse."

Sage nodded. "Worth a try."

But before another word could be spoken, the room erupted with light.

The hearthstone's soft glow was obliterated by a violent surge of blue brilliance. Shadows fled the walls in an instant.

Otter staggered back, eyes watering, throwing an arm across his face—

And then the voice came.

Deep. Commanding. Too close.

"What are you doing here?" it boomed, every syllable vibrating through his chest like struck iron. "This is private property."

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