Cot.

Pale blankets.

Bloodstain on the edge of the basin.

But no Luneth.

No bindings. No trace of a fight.

Just gone.

He turned fast. "Where is she?"

Maeven smiled slowly, like he'd been waiting for that exact line.

"She's with him."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"She's with Dythrael," Maeven said, voice casual, like he'd just said she was at the market.

Lindarion blinked once.

Then stepped in.

Fast.

His fist slammed into Maeven's gut.

Or should have.

It stopped.

Mid-air.

Maeven's fingers caught his wrist without looking strained.

"You're angry," Maeven said. "Understandable."

"You handed her over."

"I brought her where she needed to be."

Lindarion jerked back, lightning sparking off his fingertips. "You're working with it."

Maeven tilted his head. "Of course I am."

No hesitation.

No guilt.

Just honesty, delivered like it was the weather.

"You helped summon that thing."

"I helped free him," Maeven corrected. "There's a difference."

"You're insane."

Maeven didn't argue.

He stepped to the side and casually brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve. "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over while pretending this world isn't broken. This—" He motioned to the rune-lined floor, the deeper air trembling beneath them, "—this is evolution."

"Luneth isn't part of your damn evolution."

"No. But Dythrael believes she's useful." He looked at Lindarion now, fully. "He finds her… interesting."

Lindarion's stomach turned.

He didn't like the way Maeven said that.

Not lustful. Not cruel.

But curious.

Like a scientist might be curious about a butterfly pinned to a board.

"Where is she?" he said again, voice low.

"You're not ready."

"Try me."

Maeven smiled wider. "You're powerful, Lindarion. Prismatic Core at sixteen. Impressive. But not nearly enough."

Ashwing growled softly on his shoulder.

'He's buying time,' Lindarion thought.

"Lead me to him," he said, stepping forward again. "Or I'll make you."

"You won't," Maeven replied calmly.

Lindarion's hand flared with fire.

Maeven didn't flinch.

"Because if you fight me here," Maeven said, "you'll lose. And Luneth will be one step further away. If you want to see her again, you'll follow me. Not as a hero. Not as a prince. As a student."

"What?"

Maeven turned his back to him and started walking.

"You think you're here to rescue her. But you're not. You're here to learn why you can't."

The door at the back of the room creaked open again. The air got heavier, thick with something old. Something wrong.

And underneath it…

A whisper of something familiar.

Faint.

But unmistakable.

Luneth's mana signature.

Very far below.

Ashwing tensed. "He has her."

'I know.'

Lindarion moved.

He didn't trust Maeven.

But he'd follow.

Because he didn't have a choice.

Not yet.

—

Lindarion followed Maeven through the next archway.

It wasn't carved.

It wasn't ancient.

It was just… wrong.

Like the stone had melted inwards, shaped by something that didn't care about walls or rules. Runes lined the edges, pulsing faintly, dark red and violet, colors that didn't belong in natural magic.

A portal shimmered at the center.

Thin. Oval. Too still.

It wasn't made for traveling. It felt more like a trap stretched between two mirrors.

Maeven stepped to the side.

Lindarion stopped short of the edge, eyes narrowing.

"Where does it go?" he asked.

Maeven's tone was casual, too casual. "Somewhere else."

"That's not an answer."

Maeven shrugged. "That's because you don't need one."

Lindarion started to turn.

And that was when Maeven moved.

Not flashy.

Not loud.

Just a simple push, two fingers, right between Lindarion's shoulder blades.

The portal sucked him in like breath pulled through broken teeth.

No sound.

Just black.

Weightless.

Cold.

And then—

Wind. Bark. Leaves slapping his face.

He slammed sideways through a low branch and tumbled hard into a slope of wet pine needles, rolled once, twice, then hit a boulder with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs.

Silence.

Birds rustled above.

A squirrel shrieked from a branch.

Lindarion groaned and dragged himself upright, chest heaving.

Pine trees.

Ferns.

Forest.

He looked up, no portal. Just a crooked shaft of early afternoon light leaking through the canopy.

"Son of a—"

Ashwing landed beside him, wings twitching.

"Are you okay?" the dragon asked.

Lindarion spat dirt from his mouth.

"I'm gonna kill him."

"He threw you."

"Through a portal."

"Without warning."

"I noticed."

Ashwing hissed softly. "He could've killed you."

"He didn't."

Lindarion wiped the blood from his lip, breathing hard.

'He wanted me gone. Not dead. Not yet.'

He looked around again.

This wasn't far from the fallback camps. He could sense the faint echo of soldiers' mana trails nearby.

He exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he muttered. "He wants me out of the way. I'll take that personally."

Ashwing sat on his shoulder, tiny claws steady.

"So, what now?"

Lindarion didn't answer right away.

He stared back up at the sky where the portal had vanished.

'She's still down there. He's stalling me. And I let him.'

His fists clenched.

"Now," he said, "we find another way in."

And this time, he wasn't going alone.

—

Lindarion braced one hand on a tree trunk, dragging himself up. His ribs still hurt from the portal tumble, and his knees felt like they'd tried to break stone with bone.

'At least the air doesn't taste like smoke,' he thought. 'Small wins.'

Then the sky cracked open.

Literally.

A jagged tear split the space overhead with a short, shrill snap, like fabric pulled too far. Purple light flared through the trees, just for a breath, and then something came flying out of it.

No, someone.

"Wha—"

Sylric slammed straight into him like a drunk falling off a roof.

Lindarion hit the dirt again with a solid oof, elbows and spine screaming. Sylric groaned, face planted in a patch of moss.

The portal vanished the second it finished tossing him.

Gone. No echo. No ripple.

Just trees again.

Sylric lifted his head and squinted sideways. "What the hell."

Lindarion coughed. "You definitely weigh more than you used to."

Sylric rolled off him and flopped onto his back. "And you're still built like a tree branch."

They lay there for a second, chests rising, air wheezing in and out.

Ashwing climbed out of the brush and glared at Sylric.

"You could have warned us you were falling out of the sky."