“And if my theory holds, it will reject you,” Riven said. “Violently.”
“Catastrophic failure,” Aelira breathed. “It would vaporise the mechanism.”
“And probably me,” I added.
Riven’s hand slammed flat against the wood, silencing the room. “We can’t guess,” Riven said sharply. “If I’m wrong—if the Vessel simply absorbs your magic instead of rejecting it—you’ll just be charging his battery for him. We’ll hand him the key to the door.”
He straightened up.
“We need to test it. That Shard is a piece of my Vessel. It’s tuned to me. If I try to force my Shadow magic into it now… it should push back. It should repel me.”
He looked at Aelira.
“Is there a safe way to do this? Somewhere shielded that can contain the fallout?”
“And someone to haul you out if it blows,” Dane added, his voice grim. “If that Shard goes critical, lead-lined walls or not, we’re going to feel it in our teeth.”
Aelira nodded, her expression grim. “The Crucible. It is three levels down, lined with lead and dampening wards. It can withstand the output.”
“Then let’s go,” Riven said, looking at me, his eyes burning with a mix of fear and resolve. “Let’s see if I can break it again.”
The descentto the Crucible felt like walking down the throat of the city. The stairs were narrow and steep, carved from the raw bedrock, the air growing colder with every turn.
Aelira led the way, her hand glowing with a faint, pale light that pushed back the darkness. Riven followed, silent and focused.
I brought up the rear, my hand trailing against the damp stone wall.
We reached the bottom landing—a solid iron bulkhead door that looked strong enough to hold back the ocean.
Goran was already there holding the canvas-wrapped iron box.
“You and the others should stay back. If I’m right about what’s going to happen, the shielding in the room will hold. If I’m wrong… well, you won’t want to be standing in the doorway.”
The casual way he factored in his own death made my stomach twist. I wanted to argue, to physically drag him back into the corridor, but the certainty in his posture stopped me. He was already treating himself like a blast shield.
Goran grunted, eyeing the stone arches above us. “The foundations are old. Do not bring the mountain down on our heads.”
Aelira placed her palm on the bulkhead. The locking mechanism groaned, heavy tumblers shifting deep inside the metal, and the door swung inward.
We stepped inside.
The Crucible was a round containment cell, sealed behind a steel blast door and viewed through a thick, reinforced glass window set into the stone wall. In the centre stood a single pedestal of black basalt.
Riven entered the chamber alone. He unwrapped the canvas bundle, lifted the Shard from its iron box, and placed it on the central stone pedestal. He set the empty container on the floor at his feet.
Now that it was out, I could see the thing clearly—a jagged, ugly lump of fused Silverite and iron.
Riven looked up at the viewing window, locking eyes with me through the thick pane.
“Watch the feedback,” he said, his voice reaching us as a muffled rasp through the barrier. “I’m just going to tap the surface. Enough to test the resistance.”
He took a breath and raised his right hand. The shadows in the room responded, curling around his forearm like dark smoke. He didn’t hesitate. He reached out and pressed his palm firmly against themetal.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then, a sound tore through the room—a high-pitched, harmonic scream that set my teeth on edge.
The Shard shivered.
