The second hour brings wrongness.
The servants in the eastern wing start losing coherence. Not their usual shift between solid and translucent, but something else. Their forms destabilize, becoming wisps of smoke that can barely maintain awareness.
“What's happening?” I ask the nearest one, but it can't hold together long enough to respond. Its attempt at communication comes out as whispered static before it dissolves entirely.
A blind spot. Someone is creating interference in our supernatural defenses.
I move toward the eastern wing, two guards falling into formation around me—all we can spare from essential positions. The corridors feel different here. Too quiet, too still. The air tastes metallic, sharp on my tongue.
“My lady,” one guard says. “Should we sound the alarm?”
“Not yet. If this is an attack, noise might accelerate whatever they're planning.” I test the air, trying to identify the metallic tang. “Do you smell that?”
“Yes. Sharp. Wrong.”
The scent thickens as we approach the main eastern chamber. When we reach the door, it stands open. I know I locked it this morning.
Inside, reality bends.
The chamber looks normal at first glance—stone walls, tall windows, familiar tapestries. But the shadows move independently of light sources, pooling in corners and flowing across the floor. When I blink, the room's proportions seem to shift.
Vasek steps frombehind a pillar.
The pillar wasn't there moments ago. I know every stone of this chamber, every architectural detail. But now it stands between us and the far wall, carved from black marble that reflects images that aren't in the room.
“Lady Braith.” His voice carries harmonics that make my teeth ache. “More perceptive than most humans. You detected the disturbance before my illusions could fully establish themselves.”
My guards draw swords, steel ringing in the strange air. Vasek glances at the weapons and makes a dismissive gesture. The blades crumble to rust-colored dust, metal aging decades in seconds.
“Run,” I tell the men. “Get to the alarm horn. Alert everyone.”
They turn toward the doorway we entered through, but solid stone greets them instead of an open corridor. The exit has simply ceased to exist.
Scratch materializes beside me, his multiple eyes blazing. “Forty-eight years, sixty-nine days until my service ends!” he snarls, his form gaining substance as desperation fuels his power. He lunges at Vasek.
But Vasek's reality-warping magic catches him mid-leap, slamming the demon against the stone wall hard enough to crack his form. “Miserable bound creature,” Vasek sneers. “Know your place.”
Scratch hits the floor, form flickering. Before he destabilizes completely, he scrambles toward me, ignoringthe damage to his own body. As Vasek turns back to me, Scratch presses something cold and thin—a silver band—into my palm. His mouth forms a single word: “Tracking.” Then he collapses, form flickering dangerously.
“Your mate received urgent intelligence about civilian casualties,” Vasek says conversationally. “Tragic reports. Women and children fleeing burning homes, defenseless families crying for help.”
The trap. The timing, the convenient bone crow just as we planned our next moves. “The Valajoki settlements,” I say slowly. “They're empty, aren't they?”
His smile shows teeth that are slightly too sharp. “Since autumn. I cleared them myself after the harvest. But the testimonies and casualty lists I crafted? So authentic. Your mate rides toward ghosts while I claim the real prize.”
I slip the silver band onto my wrist, squeezing the jewel that I pray activates the beacon. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Since I heard about that display in the Orchard. Since you demonstrated what you truly are in front of witnesses, yet still chose to remain with him.” His eyes burn like winter fire. “I'm here to correct your error.”
“I made no error.”
“You chose a frenzy-mad youngling over established power. Resources. Ancient knowledge.” The air ripples around him as he speaks, space becoming unstable. “I offer partnership between equals, not the desperate hunger of a beast who will drain you dry.”
The air around me thickens. Not physical restraints, but atmosphere itself becoming dense and resistant. I can breathe, but my limbs move as if underwater.
“Clever,” Vasek says, apparently sensing the charm's activation. “But your mate is hours away, chasing phantoms through empty forests. You're coming with me now.”
The reality distortion intensifies. The stone walls begin fading, replaced by swirling darkness punctuated by flashes of alien landscape. Portal magic, but unlike the simple transport circles I've seen before.
