Deborah's POV
Late at night, as the world lay steeped in silence and sleep, a soft knock at my door shattered the stillness.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. The sound was so faint it could easily have been a trick of my half-asleep mind. But then, it came again, firmer this time yet still careful. I groaned, rolling over and pulling the blankets tighter around me. Who could it be at this hour?
"Deb, open up!" Barron's muffled voice pierced the quiet of the night, laced with unmistakable excitement. It was the kind of tone that immediately screamed trouble.
I groaned, half-sunk in the haze of sleep and irritation. Why was he here? And why now? Dragging myself out of bed, I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, shuffled into my slippers, and reluctantly made my way to the door.
When I opened it, there he stood, illuminated by the dim glow of the hallway lights. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his grin smug and confident. Before I could protest, he brushed past me with the ease of someone who clearly didn't believe in waiting for invitations. The door clicked shut behind him, a faint echo in the otherwise silent room.
"Barron," I began, pinching the bridge of my nose as I tried to rein in my irritation, "it's the middle of the night. What could possibly be so important?"
He didn't respond right away. Instead, he strolled over to the small sofa in the corner of the room and collapsed onto it as though he owned the place. He stretched out, crossing his ankles, and gave me a smirk that only served to deepen my irritation.
"You're going to thank me for this, Deb," he finally said, folding his arms behind his head. His tone was self-assured, smug even, as if whatever he had to say would undoubtedly be worth the interruption.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe as I narrowed my eyes at him. "Unless you've figured out a way to turn back time so I can get some sleep, I seriously doubt it." My voice was still thick with exhaustion, but Barron remained unfazed.
He leaned forward slightly, his grin never wavering. "Trust me," he said, tapping the side of his temple with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "You'll want to hear this."
"Important?" I echoed, already crawling back into bed. "Unless it's about the world ending, it can wait until morning." I pulled the blanket over my head, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.
"You're unbelievable," he muttered, clearly unimpressed with my lack of enthusiasm. "How can you just go back to sleep? Aren't you the least bit curious?"
"Not really," I replied, my voice muffled by the blanket. "Whatever it is, it can wait. I'm exhausted, Barron. Do you have any idea how much energy it took to deal with Emily all day?"
He scoffed, but there was a trace of amusement in his tone. "Oh, come on, Deb. This is big—like, game-changing big. Don't make me tell you while you're half-asleep."
With a sigh, I sat up, fixing him with a glare. "Fine. You've got five minutes. Make it quick."
His grin widened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright, so here's the deal: after dinner, when I went back to my room, Emily showed up."
"Emily?" I repeated, frowning. "Let me guess. She wanted to declare her undying love for you."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Not exactly. She wanted to talk about Tirfothuinn."
The mention of Tirfothuinn snapped me fully awake. I sat up straighter, my heart racing. "Tirfothuinn? What did she say?"
Seeing my sudden interest, Barron's grin grew smug. "Knew that'd get your attention," he said, leaning back in his chair. "She mentioned something about their defenses being upgraded recently. And get this—she specifically talked about Sanctuarium."
"Sanctuarium?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper. The name sent a chill down my spine. "Why would she bring that up? How would she even know about it?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Barron replied, his expression turning serious for the first time. "She said her father mentioned it. Apparently, when the Vandran family attacked Tirfothuinn, they couldn't breach the barrier. Not only that, but the werewolves managed to retreat into the protection of the shield without suffering any casualties."
Relief washed over me. At least Tirfothuinn was safe, for now.
But the revelation left me uneasy. I forced myself to stay calm, my tone even as I asked, "And you didn't think she might be saying all this to test you?"
"I considered that," he admitted, shrugging. "But she seemed genuinely frustrated—like she couldn't believe her family had failed so miserably. Emily's not exactly a great actress, you know."
I studied his face, searching for any sign he might be holding back. "And? Did she say anything else?"
Barron's playful demeanor faded, replaced by a seriousness I rarely saw in him. "Yeah, one more thing. She said her father thinks Tirfothuinn had outside help—support from someone on the surface. They're convinced there's no way the underground could have developed such a strong defense system on their own."
His words sent a ripple of tension through me.
The Vandran family, with all their wealth and influence, couldn't grasp the true nature of what they were up against. Sanctuarium wasn't born of science or technology; its strength stemmed from something far older, far less understood—magic. The intricate barrier wasn't designed in a lab or constructed by machines. It was woven by the hands and will of witches and warlocks, their power forming an invisible shield that kept Tirfothuinn safe from the outside world.
The fact that it still held strong after all these years meant only one thing: those magic users had been working tirelessly, likely to the brink of exhaustion, to repair and maintain it. I knew firsthand how taxing that effort could be. Years ago, when the Edwards Family launched an assault on Tirfothuinn, I poured every ounce of my magical ability into holding Sanctuarium together. Despite my best efforts, it hadn't been enough to fully restore the barrier. The fractures had remained, vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited. For it to now be fully functional, withstanding attacks like the Vandran family's recent failed siege, there had to be a considerable force of magic users behind it—a coordinated effort, sustained day and night.
But there was a grim truth about magic that no one liked to admit: it wasn't infinite. The energy fueling Sanctuarium didn't come from some endless wellspring; it came from people. People who grew weary, who faltered under strain, whose reserves could run dry. Every spell cast, every ounce of power channeled into the barrier, drained the life force of those maintaining it. And if the Vandran family launched another assault—longer, more relentless—they could very well break through. Not because their weapons would outmatch the barrier, but because they could outlast the people sustaining it.
That was the real danger. Prolonged conflict wasn't just a test of strength; it was a test of endurance. The Vandran family had the resources to keep pushing, to chip away at Tirfothuinn's defenses little by little. With enough time and persistence, they wouldn't need to break the barrier outright—they'd simply exhaust those maintaining it until Sanctuarium collapsed under its own weight.
And when that happened, the consequences would be catastrophic. Without Sanctuarium, Tirfothuinn would be exposed, its residents left vulnerable to the Vandrans' greed and cruelty. The witches and warlocks who had fought so hard to protect their home would be left defenseless, their power spent, their lives hanging by a thread.
The thought sent a chill down my spine. Sanctuarium was more than just a barrier; it was a lifeline, a symbol of hope for those who called Tirfothuinn home. Losing it would mean more than just defeat—it would mean annihilation.
But even as these thoughts raced through my mind, another unsettling question lingered: what if the Vandrans weren't the only threat? The growing strength of Sanctuarium, its newfound resilience, hadn't gone unnoticed. If Emily Vandran was aware of it, how many others were as well? How many eyes were now turning toward Tirfothuinn, seeing its defenses not as a deterrent but as a challenge to be overcome?
The very thing keeping Tirfothuinn safe could also make it a target. And the more powerful Sanctuarium became, the more it would attract the attention of those who sought to control or destroy it.
Tirfothuinn couldn't afford to fight on all fronts. The witches and warlocks maintaining Sanctuarium needed time—time to rest, to recover, to strengthen their position. But time was a luxury they might not have, not with families like the Vandrans circling like vultures, waiting for the first sign of weakness.
If Tirfothuinn was to survive, it would need more than just magic. It would need strategy, allies, and a way to tip the scales in its favor before it was too late.
"Do you think they're just guessing?" I asked carefully. "Or do they have evidence to back it up?"
Barron shook his head. "Hard to say. Emily didn't go into details, but from the way she talked, it sounds like her father is throwing every resource he has into figuring it out."
I nodded slowly, my mind racing. "And the Vandran family? Do you think they'll attack again?"
"Eventually," Barron said with a shrug. "They can't afford not to. Their whole empire relies on those mines, and without the werewolves, they're dead in the water."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Which means they'll come back harder—and smarter."
"Exactly." He stood, crossing the room to stand by my bed. "That's why we need to stay ahead of them. I've already done my part. Now it's your turn."
I looked up at him, his face lit with determination. Despite his usual antics, there was no denying that Barron had a knack for digging up crucial information. "Alright," I said finally. "If you can keep delivering intel like this, I'll do whatever it takes to back you up. But, Barron, this isn't a game. Be careful."
He grinned, the seriousness in his eyes giving way to his usual confidence. "Don't worry about me, Deb. I've been through worse. Besides," he added with a wink, "I've got you watching my back. What could possibly go wrong?"