We’ll take point, Marigold said, Scout already perched on her shoulder. Your team provides backup if we need extraction.
Parker nodded, stepping aside to let the heirs lead. Comms stay open. You get in trouble, we pull you out.
We moved through the tunnels as a unit. Marigold’s necromancy sensed ahead, and my portals remained ready to provide access or escape. Elio’s illusions worked to reveal patterns invisible to normal sight while Cyrus’s fire provided light and protection.
There, Marigold whispered. Death magic. Wrong flavor—the master’s corruption but fighting itself, like two signatures trying to occupy the same space.
On his shoulder, Echo stopped moving completely—no flicker, no twitch. Her gaze fixed forward, and her scales went matte and dark, like armor cooling into place.
Elio extended his illusions forward, revealing the scene in the chamber ahead.
A young witch—mid-twenties, portal mage by the silver traces around his hands—hunched against the wall. Red-black corruption threaded visibly through his magical signature, pulsing in waves. He was muttering to himself with his hands pressed against his temples.
Stable approach, I said quietly. He’s fighting the corruption. Don’t want to spook him into full master control.
We entered the chamber carefully. The witch’s head snapped up, his eyes wild with fear and corruption both.
Stay back, he gasped. I can feel him. He’s trying to… I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I can’t…
We’re not here to hurt you, Marigold said, her voice calm despite the danger. We’ve broken corruption before. We can help.
No one can help. His laugh cracked. Once he’s in your head, you’re already gone. Just… taking longer for me because I keep fighting.
The corruption flared suddenly, red-black magic lashing out. Cyrus’s fire intercepted instantly, blue-edged flames consuming the shadow before it could reach us.
What’s your name? I asked, keeping my tone even. Portal mages understood each other. I knew what it felt like to have my magic corrupted, twisted against my will.
Mallory Ellis. He struggled visibly against another wave of corruption. Berkeley portal mage. I was recruited six months ago. They promised… His voice broke. Doesn’t matter what they promised. All lies. He’s in my head, and I can’t get him out.
Where is he? Marigold asked. The master, where is he actually operating from?
Alps compound. Mallory’s voice came in gasps. Not the holding sites, the central one. Your friend, Raven, I saw her there. That’s where he trains them, organizes them. That’s his headquarters. Austrian side. Near Ötztal. Old magical research station—abandoned since the 1800s. He’s been using it as headquarters. The core operations are there.
His eyes focused with effort.
Coordinates… forty-seven point… The corruption surged, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Forty-seven degrees north, Elio said immediately, already marking it on his tablet. Ötztal valley narrows that considerably. We can find it.
His body convulsed as the corruption fought his cooperation. Can’t…he’s trying to silence me. But I came here to tell someone before… He screamed, red-black shadows rippling across his skin.
I threw up portal barriers around him, containing the corruption surge. Cyrus’s flames formed a secondary cage—not attacking, just ready. Marigold’s necromancy extended carefully, helping Mallory maintain coherence against the master’s consciousness trying to assert control.
Tell us, she said gently, her magic supporting his resistance. We’re listening.
Mallory gasped for air, fighting for every word. Solstice. Summer solstice. June twentieth. That’s when everything happens.
My pulse quickened. Specific date. Hard deadline. For once, the structure felt too thin. Not enough time. Not enough reach.
What happens at solstice? I asked.
The ritual. Words tumbling faster now, like he knew time was running out. All the corrupted wellsprings…they’re positioned in astronomical alignment. Ritual geometry across the entire continent. When the sun reaches its peak on the solstice, the alignment will perfect.
Elio was already pulling out his tablet, his fingers flying. How many wellsprings total?
Sixty-three. Another convulsion. Mallory bit back a scream. He needs sixty-three for the pattern to be complete. Already has fifty-eight corrupted. Five more and the network activates. All at once. Every corrupted wellspring synchronized.
That's why the pattern looked incomplete, I said.
