The system flashes across my vision, the notifications so rapid and urgent that I almost don't have time to react.
First, an alert:
ABILITY ATTEMPT: DIMENSIONAL GATEWAY
Failed: Insufficient skill/control. Dimensional fracture created instead.
My heart skips a beat. That wasn't supposed to happen. Panic spikes in my chest as I quickly scan the area, half-expecting some kind of rift to appear and swallow me whole. But nothing happens—yet. The air around me feels... unstable, charged, like the very fabric of the world has been tugged at.
Then another warning blinks into view:
WARNING: EXTREME ENERGY DEPLETION
Current Energy: 6/100
Recovery estimate: 24 hours minimum.
I stagger slightly, feeling the drain. My energy is nearly gone, the weight of the magical strain and failed attempt threatening to pull me down. I've pushed myself too far, too fast, and now I'm vulnerable. I can barely focus on anything other than the deep exhaustion creeping through me.
Before I can process much further, a new notification appears:
NEW ABILITY PARTIALLY UNLOCKED: REALM SENSING
Can detect nearby dimensional weaknesses/passages. Further attunement required for full activation.
My pulse races. Realm Sensing. I don't even fully understand what that means, but the idea of being able to sense weaknesses in the very fabric of reality itself feels both exhilarating and terrifying. I can feel it, this subtle shift in the air around me, as though there's something just out of reach, hiding in the space between dimensions.
But it's not fully activated yet. I need to attune to it more, whatever that means. I don't have the luxury of time or energy to figure it out now, but it's another tool—one I'll need to master.
With the system's flashing prompts still lingering in my vision, I steady myself. I've got to move. There's no time to waste, not now.
"That," Thorne says weakly, "is why untrained gate creation is not recommended."
I should be relieved. The portal is gone. The Stalkers are gone. But my hands won't stop shaking. I can still feel it—the pull of something vast and hungry on the other side, the weight of a force pressing against the veil of reality. My father's words echo in my head: "The gates will open fully, with or without your cooperation."
Despite everything, I find myself laughing—a slightly hysterical sound that quickly turns to sobbing. "I almost got us killed. Or worse."
Thorne doesn't laugh. He just watches me, something unreadable in his eyes. Not fear. Not quite. But something close.
"But you didn't." He squeezes my shoulder. "And you've confirmed something important. Your father can't create his own gateway—he needs yours. That's why he's hunting you rather than simply forcing his way through."
The ridge has gone quiet. The few remaining Stalkers have disappeared. Whether they've retreated completely or are just regrouping, I can't tell.
"We should move while we can," I say, helping Thorne to his feet once more. "Can you make it to the cave?"
He nods grimly. "Have to. That… event… will have attracted attention. Not just your father's. Every magical entity within leagues will have felt that disturbance."
We resume our painful journey along the ridge. I'm so exhausted that each step feels like walking through deep mud, but fear drives me forward. Thorne's condition continues to worsen—his skin burning with fever, the corruption spreading visibly up his neck now.
By the time we reach the cave, the sun is low in the sky. The entrance is smaller than it appeared from a distance, but inside, the space opens up into a modest chamber with a high ceiling. Most importantly, it's defensible—only one way in or out.
I help Thorne lie down against the back wall. He's barely conscious now, his breathing shallow and labored.
"Need to… use the Blood Memory," he manages. "While I can still… advise you."
I hesitate. Drawing more blood, using more magic—both seem dangerous after what just happened. But Thorne is right. I need guidance, and my mother's stored knowledge might be our only hope.
I take out the pendant again, studying the sigil I memorized from my vision. With trembling fingers, I make a small cut on my thumb and carefully trace the pattern onto the pendant's back.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then the bloodied sigil begins to glow, the light spreading to encompass the entire pendant. The same dizzying sensation sweeps over me as before, and the cave dissolves around me.
This time, I find myself in what appears to be a vast library. Towering shelves stretch in all directions, filled with books that glow with faint blue light. My mother stands before one of the shelves, selecting a volume.
"Aria," she says without turning. "I hoped you wouldn't need these memories so soon."
"Mother," I say, my voice breaking. "I don't know what to do. Thorne is dying. Father found us. I tried to open a gateway and nearly tore a hole between realms."
She turns then, her expression grave. "The gateway attempt was premature. But perhaps necessary, given the circumstances." She holds out the book. "This contains what you need to know about the corruption affecting your Huntsman."
I take it, finding that the pages turn easily despite my non-physical state here. Inside are detailed diagrams of sigils, along with instructions in a flowing script.
"A purification ritual," my mother explains. "It will slow the corruption, buying time for proper healing. But you'll need specific components. Fortunately, they should all be available where you are."
She guides me through the list—certain herbs that grow on ridgetops, water collected from morning dew, a specific arrangement of stones. The ritual itself requires another blood offering, but a small one.
"Will it save him?" I ask anxiously.
"It will give him a chance." Her eyes grow distant. "Thorne is stronger than he appears. He's survived worse."
"You knew him well." It's not quite a question.
A sad smile crosses her face. "He was my guardian too, once. Before I met your father." She shakes her head. "But that's a story for another time. You have more immediate concerns."
The library around us flickers briefly.
"Our connection is weakening," she says. "Your energy is too depleted to maintain it. Before you go—two vital pieces of information. First, the village you saw from the ridge is called Millhaven. It's neutral ground, affiliated with neither the Covenant nor the Purifiers. You should be safe there temporarily."
"And second?"
Her expression grows intense. "The pendant contains one emergency measure. If you're captured or cornered with no escape, break the gem. It will release the last of my stored power in a defensive surge that should create enough chaos for you to escape. But it's a one-time measure, and it will destroy the pendant completely."
"Destroy my only connection to you," I whisper.
"Yes. Use it only as a last resort." The library begins to fade around us. "One more thing, quickly. Trust your instincts, Aria. The System will guide your abilities, but your heart must guide your choices. You are more than the sum of your bloodlines."
As her image fades, I call out desperately, "Mother! How do I find the Twilight Accord?"
Her voice comes faintly, as if from a great distance: "Look for the sign of the eclipsed moon. Those who wear it are allies. Now go—your Huntsman needs you."
I snap back to the cave with a gasp, the pendant cooling in my palm. Thorne watches me with feverish eyes.
"Did you… learn anything?" he asks weakly.
"Yes. A purification ritual. I need to gather components." I show him the mental image of the sigil arrangement. "Have you seen these before?"
He nods slightly. "Old magic. Moonshadow specialty." His eyes drift closed. "Hurry. I can feel it… spreading."
I squeeze his hand. "Hold on. I'll be quick."
Outside, the light is fading rapidly. I gather what I need from the ridge top, following my mother's instructions exactly. The herbs grow exactly where she said they would, and the morning dew is easily collected from cupped leaves. The stone arrangement is more difficult in the failing light, but I manage it.
When I return to the cave, Thorne is unconscious, his breathing erratic. The corruption has reached his jaw, dark veins spreading upward toward his eye. There's no time to waste.
I prepare the ritual exactly as instructed, mixing the herbs with the dew water, arranging the stones in a circle around Thorne's prone form. The sigil pattern requires careful blood application—thirteen small dots connected by thin lines, creating a web-like pattern over his chest.
As I complete the final line, the entire pattern flares with silver light. The herbs in the dew water dissolve instantly, the liquid turning luminescent. Following the instructions, I lift Thorne's head and carefully pour the mixture into his mouth.
For several terrifying seconds, nothing happens. Then his body arches upward, a gasp tearing from his throat. The corruption visibly recoils, the black veins receding slightly from his face.
He collapses back, his breathing steadier, though still labored. The System provides confirmation:
RITUAL SUCCESSFUL
Corruption progression halted temporarily. Subject stabilized.
Estimated time gained: 48 hours.
Relief floods through me. It worked. Not a cure, but enough time to reach help. I check outside once more—no sign of pursuit—then settle beside Thorne, my back against the cave wall.
But the question lingers: what does it really mean for the corruption to be halted? Will it just come back stronger, or is there a way to stop it for good? I don't have answers. Not yet.
Exhaustion pulls at me, my depleted energy reserves demanding rest. My eyes drift shut, the pendant warm against my skin, pulsing in time with my slowing heartbeat. For the first time in days, I let myself believe we've won a small victory.
Then—a whisper.
Soft, distant, threading through my mind like smoke.
"You don't have enough time."
The voice is familiar. Too familiar.
My father.