Before he could speak, reach out, or restrain her, she stepped backward, into the seam of trembling light.
The dragon vein swallowed her whole.
Silence.
Then… a surge of power roared across a leyline, silver and sharp. Someone had awakened.
That flare had came from House Sinclair.
Mingxi’s head snapped toward the leyline’s pull, and across the storm-tossed channel, the origin point pulsed again. House Sinclair.
Mingxi swallowed hard, letting the leyline’s vibrations wash over him. The pain was powerful, bright as moonlight, sharp in its grief, and something inside him responded to it. But compassion was not permission.
Not yet.
He stood still, every tail slowly settling into place. His duty to the High Council came first, and as long as the leyline held steady, no distortion, no tremor of corruption, he would not abandon his post for the sake of a stranger’s cry. Not even a cry that called to the softest part of him. He forced his gaze back toward the sealed vein, jaw tight. The broken woman who had slipped into the earth was the priority. A realm-ending threat took precedence over everything else.
As long as the leyline stayed stable, as long as the pain did not twist into something darker, his path remained clear.
For the moment.
The silver pulse hit the leyline like a struck bell, ringing through the ground beneath Mingxi’s feet. Raw and human pain rode the energy, and Mingxi went still.
Another flare followed, sharp and tasting of moonlight.
Too close.
Too powerful.
Too uncontrolled.
His four tails lifted, bristling with instinct, but he forced them still. Duty first.
Whatever had awakened across the channel would have to wait, no matter how loudly it called on the leyline. The rest of the council members needed to know about the broken woman immediately. Mingxi turned toward the old stone shrine tucked beneath the gnarled apple tree. Moss covered half the carved sigil, but the magic beneath it thrummed steadily. He pressed his hand to the stone.
“Paris.”
“Ossuaire Vérité.”
Chapter 3
The shimmering doorway opened, and Mingxi stepped through.
Stale air greeted him, faintly tinged with old limestone and ancient decay. The portal sealed behind him like a closing eyelid.
He stood deep beneath Paris, where no mortal had walked in centuries. Past the public catacombs, past locked ossuaries, into the carved limestone arteries of the Ossuaire Vérité. Blue-flamed lanterns drifted overhead, casting soft halos across bone-reinforced walls. Human skulls etched with tiny sigils, reverent rather than macabre.
Two portal sentinels pivoted toward him, armor plated with enchanted bone fragments.
“Identify,” they intoned.
Mingxi lifted his insignia. “Councilor Shen, with an urgent report for the Council.”
Runes flared within the Sentinels’ ribcages as they scanned him.
“Authorized. Proceed.”
The circular chamber glowed with arcane light. The seal of the Western Triumvirate pulsed from the marble floor as six Councilors turned at his entrance.
