I need to know if I can do this, I whispered to the wellspring.
The wellspring responded—not in words but understanding.
My necromancy was strong enough. The question was whether I’d have the discipline to accept limitation and abort if Raven couldn’t be saved cleanly, letting Cyrus enforce boundaries even when every instinct screamed to keep trying.
I left the chamber with that clarity settled in my chest.
I found Keane in the royal suite common room, still running portal calculations on his tablet. He looked up as I entered.
Couldn’t sleep either? I asked.
Running worst-case scenarios. He set the tablet aside, pulling me down beside him. Tomorrow we find out if planning was enough.
His hand found mine, grounding and steady.
We’re going to try, he said quietly. Give her every chance we can. But we’re also going to survive.
I leaned against him, feeling the solid warmth of his presence.
One crisis at a time, he said.
One crisis at a time.
19
Marigold
KEANE’S PORTAL OPENED INTO COLD stone and wrongness.
The compound’s lower levels smelled like death—not the natural cycle my necromancy recognized but stagnant ending. Corruption so thick it pressed against my skin like oil.
Four minutes, Keane whispered, his voice tight with concentration. Starting now.
Cyrus moved ahead immediately, Ember’s flames providing sharp light that cut through shadow.
I followed, Scout chittering soft warnings on my shoulder. My necromancy reached out, sensing through stone and corruption to track Raven’s signature somewhere below us.
There. Faint. Wrong. But still her.
Elio and Keane flanked us in tight formation. Echo’s tail curled firmly around Elio’s shoulder, her scales locked in battle-green. Wisp phased ahead, scouting through walls.
We moved fast and quiet down the corridor, red-black corruption threading through the ancient stone walls like infected veins.
The first illusion trap triggered thirty seconds in.
Elio… I started.
Already compensating. His voice was calm, professional. His illusions shimmered, revealing the trap’s true structure before it could fully manifest. Keep moving.
Cyrus burned away the corruption reaching for us, blue-edged flames precise and controlled.
The dungeon door wasn’t locked.
Inside, cells lined both walls. Most sat empty, but in the back corner…
Raven.
She hung suspended in red-black chains, her head slumped forward and eyes closed. Boris barely flickered on the floor beneath her, his beetle carapace dim and corrupted.
