You’ll build the lattice structure according to these specifications, I continued, gesturing to the floating blueprint. Think of it as a trap built into the space itself—boundaries that catch corruption and drain it away. I’ll guide the alignment. Elio will maintain truth overlays so you can see what you’re building. Marigold provides the authority that forces things to end naturally. Cyrus holds containment.
And if it fails? one of the mages asked. The older witch had scarred hands from decades of portal work.
Then we adapt the design and try again, I said. We have six hours before solstice. Alpine is proof of concept. If it works, we scale to the remaining four convergence points in time for the alignment.
And if it doesn’t work?
I met her gaze. Then we learn why, and we fix it. But the mathematics are sound.
She nodded.We’ve got this.
Cyrus leaned against the wall near the door, Ember’s flames steady. Cyrus’s amber eyes tracked the portal mages with tactical assessment, measuring and calculating.
Elio studied the dimensional overlays with unusual focus—no performance, no masks, just concentration on the geometry he’d need to reveal.
Positions, Parker said from her station near the window. Transport portals ready in fifteen minutes. Alpine team deploys first. Secondary teams stand by for Vienna, Prague, Mumbai, Cairo pending Alpine results.
The room mobilized. Portal mages gathered equipment—portable spell anchors, crystal lenses for dimensional viewing, and emergency healing kits. Shroud Guard prepared containment protocols while healers readied emergency response.
Marigold turned to me, taking both my hands.
You’re sure about this? she asked quietly.
The design is solid. I squeezed her hands. I’ve checked it a hundred times. Elio practiced the overlays. The other mages understand the specifications.
That’s not what I’m asking.
I looked at her, really looked, and saw the question underneath.
Are you okay with not being the one to hold it together?
Yes, I said. I built something that works without me. That’s the point.
Her thumb traced my knuckles. I just need to know you won’t push past your limits trying to take over if something goes wrong.
I won’t. I meant it. I’ll guide. Correct. But I trust them to execute.
And if they can’t?
Then we adapt together. I pulled her closer. Partnership. Remember?
She leaned her forehead against mine briefly, our breath mingling, grounding.
Partnership, she agreed.
Cyrus’s hand landed on my shoulder. Transport’s ready.
I nodded and let go of Marigold reluctantly.
Elio joined us, Echo’s scales shifting to determined silver. I’ve got the overlay protocols loaded. Ready when you are.
Then let’s prove this works.
The portal deposited us into the maintenance chamber below the abandoned Alpine monastery. Stone walls pressed close, the air thick with centuries of neglect. The space hummed with corruption, red-black threads visible in the rock itself, like veins of infection running through the architecture. It was denser than before, the system accelerating toward solstice completion.
The six portal mages fanned out around the chamber. They were experienced, professional, and waiting for my direction.
I extended my portal sense carefully—that internal awareness of dimensional geometry, of space folding and unfolding. My magic responded, not the overwhelming extension I’d once managed but enough to feel the shape of things and map where reality bent under corruption’s weight so I could guide the others.
