When Otter blinked away the afterimage of the blue glare, a figure stood in the doorway opposite the workbench.

He wasn't broad, but he filled the frame with presence alone. Tall and wiry, he wore a linen shirt with sleeves rolled high, a chalk-dusted apron streaked with ink hanging over dark trousers held up by suspenders. A scraggly beard clung to his jaw, and round spectacles caught the glow, turning his eyes into blank white discs.

One hand was raised, fingers splayed in a shape Otter recognized instantly—a spellcasting form. The air quivered around it, heat and light coiling at his palm, ready to strike.

"Who are you?" the man barked. "What are you doing here?"

Otter's mind raced. Think. Don't let him finish that spell.

"We're friends of Levi's," he blurted, voice too loud, echoing off the glowing walls. He forced himself to keep going. "We were hoping to find him here."

The man's hand did not lower. "Who is this Levi?"

"Levi Rosner," Otter continued. "His father owns this building, right?"

The spell faltered, but the man's eyes flashed. "What makes you think you'd find him here?"

Otter shot a glance at Erin and Sage. He hadn't thought this far ahead.

Erin folded her arms, face schooled into calm. "Because he told us he'd be working with his father this summer," she said, smooth as water. "Said it was something important. We thought…" she tilted her head, just enough to look curious rather than afraid, "…this might be where."

Sage added quietly, "We're not here to interfere. Only to check on him."

The man studied them long enough for the glow in the walls to dim a shade. His lips twitched beneath the beard, neither frown nor smile, but something unreadable.

Finally, he spoke. "Levi is not here. Did you call at his house?"

Otter shook his head. "No, sir. We, uh…we don't know where he lives."

The Spell Lord's face darkened. "Strange. You don't know where the boy lives, yet you claim to know his father owns this building." His voice dropped lower, quieter but sharper, like a knife being honed. "How did you come by that knowledge?"

Otter froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Sage stepped forward before the silence stretched too long. Her voice was calm, level. "Because Guild business brought us here." She didn't flinch under his gaze. "We were told to investigate suspicious activity in Brassford. That led us to this warehouse. We learned that it belongs to the Rosners."

Otter picked up the thread. "Once we figured that out, we thought Levi—or someone in his family—might be inside and could clear things up. We tried knocking and heard someone moving around, but no one came to the door. We found a busted window on the south side of the building. Are you related to Levi? Like an uncle or something?"

The man scoffed. "Do I look like a Rosner?"

Otter shrugged. "I only know Levi."

A muscle twitched in the Spell Lord's cheek. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment, eyes flicking between each of them as if weighing the danger of their presence. Finally, he came to a decision. "I am not his uncle. I am employed here. That is all you need to know." His gaze sharpened, landing squarely on Otter. "And even if you are acquainted with the Rosners, you are still trespassing. This building is off-limits."

"Yes. Of course. We're very sorry to have intruded on your business. But—could you at least tell us where the Rosners live?"

For the first time, the Spell Lord's hard expression wavered. He studied them a moment longer, suspicion still sharp in his eyes, before finally speaking. "The Rosner residence is on Hillfort Row. Number twenty-four. There is a rather unique wrought-iron fence in the front."

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Sage inclined her head politely. "Thank you."

The man gestured stiffly toward the hall they had entered from. "Now, come. I'll see you out. And if you value your place in the Guild, you will not return here. Do I make myself clear?"

The Spell Lord herded them down the corridor, his hand twitching as though he'd rather drag them by the scruffs of their necks.

But Milo couldn't hold his tongue. His eyes darted to the glyphs carved into plaster and timber. "Those spirals—are they channeling flow, or dispersing it? Because the way they knot into the triangles—"

"Silence," the man snapped, not even glancing back. His voice was sharp as a whipcrack.

Milo bristled, but pressed anyway. "Sorry, but—whoever carved this seems to be shaping resonance. I've seen something like this before, but never this refined. It's—"

The man faltered. Just for an instant, his step hitched. He turned his head enough to glance at Milo over one shoulder, eyes narrowing. "Where did you study?"

Milo blinked, caught off guard. "The Academy, obviously. But my mother—"

The Spell Lord's expression shifted, some recognition sparking behind the spectacles. "Your mother…" he murmured. "What is your name?"

"Milo Fenwick."

"Fenwick…" His tone shifted, almost thoughtful. "Are you of the Fenwicks of Briar Hill?"

"Yes, sir. You've heard of us?"

"Of course. I once visited the estate. Perhaps twenty years ago. You say you've seen glyphwork like this before?"

"Well, sort of—"

Before Milo could finish, the ground began to tremble beneath their feet. The tremor rolled up from the foundation, a grinding vibration that made the walls quiver. Dust sifted down from the rafters. Blue light bled through the carved grooves, racing in jagged veins toward the far end of the corridor.

The Spell Lord froze, color draining from his face. "No. No! It isn't complete!"

The glow swelled at the seams of a door ahead, a pulse that grew brighter with each heartbeat.

He spun on them, all trace of curiosity gone, voice clipped with urgency. "Stay here. Don't move. Don't touch anything. If you value your lives—obey."

Before they could answer, he strode to the door and wrenched it open. Blue light burst through, searing their eyes, and then he slipped inside, slamming it shut.

The silence afterward was crushing.

"So, are we leaving?" asked Jasper. "I think we should leave."

Milo nodded emphatically.

"Yeah," said Erin. "I think we're done here. Whatever is happening, I don't want to be here for it."

They bolted down the corridor. Ahead, it ended in a T.

"Turn right!" Otter shouted, his sense of direction guiding him toward the main door.

As soon as they rounded the corner, they skidded to a halt. A man stood twenty feet away, blocking their path. Half his face was hidden behind a gleaming metal mask. White robes of the Conduit of Caelum draped from his shoulders.

Even with half his face obscured, Otter knew him instantly.

Otter opened his mouth to speak, but the other man beat him to it.

His lip curled into a sneer. "You," he spat. He took a measured step forward, robes whispering against the warped boards. "Of course you are involved." Then he laughed. It was the laugh of a madman. "Justice shall be served after all, praise be to Caelum."

Otter forced his feet not to retreat. "Hang on. We're not involved in anything. We're here on official Guild business."

"Guild business?" Marcus's gaze swept over the group like a blade. "Don't insult me, boy. I can smell Kaos clinging to your shadow."

His words carried like a verdict, echoing off the walls, the blue glow still pulsing faintly from the door behind them.

Sage raised her hands, palms up. "It is true, Brother. We came to investigate the strange activity in this warehouse. We are not the cause of it."

He turned an icy glare on her. "I am not your Brother."

Before he could hurl another word, the floor shuddered beneath them again. A pulse of light raced through the grooves carved in the plaster. The blue flared brilliantly—then warped as it struck a glyph ahead, twisting into a sickly green.

It sparked, hissing and sputtering, then coalesced at the junction of the lines. The air thickened, congealing into shape. Claws scraped the boards as a creature peeled itself out of the glyph, its body warped and translucent, all jagged limbs and snapping jaws that didn't quite align.

A Kaosborn.

No one hesitated. Erin's blade flashed as she darted forward. Jasper lunged alongside her, sword biting deep. Sage's voice rose in a sharp incantation, threads of light wrapping around the thing's limbs, intertwining with tendrils of power from one of Marcus's spells. Milo thrust out a hand, force rippling from his palm.

Otter darted in last, driving his blade through the Kaosborn's warped chest.

It shrieked once, its body convulsing, and then it shattered into black vapor, leaving nothing but the stink of rot and a smear of ichor on the boards.

"We need to get out of here!" Erin barked. "I don't know what's going on, but this is bad. Really bad."

"No!" Marcus shot back. Then he growled.

Otter watched the emotions play across his half-face. They were difficult to read, but he saw anger, frustration, desperation, and then finally determination settle in.

"This is another test," Marcus muttered, glancing toward the heavens. "One I will not fail. I have heard your wisdom, and I shall do your will." He turned his gaze back to Otter and his friends. "If you are blameless, then prove it. Stand against this corruption with me. Let Caelum see your hearts in the fire."

Otter looked at the others. Erin shook her head. Jasper shrugged. Sage cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Okay," Otter said at last. "We need to find that Spell Lord. Come on."

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