Curselock: A Cursed LITRPG Adventure

Eldest Princess Ariadne Palemarrow, otherwise known as Aunty P, sat behind a rune covered desk reading a report. The desk, a gift from Ambassador Joygill of Greensight, was thick and firm. Solid hardwood of some sort, one the magical variants that holds mana and magic carvings longer. It was stained deep mahogany, a color that reflected Aunty P’s own lips.

It was years and years of brutal purple lipstick that dyed her lips such a color, an homage of sorts to her time as Princess rather than Spymaster General. She held onto a few luxuries from that time, including the indulgence of simply being rich and powerful. One such luxury was the bright colored clothing she often wore.

Aunty “P.” did not just stand for “Palemarrow,” as some of the younger inhabitants of the castle decided so long ago. The joke of the “P” standing for “peacock” was something she used to hate. But it grew on her once she finally saw the namesake bird. Eye-catching plumage, bright colorful feathers with a hundred fake eyes to scare off nascent predators.

She found it rather fitting, after all she also had eyes everywhere that detoured enemies.

The luxury of her clothes were one more illusion to the façade of Spymaster General. To those who were not in the know, Aunty P’s dress came off as absurdist eccentric… except when she was working. Behind closed doors, far away from the eyes of the kingdom, under the cover of runic webs and obscuring scripts, Aunty P. wore colors to blend into the shadows.

To her, it was a categorical cut off. Black was the color of secrets while the “peacock” was the color of a woman wanting the world to look.

So, sitting there behind the not-mahogany wood desk reading the report, Aunty P. looked as if she was attending a funeral. The frown upon her lips and the scowl across her brow only amplified the sentiment.

Finished reading, she tossed the paper away and cursed at herself. Since returning from Ruinsforth and the abduction of her niece, Sybil, Aunty P. had not once changed out of her Spymaster clothes. She had hardly entered the sight of anyone other than her most trusted soldiers, commanders, and of course, her sister, the Queen.

She had failed, abysmally. Her niece abducted, the kingdom’s strongest Inquisitor bested, two Harbingers on the loose…

And worst of all, she had no way of finding Sybil. Not with Spencer Silver, and the other parents for that matter, on the run. In all honesty, she didn’t need the other parents as they were not versed in spatial magic whatsoever. She needed Spencer, she needed him to track down that Witch and find where Sybil was being tortured.

So, the search had devolved to searching not for Sybil, but for Spencer so he could find Sybil.

It was a mess. And the reports were just getting worse.

Spencer’s last sighting was somewhere out in the mountains, a few months away on foot. Apparently his son and the other kids had come from that direction, along with the Huntress – which was another mess all on its own.

Aunty P. cursed at herself again and pulled back her hair. A lock fell out. She paused, staring at the frayed strands. The Royal Doctor had already cleared her health wise for this issue. She was in no danger of dying but the stress of the situation was far from healthy.. The doctor had recommended a vacation.

A vacation.

She cursed at herself again. She didn’t need a vacation, she needed to go over the facts again. She needed to find the missing clue, find Spencer, and then find her niece.

So, Spencer had abandoned his kingdom once his son and Sybil had been abducted. He had been present for all of Aunty P’s orders during the Ruinsforth ceremony, even the one to kill Leland. Spencer, then like the rat he is, took his wife, the Browns, and the Reds and ran.

Whether or not the others wanted to go with him was up for debate. Carmin, Lucia, and Diana were in rough shape at the time of their abrupt departure. They might not have even realized they were being teleported away. So, Aunty P. was unsure about arresting them for treason.

Still, Spencer didn’t seem surprised when his son announced himself as a Harbinger. Which was all the more damning for the Silvers. Why Spencer decided to take everyone was just another question for which Aunty P. had no answer. Other than that Jude and Glenny knew of Leland’s title and Spencer was just trying to protect them.

But sometimes the correct course of action was no action. Aunty P. supposed Spencer would eventually learn this lesson when he was kneeling on the executioner’s block.

After, of course, he found Sybil. Maybe Lucia would serve a life sentence if her husband saw the light and came to his senses in time.

Leland though? Leland was a Harbinger and his kind was executed on sight. Aunty P. had no illusions that the kid’s life wouldn’t be coming to an early end. His name was already out there, along with enough wanted posters.

Still, Aunty P. couldn’t help but think Leland was the key to all of this. Maybe not to where Sybil had been taken, but with getting Spencer to return to the kingdom to help.

Oh, if only she could have gotten Harlen to talk before the Reflections ended. What had Harlen said when he first met Leland? “Son of the Calamity.” Yes, that was it; a throwaway comment during quite a busy moment. Oh, how she had been so blind. Everything could have been solved before they became an issue if she had been paying a bit more attention… if she had been a bit more paranoid.

But with Harlen’s locked lips, Aunty P. had resorted to relying solely on her own information web.

Leland was a Harbinger of the Calamity, he announced as much to the other Harbinger. Aunty P. knew not what the “Calamity” was, but a few claimed they did. None were reputable sources which put their answers far from her purview. If the trail ran any colder, however, then she might need to look into them. Even the outlandish claims.

Suffice to say, the “Calamity” was a Lord of some sort. A Vile Lord, due to the Harbinger title, but one so far out of the public eye that not even Aunty P’s Champion contacts knew who the Lord was. The Champions she had questioned all explained that not even their Lords knew who the “Calamity” was, which Aunty P. decided to count as a lie.

Of course the Lords knew who the “Calamity” was, there was no doubt in Aunty P’s mind of that. They just didn’t want to tell her, which was more than disconcerting.

Was Leland’s Lord that powerful and scary? That no other Lord wanted to even utter their name?

A knock sounded across Aunty P’s office. She took a deep breath and said “Enter.”

She cursed silently at herself one last time, knowing this conversation was going to be less than helpful. Not where it truly mattered, at any rate. The Huntress, while her true potential in the situation was yet to be seen, was hardly worth the care.

Isobel had foregone direct orders and hesitated to kill Leland. Aunty P. didn’t know if she didn’t have a clear shot or if she had refused orders, but the woman was missing and was presumed to have been teleported with Leland and Sybil to that Witch’s lair. Whatever the case, this meeting now would hopefully reveal more about the Huntress.

The door silently opened and an old man stepped in. Hiding in plain sight was not something only Aunty P. excelled at. The man entering, High Inquisitor “Tide Maker” Rushwin, helped write the book on subtlety. Gray short hair, wrinkled face, cloth that spoke not of wealth or rank but the common whispers of an ancient soldier.

The only oddity about the man was his infinite blue eyes. As deep as the ocean and as vast as the magic he controlled. As Aunty P. understood it, controlling his eye color was something of difficulty to the man. The cantrip itself was rather easy, but the sheer power the man held made such things near impossible. Rushwin had long adapted to his talent for magic, however, and only allowed his eyes to explain his true calling when in the presence of those familiar with him.

“Sit,” Aunty P. commanded, ushering in the tone of the conversation. Hard, dry, somewhat angry.

Rushwin gave a slight nod and sat.

“Any updates before we begin?”

Rushwin said, “No. My contacts have no clue how Spencer disappeared so easily.”

Aunty P. forced herself to swallow her anger. The High Inquisitor was an old friend. Her subordinate, yes, but no less a friend. The man had nothing to do with this case, not on the surface at least.

“Keep searching. In the meantime, tell me about the Huntress.”

Rushwin was expecting this. After all, he had sent Isobel to watch over Princess Sybil as punishment for keeping secrets from him. Well “secrets” was a bit much. Isobel was protecting someone, Rushwin had taken pity on her. It had been so long since “the Huntress” cared for anyone but herself, which was why he didn’t strip her rank.

“Isobel… is a lost soul. She joined us after her family was taken from her. She rose through the ranks quickly, earning the right to work as an individual rather than a team years before most. She was good, which was why I helped train her somewhat. I wouldn’t say my involvement in her power was strictly because of myself, but part of it was. I taught her my mercilessness.”

Aunty P. eyed the High Inquisitor. The Tide Maker’s “mercilessness” was a thing of legend. Destroying whole corrupt towns, hunting down the worst bands of murderers, challenging the endless horde of Harbingers. Rushwin had done it all, and he never took prisoners. Not with the cases he accepted.

At least, years ago he did. Now, he regaled himself to the high command. An overseer to the Inquisitors below him. Part of it was his age, part was that there was only so much battle a man could see before finding enemies where there weren’t any.

“And why was she sent to guard Sybil?” Aunty P. asked.

Rushwin didn’t hesitate to answer. “A Harbinger and a Lordly image of the Toy Maker attacked a town. She claims she killed the Harbinger and made the image retreat.”

“Hardly a reason for punishment guard duty,” Aunty P. mused. “She lied?”

“Yes. She was there for the battle but had no hand in the actual fight. Someone else killed the Harbinger and fought the image to a standstill, eventually forcing the Toy Maker to run.”

“Any idea who?”

“Leland Silver, son of Spencer and Lucia Silver.”

Aunty P. lurched. “What?” she spat. “Why was I not informed of this?”

Rushwin hesitated for a moment, but his superior noticed. “I know Isobel. She has my mercilessness and has never once cared for anyone since her family died. She wanted revenge, and she got it. In the process, she became one of the best young rising stars in the Inquisitors. But the boy, and his two friends, made her shed some of her mercilessness. She lied to my face about their involvement because she knew what it meant if we knew. I chose to protect her as well.”

There was silence.

Rushwin subtly smiled to himself. “I guess, in a way, Isobel is my Leland. My mercilessness wanes when I deal with her.”

Aunty P. stared. “Leland Silver is a known Harbinger. His Lord is only known as ‘the Calamity.’”

Now that statement alone slapped Rushwin’s smile away. “This is confirmed?”

“I heard him say it myself,” she blinked, her mask of subtly slipping into something dark. “In Ruinsforth, standing beside Sybil right before she was taken!”

The walls didn’t shake from the yelling, not with the high quality runes carved into them. That didn’t mean there wasn’t stress on the system, however. Someone would need to come in and adjust them after this meeting.

“I-I didn’t know,” Rushwin muttered.

“You didn’t know?” Aunty P. remarked, her voice far away from what it was. “It is your job to know!”

The High Inquisitor began to sweat. “So Leland Silver kidnapped the princess?”

“No,” the Eldest Princess said. “At least, we do not think so. But he goaded the Undying Harbinger and the Gateway Witch into action. I then ordered his death. The Huntress ignored my orders.”

Rushwin went to speak but paused. He deliberated for a long moment before saying, “I know Leland and Isobel’s actions are going to be put to trial at this point. But do you not have any doubts that both were working to protect Princess Sybil rather than working to further their own goals?”

Aunty P’s brows bent down. Rushwin quickly added, “Because, from my viewpoint as someone who has only read the reports from Ruinsforth, the Undying Harbinger stopped his assault due to Leland. Carmon Red is still alive because of this. Ruinsforth is still alive because of this. How many people can say they’ve talked a Harbinger down from destroying a city? Isobel most likely refused your order because she saw a path toward protecting the princess using Leland.”

“That Harbinger was never gunning to destroy the city. And if he was, I doubt Leland’s words had any effect on stopping him. No, that man wanted Sybil after the ritual was over.” Aunty P. raised her voice for these next few words. “Which he got. Sybil is gone, regardless of the Huntress’ actions. And she is missing as well, might I add.”

Rushwin leaned back and thought. Something, to him and his decades of field experience, was not adding up. He expressed as much.

“I agree,” Aunty P. said. “Which is why I am chasing down the shortest of leads. Which is why you are here. Because I thought you had a superior-subordinate relationship with the Huntress. Not whatever it is you have with her.” The last little bit was said with spite and a sense of tiredness.

She continued. “This little revelation of her lying to you about Leland Silver and you knowingly not reporting it, is exactly what I intend to find while scouring the bowels of known intellig—”

Aunty P. abruptly stopped, all anger washing out of her face and posture. In a fraction of a second, her sphere of influence widened out, encompassing the whole of the castle. Through various Legacy means, the Eldest Princess “saw” and “heard” everything within the stone and bone walls.

So, when a portal to the Void opened inside the throne room, she was the first to notice. One second later, alarms across the castle sounded.

Aunty P. didn’t wait for the High Inquisitor, instead flying out of her office with the speed rivaling even the Huntress. Combat prowess was not her specialty, but every good spy had a fight-to-the-death or two under their belt. Especially if they were as old as her.

Even with her speed, she missed properly viewing the hole in reality before it closed. Her sphere of influence was massive, but it was just a drop in the bucket compared to the vastness of the Void.

What came out of the portal almost made her trip. Aunty P. recovered mid stride, and continued on. As she did, she telepathically raised the alarm-threat-level inside the castle.

Teleporting suicide bombers were not as infrequent as they ought to be and she was not taking any chances until she could properly identify the girl in the throne room.

Face stealers were another possibility, but Aunty P. hoped that wasn’t the case. If it was, then there would be a royal funeral in the near future.

She arrived in the throne room within a handful of seconds after the alarms sounded. The two guardsmen stationed near the throne had already reacted, their spears thrust in front, ordering the sudden intruder to identify herself.

Aunty P. shut the guards down with her very presence, forcing them to surrender themselves to the raw aura of power surrounding her. She would have command over this interrogation, not two nameless peons. They didn’t so much as try to argue with her authority and instead simply took a step back, their weapons still out.

That was fine.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t. Until Aunty P. saw the face of the young girl resting before her. The girl had collapsed to her the moment after she arrived in the throne room. Aunty P. had watched it happen.

There was an odd grace to the intruder sitting, like the person sitting on the marbled floors had some sort of royal charm schooling. She had fallen with modesty, like she was wearing a dress. She, of course, was not wearing a dress, but still reacted to the proper way to sit with a dress. Like she had done it a million times previously.

A great detail for any face stealer trying to impersonate a princess. Whoever this was, they were set on truly selling the illusion.

“Who are—”

The girl looked up from the rightmost guard, the one just a hair closer, whose weapon was a fraction nearer. She spun at the voice, moving with the floaty speed of someone without Lord and Legacy. There was no guidance to her movement, no power coursing through her muscles.

Aunty P. saw through this movement as someone who had really done their homework on Sybil. Taking account of the princess’ lack of Legacy would be something most pros wouldn’t think about. Whoever this was—

“Aunty P!” the intruder yelped, fear turning to surprise, which quickly devolved into wells of tears.

Water fell from the intruder’s eyes with a sparkle. She tried to close the distance, to hug the Spymaster General, but the Eldest Princess took a half-step back. The intruder paused, her tears suddenly hardening into unease.

“What—”

“Who are you?” Aunty P. asked, her face a mask.

“What do you mean? It’s me, Sybil!”

Aunty P. shifted a bit, pushing her lead hip forward and drawing back her dominant hand. It had been a while since she fought weaponless, but now was not the time to get complacent.

She took in her opponent, fully. Ratty cloak, one that reminded her of what the Huntress wore back in Ruinsforth. Wobbled legs, defeated arms. A familiar dark skin tone, albeit the dampness of her clothes turned the hue a bit darker than it should. Hair tied back unevenly by a strip of cloth. Two scars, one across her lip, the other down her face. She was thin, like food had been hard to come by. This especially showed on her face, yet a thick layer of dirt made it more difficult to see.

But most damning, at least to Aunty P. knowing that this person was not Sybil Palemarrow, was that when the guards had thrust their weapons toward her, she did not try to run. To escape. No, the person now standing before Aunty P. was trained in some capacity. A poor training, one more of necessity than tutelage, but training nonetheless.

The intruder stepped forward.

And then Aunty P. could smell it. The ever familiar scent of death. This person had been around a lot of death. Rot, ruin. It lingered, it stuck to clothing. It remained trapped like air in a box.

This person was not Sybil Palemarrow. This person had killed Sybil Palemarrow and taken her face.

“Take her,” Aunty P. commanded the guards. They were a bit slow on the uptake, so she added, “Take this imposter to the dungeons.”

That got them moving. But it also got the imposter moving. She didn’t step forward, she didn’t resist when the guards grabbed her. But she moved, nonetheless. It was subtle, her face twisted with a plethora of emotion. They were set behind a discipline of locked-away emotion, but they were there, and Aunty P. saw them in full.

A quirk of the brow. A disbelieving swallow. Drying tear ducts followed by a twitch.

Then the guards moved her a step. And then she reacted.

Aunty P. had considered the threat of a suicide bomber. But tossed it away the moment she confronted the intruder. She would have exploded already to take out the Eldest Princess and Spymaster General.

So when a dull gray glow sprouted from the intruder’s skin and veins, Aunty P. feared she’d been wrong. But no explosion came. No wave of poison. No incinerating flames. Nothing, but a familiar light show.

In that glow, Aunty P. realized she was wrong. Not because of the glow itself, any magic could have the same effect. No, it was the ethereal statue that sprouted from Sybil’s shoulders. It rose up above her, like a protector guardian, like a knight or even a mother. Her mother, the Queen. The statue held the same face as the Queen – Sybil as well, actually.

The statue’s gaze fell upon Aunty P. She felt her legs go first, then a blaze along her spine. The guards had already crumbled to the ground, shivering as their flesh charred from the divine source.

Aunty P. realized the statue was not of her sister, the Queen nor of Sybil, her niece. But of the Lord the Palemarrows drew power and authority from.

The Boneforged Monarch.

“S-Sybil—” the name died on Aunty P’s lips as the power of the Monarch threatened the very foundation of the castle on which they stood. The throne room shook with radiant heat and enough alarms blared that most of the lower city would know a threat lay within the heart of the kingdom.

A spell of rapid waves hurdled from the throne room entrance. Aunty P. forced herself to react, to throw herself in front of the attack. The spell sheared through her, severing her spine but reducing the spell to nothing but a brisk splash. Momentum took her fast, sending her spiraling across the marbled floor. Her sights fell on High Inquisitor Rushwin, the Tide Maker himself, standing in the room’s entrance.

Sybil turned her, the Monarch’s really, gaze on the man. She did not recognize him and felt no remorse when he crumbled to the ground, instead keenly noting that the attacker was taken care of.

His body still twitched, however, steam rising from his oddly wet clothing.

Aunty P. twisted back, only her upper half responding. Pain took her but she fought through, finding Sybil had moved yet again. Now the girl stood over her, tears evaporating the moment they fell from her face.

“Why?” she begged. “I just wanted—”

Gray assaulted the throne room and the kingdom at large. A domain of chilling reprisal combated the Boneforged Monarch’s claim on Sybil, shutting down the divine heat and easing the tension on the castle. A rush of cold came next, soothing the downed guards and Aunty P. The cold hesitated around Rushwin, lifting him up and removing him from the room.

All around, the bone accent trim grew and deepened like a child’s growth condensed down into just a few heartbeats. The windows turned dark, the domain blotting out all light except for what was truly necessary.

Rejuvenating will then clamped down on the Monarch’s statue form, rending it from Sybil’s shoulders with a raw yank. The Monarch hissed with frustration, resolving herself back into her host’s body. The divine power rescinded.

Sybil fell to her knees, tears still falling over her Aunt’s sundered form. The Eldest Princess didn’t seem to mind, however, and instead smiled brightly. How could she not? Her niece had just returned home. A bit worse for wear, sure, but safe, nonetheless.

“You’re hurt…” Sybil muttered, the last remains of the gray glow fading. She scanned over her aunt’s severed top half, her lower half a few steps away. “I hurt you… I killed you…”

The last three words were so quiet, so painful, that the air in the throne room stopped. The gray domain shifted away from the guards and Aunty P, and to Sybil herself. They petted her, soothing what little worry could be chiseled away in this situation.

Aunty P. took one last look at her niece and then allowed herself to lay back, worry free. “No one dies when your mother is here, remember?”

Sybil flinched at the question. She did remember, but her mother was not here. Her mother was far away doing whatever the kingdom demanded of—

Her train of thought died when the growing bones within the room joined one another. They grew and towered, climbing over one another before morphing together into a single set of ivory. Details were carved and depth was created. A face, muscles, appendages. A picturesque statue of the Queen quickly turned fleshy, turned real.

The Queen of Palemarrow smiled, stepping across the throne room like she had done millions of times. There was no urgency in her pace, because as Aunty P. had said, no one died when she was around.

“Hello, my sweet child,” the Queen said, her voice causing an eruption of tears down her daughter’s face. “Welcome back from your adventure. I hope you are ready to take the crown.”

Spencer Silver rested against a thick frozen spire, overseeing the kids’ safety as they defeated the worm boss. This was their third battle and first without help. While problems could arise, he didn’t think they would. Not with how they had been fighting lately. Not with how much training they had done.

It had been eight weeks since they went into hiding and entered the dungeon, but that timescale was skewed by four since dungeon time was much faster than normal time. So in reality, it had only been two weeks since Leland and Sybil had gone missing from Ruinsforth.

Everyday, Spencer felt his time could be better used finding Leland and Sybil… but he couldn’t exactly abandon the others. Carmon, Lucia, and Diana were in horrid shape, Carmon being the worst off. They all would have died if not for daily mana transfusions and what little alchemical knowledge Spencer held. Unfortunately none of them knew healing magic of any kind, and their usual emergency kits had to be left behind.

Roy tried to help in this regard, yet he was no mage. The most he could do was sit at his wife’s bed and try not to wallow in shame. He had failed just like Spencer and the rest, putting everyone in extreme danger. His son, Jude, had almost died. His wife as well. And Roy blamed himself for that.

At least he was able to train the boys. And Gelo for that matter.

It was a bit of a surprise to actually meet the Guardian Spirit Beast mother and daughter. He had been told previously what to expect but seeing was believing. Floe’s sheer power was something else. Gelo’s potential was just as amazing. Maybe even more surprising was that Floe simply welcomed the boys, and in essence everyone else, into her dungeon like they were family.

Spencer had been hesitant when Glenny suggested hiding in the dungeon, but now that they were here, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere more secure. Not with the Spymaster after them.

At the thought, a deep resentment and anger attached itself to him like a cancerous growth. He had been sitting just a few steps away when the woman ordered the Huntress to kill his son. At the time, Spencer was too focused on the battle with the Gateway Witch to fully understand the implications of the order. But once the battle settled and the Undying Harbinger left, Ariadne Palemarrow was lucky Spencer was never very good at combat magic.

Sitting against the frozen worm spire, Spencer slowly clenched his fist. There was no doubt in his mind that if he and Ariadne Palemarrow were in the same room, that he wouldn’t miss a second time.

“You are daydreaming again,” a voice said suddenly beside him.

Spencer didn’t have to look over to know it was the mama bear, Floe, who spoke. His anger relented and he cast his gaze back over to Jude, Glenny, and Gelo.

Jude had invoked Floe’s incarnation blessing and carved deeply into the massive worm’s flank. It was gushing blood like a geyser. The incarnation took the form of a mighty frost bear, the same species Floe and Gelo were descendants of. At the apex of his attacks, the bear would appear behind and above him, adding greatly to his strike with a meaty swipe of its own.

Glenny was moving around invisible, shifting his weapons to inflict the maximum amount of damage from the various angles he attacked from. The boy had made recent strides in Echo Waltz, a particularly difficult blade dance his father had taught him the basics of years ago. Every so often he would step and slash correctly and a second ethereal attack would connect a moment later.

Most interesting was how the cub, Gleo, fought. She was the mage archetype, staying toward the back of the battlefield and casting storms of frost and spikes of ice. While her style wasn’t much to dissect, it was the beauty in her spells that made Spencer watch with bated breath. Someone like Roy or Carmon might not notice but each of her spells was created with a true master’s touch. Perfectly crafted, as if the ice wanted to be shaped and called by her.

“Yes and no,” Spencer replied to the bear. “I’m just worried.”

Floe nodded her head, a mannerism that Spencer would not have thought the bear would use. She said, “While I didn’t know your son long, I knew his power. Jude was strung up and dying and the world reacted to his will.”

Spencer frowned at that. That was almost exactly how he saw Gelo’s power. “Like how Gelo casts spells?” he asked.

Floe looked toward the battle. The worm was as good as dead. “No. Not at all. Gelo and I are one with our element. With nature, really. The ice and cold is a part of us as much as we are them. We ask for magic, and magic comes to help.” She collected her thoughts before continuing. “Leland… is different. When Jude was dying, he bent the world to his command. He forced his spells to be far more powerful than they had any right to be. He forced Jude’s Legacy to react. To enrage.”

“Sounds like a sight to see. He controls magic like the Harbinger the world now thinks he is.” Spencer didn’t mean his words, but the fact of the matter was, if Leland wasn’t a Harbinger, then there would be no problems. He knew his son wasn’t evil, but Harbingers were. Unequivocally… at least socially. Leland’s life, if somehow he was able to get out of the Palemarrow gaze, would grow exponentially more difficult since everyone now knew the truth.

Floe looked blankly at the pouty human. “Opinions will not matter when he dominates every threat that faces him. He will do the world good, and people will see that for what it is, good.”

Spencer watched the worm breathe its last breath. “You’re right,” he whispered.

Nodding happily, Floe asked, “When will you be leaving?”

They had talked about this a few times, Spencer leaving. The others would stay and he alone would leave. He had a few tracker-contacts across the continent who owed him a few favors. He would be collecting on those, and he would find his son one way or another.

For all of that to happen, however, Carmon, Diana, and Lucia needed to be stable. Lucia was close, Diana next, but Carmon was not. It would be at least another two weeks, perhaps three, before he was, unfortunately. Once Lucia was up and able, that timeline should speed up a bit, but that might be wishful thinking. Lucia’s whole mana system was burned up. Whatever soul-damaging artifact the Gateway Witch hit her with cauterized all of her mana channels. Non-life threatening, but a devil to deal with.

“Soon, I hope,” Spencer responded, his mind going to all the horrible things that might be happening to his son.

Thick chains fell from Leland’s wrists. At the same time, he felt his connection with his mana return. Mage Chains were just as horrible as the stories said. His whole stay in the Graverender’s bastion had been under strict no-magic law. Which meant mana draining manacles. Which meant mana-headaches. Which also meant he was a prisoner.

Champion Zeph had tried to ease Commander Hayze’s ire, but to no avail. Leland and Isobel had been locked away for their actions helping the Archon leave this world, despite having multiple good Lords’ blessings on the matter.

Hayze did not like to be disobeyed. Her current glare explained as much. “I expect you to vacate the bastion in exactly one hour, when the caravan heading to Jyn departs.”

Leland rubbed his wrists, taking in all the sweet, sweet mana in the air. “We don’t have any money to pay for the caravan.”

Hayze frowned and glanced at Isobel. The ignorant woman leaned into the wall, her eyes closed. Hayze very much doubted the woman was asleep. And even if she was, Hayze didn’t like her, so if information was lost, it wouldn’t be her problem. “You will be provided a small amount of gold.”

That was not the answer Leland wanted, so he tried again. “We have money. Just not on us. Someone took my inventory ring, remember?”

Hayze scowled, then fished through her pocket. She handed Leland two rings. One was his own, the other Isobel’s. Leland instantly slipped his on, taking inventory. Everything still seemed to be in there, except for all of the teal rings he had gathered on route to the storm. Those were soldier identification tags for the Graverenders and not his to keep.

She also handed him Sybil’s bone white mask. She looked like she wanted to ask something about the mask, but she held off.

“Thank you,” Leland said. “Zeph still around?”

“He will meet you at the gate,” Hayze said, spinning and walking off.

Isobel cracked open an eye. “Horrid woman, her.”

Down the hallway, Hayze faltered a step, recovered, muttered something about “insolence,” then continued off to command her men. Back in the prison cell, Isobel smirked.

“Please, Isobel. Don’t antagonize her anymore. We are about to be home free and I don’t want to be locked up another night just because Hayze is feeling spiteful,” Leland said.

Down the hallway, Hayze faltered again, shook her head, and strode off faster.

Isobel sighed. “Whatever.” She hopped to her feet, took her ring from Leland, and exited the bastion’s dungeon.

It had only been a few days since Sapphire escaped this world, and for nearly all of that Isobel and Leland had been in custody. For what it was worth, being in custody had some perks. For example, passage out of the Archon Valley was as simple as it was quick. Isobel and Leland had been flown out by Champion Zeph and the other Sky Dwarves while Commander Hayze and her men followed closely behind.

Leland could do without the Mana Chains, but then again, he wouldn’t have been put in them if Isobel hadn’t mouthed off. He still didn’t know why he was being punished for her mess-up other than he seemed to be able to get through to her the most. At least more than Zeph or Hayze could.

Champion Zeph and the other dwarves met Leland and Isobel at the gates exactly as told. After a long talk, the caravan was starting to pull out of the bastion. The caravan had delivered its weekly supply and now it was time to refill. Jyn was the destination, a small agricultural town with a sprawling research scene. The town was the only place near the Archon Valley where people could actually stay without being accosted by the Graverenders, so researchers flocked.

“Goodbye lad, girly,” Zeph said as Leland and Isobel climbed aboard a covered wagon.

“Bye,” Isobel quickly said, getting comfortable on the hard wooden seat.

“Bye, Zeph, thank you for the help back there,” Leland said, smiling as bright as could be.

Despite being arrested, imprisoned, and shackled, Leland found himself quite happy. Sybil had gotten home, he had been kissed, Sapphire had gotten to go home, no one died, he had been kissed, and he was finally on his way home. It had been a hellish few weeks, but everything was ending with a nice, scenic trip across the world.

“Aye, lad. Glad I could,” Zeph said, walking with the caravan’s slow acceleration.

“If a need arises, let me know if my help could be useful,” Leland said. “Don’t know how you’ll contact me, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Oh! Say thanks to your Lord for me!”

Zeph smiled, along with the two other dwarves following closely to the side. “Thanks for the offer, lad, but I’m not going to cash that in until you are much more powerful than you are right now.”

Leland smirked at that. There was no malice in the Champion’s words and Leland didn’t try to find any. He knew exactly how strong he was and exactly how much of a liability he could be. So, in the end, he saw Zeph’s words as a nod to the future, a future in which Leland was powerful enough to help.

“Bye everyone, thanks again! Oh! Make sure Hayze does something about that wormhole! I think she forgot!”

The dwarves smiled and stopped moving with the wagon. They waved until the caravan passed over a hill.

Leland took a seat beside Isobel. “I guess that’s that.”

“So it is,” she said, closing her eyes.

“I hope Sybil got help in time.”

“I’m sure she did.”

Leland nodded along, watching the countryside go by. “What do we do now? Do we just waltz back into the kingdom? Or do we gather information before—”

Isobel cracked open an eye. “We are doing nothing until we know if our heads are wanted for display purposes. If they are, then you better change your name and look for employment as a mage-tech somewhere.”

Leland frowned, his fingers rubbing Sybil’s mask. He could go incognito if he needed. Which, by Isobel’s tone, would probably be needed. But even if he was in danger of losing his head, it wouldn’t stop him from finding his family and friends. At the very least, he needed to know if they were safe. If he needed to run after that, so be it.

In his heart of hearts, he knew he wouldn’t have to run.

“How’s Rushwin?” Aunty P. asked.

Queen Ellie Palemarrow turned her gaze away from her daughter. “Alive. Close, but alive.”

Aunty P. nodded at that, sitting beside the bed. She reached out to take Sybil’s hands, but a small shockwave of power bloomed from the protective barrier around the girl.

“It will fall eventually,” Ellie added, her voice stoic and calm.

Aunty P. didn’t know how her sister could be calm in such a situation. Her daughter was in a coma within a barrier of divine mana. Was she safe? Was she dying? Aunty P. didn’t know, and she suspected her sister didn’t either.

The last few hours had been hell. From getting her torso reattached to her body, her spine realigned, and her nerve endings rejuvenated, pain was something she had quickly become familiar with. But, she hadn’t died, and that was good enough. Rushwin and the guards as well, apparently, so that was good too.

Aunty P. mentally cursed herself. How could she have been so blind as to not recognize her own niece? Foolish and shameful.

“How long, do you think?”

Ellie hummed, “A few weeks, I hope. The Boneforged Monarch was close to claiming her. Luckily she returned to us in time.”

Aunty P. had many questions about that, but one stuck out more than most. “How did she get back? Did the Witch just get tired of her and send her away?”

The Queen frowned. “Forces greater than you or I are at play. I saw the threads of fate twist and turn every hour she was gone. The possibility of her being returned to us had always been there, but it was never set in stone. Which is worrisome.”

“And those threads don’t have any knowledge of how she got back?”

“They do. But those hints are staying with me.”

Aunty P. frowned. She had lost her sister’s trust and that was crushing.

“You will learn, but not right now. Maybe not even in my lifetime,” Ellie added.

Sitting up straight at that, Aunty P asked, “So it is time?”

“Yes. A successor has been named. I thought I had more time, but the Monarch does as she wishes.”

“What will happen to you?” The question was asked like a little girl questioning death for the first time.

“I will still be here, in Sybil. I will guide her the best I, and the other Queens, can.”

“What about the other children? They need their mother.”

Ellie shook her head. “I wish I could say, but we always knew this day would come.”

Aunty P. swallowed her initial thought. It was not Sybil’s fault she was taking her mother’s life. It was not Sybil’s fault she was taking Aunty P’s sister from her. It was only the rules of ruling, the rules of the Monarch.

“When?” she asked, tears streaming down her face. When was the last time she cried? Nearly a century ago?

Ellie looked her sister in the eye. “The process has already started.” She held up a hand, her dark skin had turned somewhat translucent. “I need you to promise me that you will protect her until the Monarch finalizes the change.”

“I will,” Aunty P. said instantly, her voice hard.

“Good. When Sybil wakes, her Legacy will finally be realized and she will be the new Queen.” Ellie then stood and spoke softly. “Goodbye my sister. I wish you all my love and happiness.”

Aunty P. stood as well, hugging her sister, her tears falling onto her sister’s shoulder.

Sapphire soared through the Void. Abruptly, a world appeared. Her world. A hive mind world, full of Archons and means of discovery. She would never forget the humans who helped her get here. Sybil, Leland, and Isobel. They were kind humans, much nicer than most of the people she had met in the Valley.

So as she slotted into one of the many communes in her world, the other Archons quickly learned of Sybil, Leland, and Isobel and their heroics in the face of unknown magic, knowledge, and power. Soon enough Sapphire’s experiences while experimenting in the Valley would be fully realized and the hive mind would decide which new Realms, worlds, and Domains were to be connected.

Sapphire held no delusions that these new connections would surely bring death and destruction to Sybil, Leland, and Isobel’s world, but it needed to be done. If not for their world, then for the others. In time their world would grow accustomed to these new connections and the various monsters, sapient life, and magic that would come.

Sapphire hoped Sybil, Leland, and Isobel would evolve and thrive in their newly adjusted world. She would not forget them, just like the hive mind.