Marigold sank onto the couch, Scout settling in her lap. Her necromancy still felt raw. I could see it in how carefully she moved, like her magic was bruised.
Cyrus stood by the window overlooking campus, Ember’s flames flickering. His depleted reserves showed in small tells he’d never voice.
And I’d missed the secondary anchor point until too late. That mistake had cost us tactical advantage.
We were good. We’d proven that today. We’d staged a flawless act. The master just rewrote the ending before we finished the final scene.
Four hours, Keane said finally, not looking up from his calculations. Vienna wellspring will be back to secondary corruption in four hours. Full re-corruption by tomorrow.
And we can’t hit the Budapest anchor without the same thing happening, I added. The network is redundant.
Whack-a-mole, Cyrus said flatly, still staring out at campus. We knock one down, three more pop up.
Marigold’s voice was quiet. He’s making us waste time and energy on battles that don’t matter.
She was right.
We’d executed with precision, aligned seamlessly. But strategically, we’d changed nothing.
Vienna would be corrupted again by morning. We’d spent massive magical resources on a victory that wouldn’t last the day.
We can’t keep this pace, Keane said, his analytical voice strained. Portal mathematics don’t support sustained operations at this intensity. Maybe three more strikes before dimensional stress becomes dangerous.
My necromancy needs recovery time, Marigold admitted. I pushed too hard trying to mark the corruption flow.
The silence didn’t just settle. It thudded, like applause that never came.
Raven’s rescue was exceptional, I said quietly. One target. Full commitment. All resources focused on a single extraction. We can’t replicate that for every corrupted wellspring in Europe.
No, Marigold agreed. We can’t.
We’d known the master was powerful. Known his network was extensive.
But today proved something harder: Our methods didn’t scale.
The competence we’d built through unity and coordination worked for individual strikes, for rescues and disruptions and tactical victories.
It didn’t work for stopping a continental ritual network that could adapt faster than we could strike.
So what do we do? Cyrus asked.
Keane was already running new calculations. We need to understand how this works. Not just that it works. I’ll map the network properly—see the full architecture.
How long? Marigold asked.
Three days. Maybe less. His deep blue eyes held exhaustion and determination. Then we bring what we’ve learned to the interim council.
And hope it’s enough, I finished.
LATER, I FOUND MARIGOLD STANDING at the common room window.
Campus spread out below, students moving between buildings for afternoon classes, completely unaware of what we’d just attempted. Defensive wards hummed invisibly. The wellspring pulsed beneath everything, stable and clean.
For now.
We did good work today, I said quietly.
We did, she agreed. And it won’t matter by tomorrow.
