Defense.
Survive.
The fortress was failing.
I had ignored the signs at first—small inconsistencies, things easy to dismiss as byproducts of exhaustion, hangover, or paranoia. A flickering light here, a faint hum missing there. But standing in the library now, watching the sigils carved into the shelves lose their glow, the reality settled in like a lead weight.
The power sustaining the fortress was dying. And with it, everything else.
The defensive barrier that had once surrounded the structure? Gone. The enchantments woven into the stone to reinforce the walls? Weakening. The runes that stabilized the very foundation? Flickering like a dying candle.
And the lights. The damn lights.
Dim, unsteady, pulsing as if struggling for breath. Some corridors were already in darkness, shadows stretching where they shouldn't. The fortress had always been a place of control, a testament to order and calculated magic. Now it felt… abandoned. Hollow.
This wasn't just an inconvenience. This was an existential crisis.
I reached out, testing the wards with my magic. The response was sluggish, distant, like calling out to something half-asleep. The fortress had always drawn energy from the environment itself, cycling ambient magic to maintain its integrity. But now, that cycle was broken. It wasn't just failing—it was starving. I clenched my jaw. Whatever energy I had relied on to keep this place stable was slipping through my fingers. And I had no idea why.
I turned sharply, moving through the darkened shelves, books whispering as I passed. Some of them were definitely alive. I ignored the faint growl from somewhere deep in the archives. Another problem for another time.
Right now, I had bigger concerns.
I made my way to the stairwell, ascending toward the sixth floor where the core enchantments were laid. My boots echoed against the stone, the sound unnervingly sharp in the growing silence. Normally, the fortress pulsed with latent magic, a constant background hum of protective spells and stabilizing forces. Now? It felt still. Too still.
I had spent years constructing these defenses, layering safeguards upon safeguards. The fortress wasn't just a shelter; it was a stronghold. A sanctuary. A line drawn between me and whatever was out there. If it crumbled, so did everything I had built.
I stopped at a two-meter-tall rectangular slab of mithril, its surface etched with sigils and runes that flickered erratically. Pressing a hand against the cold metal, I frowned. It should be warm. This was the core—its energy should have been steady, constant. Instead, the symbols quivered beneath my fingers, their glow flickering like embers struggling against an unseen wind. That's definitely not good.
I muttered a reinforcement spell, a simple weave meant to stabilize the failing enchantments. The magic barely took hold, seeping away like water through cracked stone. Like trying to light a candle in a storm—fleeting, fragile, and ultimately futile. My frown deepened. Right. Magic system still broke. This was bad. Really bad.
Something was very, very wrong.
And that's when I felt it. A pull. A faint, sickening lurch somewhere beneath my feet. Like the world itself had just shifted ever so slightly out of alignment.
I exhaled. "Ah. Of course."
The Astral Nexus. The giant crystal, three meters tall, a swirling mass of shifting hues—deep violets and smoldering blues, with veins of silver that pulsed like a heartbeat—contained within a circle of enchantments. Just right behind me.
I turned around. And sighed.
Or rather… the gateway. Well, that's just fantastic.
The theory had been right. Too right. My theory was the basis for my experiment a navigation spell. But I had touched something. And now, the consequences were unfolding around me, one failing enchantment at a time.
I ran a hand through my hair, ignoring the dull throb of my headache. There was no undoing this—not easily, not quickly. The power that had once stabilized the fortress was either drained or redirected. Which meant one thing:
I was no longer anchored.
Not to this fortress. Not to this world.
The realization settled deep in my bones. This wasn't just a loss of power—it was a shift in reality itself. The very foundation of my existence had changed, and I was standing in the aftermath. The core wasn't the problem—it was still trying to draw the same ambient energy it had always known, but that energy was gone. It couldn't adapt. Like a fish out of water, floundering for something that no longer existed.
I inhaled slowly. I had survived worse.
Gather your strength. One day at a time. See it through.
I need a new power source for the core.
Before it was too late.