Alaric hardly made it three steps before he sensed he wasn't alone.
He turned sharply, his hand instinctively reaching for his blade as a shadow detached itself from the nearby wall. A figure with a hood low over their face stepped forward, moving slowly, deliberately, as if savoring each step.
"What do you want?" Alaric demanded, his voice low.
The figure paused, and the hood lifted just enough for Alaric to glimpse familiar, calculating eyes—Loren.
"Funny, I thought you'd be a little friendlier, Alaric." Loren's smirk was as insufferable as ever. "It seems I keep running into you at the most… unfortunate times."
Alaric clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to lunge. "Following me again, Loren? Balthazar didn't get enough information from me back at the Order?"
Loren shrugged, his gaze drifting lazily to the lifeless woman lying a few paces away. "It's not me who's interested. But someone thought you might… need a little assistance tonight."
Alaric followed Loren's gaze, his fists tightening. "I don't need assistance. I need answers."
"Then maybe you're in luck." Loren glanced back at him, an edge of amusement in his voice. "The High Seer has granted you… permission. You're free to track down Magnus. With conditions, of course."
"Conditions." Alaric's voice was flat.
Loren nodded. "You bring him back alive. And if he resists, you let the Order handle it. He's… valuable."
"Alive?" Alaric's teeth ground together. "Do they expect me to take him out for tea and a lecture on time ethics?"
"Do you have a better plan?" Loren raised an eyebrow, leaning in, his voice dropping. "Because if you fail, Balthazar will bring you in himself. You've danced around the edge of this magic long enough, Alaric. And Magnus… he's left you no choice."
The words stung, as much because Alaric knew them to be true. Magnus wasn't leaving him any choice. Not if he kept leaving bodies at Alaric's doorstep like messages. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing right into Magnus's hands.
"You know where I can find him," Alaric said, keeping his gaze steady. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be here."
Loren's smile was quick, sharp. "There's a place. The Old Watchtower, north of the city." He paused, watching Alaric's reaction. "It's where the exiled go to disappear. Rumor has it Magnus has been seen there, working on… something."
"Something?" Alaric's patience wore thin. "And I suppose you don't know what?"
"Oh, I have my theories," Loren replied, unfazed by Alaric's irritation. "But none you'd find comforting. He's playing with time, Alaric, in ways even you wouldn't dare."
"And you expect me to stroll in and drag him out?"
"No." Loren's voice shifted, losing its mocking edge. "I expect you to survive."
The words hit harder than they should have, and for a fleeting moment, Loren's mask slipped. Alaric caught a glimpse of something—concern, perhaps, or a shadow of their old camaraderie. But Loren's smirk returned, erasing it as quickly as it had appeared.
"Consider it my gift to you," Loren said, his tone playful again. "Just remember… you owe me."
Alaric watched as Loren melted back into the shadows, the words lingering in the night air. The Old Watchtower. Magnus wouldn't make this easy. But if there was even a chance of ending this, he had to take it.
He didn't glance back at the woman's body as he made his way down the narrow streets, but the sight of her haunted him, the echo of her voice mixing with the rain in his mind. Every step he took felt heavier, laden with the weight of his past and the lives Magnus had already taken.
By the time he reached the edges of Eldergate, dawn was beginning to break, casting a dim, gray light over the landscape. The Old Watchtower loomed ahead, a crumbling relic from a forgotten age, its dark stones soaked with years of forgotten history. Alaric's gaze fixed on it, and a chill ran down his spine.
He knew the place well.
And he knew he wasn't the only one here.
A flicker of movement at the tower's base drew his attention, and he instinctively shifted behind a nearby tree, watching. Another figure stood there, their cloak whipping in the breeze, their face turned toward the horizon. Alaric strained to see, feeling the unmistakable pull of magic around them, like a faint pulse of energy woven through the air.
"Magnus," he whispered, his heart pounding.
Before he could think, his feet moved, his body tense, ready. He approached slowly, his eyes never leaving the figure, his hand hovering near his weapon. Every instinct told him that this was a trap, that Magnus was expecting him, waiting for him. But he couldn't turn back now.
He was within arm's reach when the figure turned, revealing not Magnus, but a woman with piercing eyes, her expression cold and calculating. Her gaze locked onto his, and a small, humorless smile curved her lips.
"You're late, Alaric."
He froze, confusion breaking through his guarded exterior. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head, amusement glinting in her eyes. "An ally. Or an enemy. It depends on how useful you make yourself."
He bristled, resisting the urge to grab her. "Where's Magnus?"
"Closer than you think," she replied, her voice smooth. "But if you're hoping for a confrontation… well, you're in for disappointment."
He felt a surge of frustration. "Stop playing games. I didn't come here to trade words."
"Of course not." She let out a soft laugh, a sound as empty as her smile. "But Magnus? He's already prepared for you. He's been waiting… longer than you can imagine."
Alaric's patience snapped. "What do you want?"
The woman's expression hardened. "Magnus's death," she said, the words laced with a venom that matched the fire in her eyes. "And if you want him dead as much as I do, then perhaps we can work together."
Alaric held her gaze, searching for any sign of deceit. He didn't trust her—not for a second. But he needed all the help he could get.
"If you're here to kill him," he said slowly, "then you'll tell me why."
She didn't hesitate. "Because Magnus has taken something from me… something precious. And I intend to get it back."
"What could he have that's worth risking your life for?"
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Time, Alaric. He's stolen years from me. And now… I want them back."
The implication struck him like a blow. Time theft. The ultimate violation of Chronomancy. Magnus had delved into the darkest depths of their magic, something even Alaric hadn't dared to touch.
"Then you understand what he's capable of," Alaric said, his voice low, the gravity of the situation settling over him. "If we don't stop him now…"
Her eyes flashed with determination. "Then we may never have another chance."
The two of them stood there, bound by a shared purpose and a mutual distrust. It wasn't an alliance, not in the traditional sense, but in the face of Magnus's threat, it would have to be enough.
"Your name?" Alaric asked, breaking the silence.
She hesitated, then answered, "Eveline."
The name stirred something in him, a memory half-buried beneath years of guilt and regret. But he shoved it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
"Alright, Eveline," he said, his voice steady. "Let's end this."
And with that, they turned together toward the Watchtower, their footsteps echoing in the quiet dawn. The past, the shadows, and the death that awaited them—none of it mattered. Only the hunt did.
Only the end of Magnus's dark legacy.