The morning sun had barely cleared the horizon, painting the southern fields of Anjelica in pale gold. Dew clung to the tall grass, catching the light like scattered crystal. From her vantage point atop the low ridge, Asil watched as her six recruits, each standing on the cusp of their first true evolution, made their way toward the southern woods.

  “We really need a better name for those trees,” she murmured to herself, lips quirking faintly. The “Southern Forest” felt too plain, too small a name for the wilderness that stretched three hundred kilometers beyond the city walls, a region that swallowed careless adventurers whole.

  One by one, her recruits vanished into the treeline, heading toward the Stoneback Dungeon that would either make them or break them. When she saw them next, they would be ready for C-Tier evolution, or not at all. She forced that thought away. They’d been trained well. They’d earned this.

  A sharp pulse through her warrior’s sight snapped her from the reverie. Two familiar signatures, Abby and Tina, were sprinting from the fort half a kilometer north of the border. The urgency in their stride told her this wasn’t a casual morning report.

  She sighed, brushing stray hair from her face, and turned to meet them halfway.

  Abby reached her first, breath misting in the cool air. “A wagon bound for Pendle was attacked on the road,” she said, skipping any preamble.

  Asil’s expression hardened. “Attacked by what?”

  “Not what, who?” Abby replied grimly. “A human group. They claimed to be from Anjelica.”

  Tina caught up a moment later, clutching a ledger to her chest, her usual composure gone. “The attackers stopped a family, an Aerothanian farmer moving their goods west. They demanded a toll in Anjelica’s name. When the father couldn’t pay, they beat him, trashed the wagon, and took the horses. Before leaving, they told the family, ‘Next time we’ll take your children as compensation.’”

  The words hung heavy in the morning air.

  “Casualties?” Asil asked, her voice low but edged.

  Tina shook her head. “Nothing fatal. The Pendle healers saw to them. Representatives from both Pendle and Anjelica assisted in repairing the wagon and replacing the horses. We also compensated the family more than they lost.”

  Asil exhaled slowly, relief tempered by anger. “And the attackers?”

  “No sign of them yet,” Abby said. “But witnesses swear they flew Anjelican colors. This wasn’t a random bandit raid.”

  Tina nodded, flipping her ledger open to reveal scrawled notes. “If it’s not a coincidence, then someone’s trying to frame us. And with the tension after the refugee rumors, that’s dangerous timing.”

  Asil’s eyes narrowed. “Freedom again.”

  “Most likely,” Abby said. “Henry came through the first morning portal from Pendle. He’s waiting at the fort to discuss next steps.”

  Asil’s hand brushed the hilt of her sword, her expression set. “Then we’ll get our answers.”

  She turned toward the rising sun, its light spilling over the fort’s distant walls. Behind her, the forest stood quiet and watchful, the recruits already swallowed by its shadows. Ahead, another conflict waited, one she couldn’t solve with steel.

  She started walking.

  “We’ll need aid from Hajill and Anjelica to help patrol the roads east of Pendle,” Henry said matter-of-factly, his gravel-rough voice carrying easily across the table.

  They’d been at it for more than an hour. The meeting in Asil and Abby’s office had drawn only a handful of key figures: Asil, Abby, Petros, and Tina. Petros’s blue companion sat quietly near her master’s chair, tail curling lazily around one leg, sharp eyes tracking every speaker.

  “Agreed,” Asil said without hesitation. “We can’t afford to let this fester.”

  They’d already reviewed every angle: the ambushed Aerothanian farmers, the bandits claiming Anjelican colors, the deliberate message meant to pit allies against one another. Freedom’s fingerprints were all over it.

  “They must think ye weak without Jack around,” Henry said bluntly.

  Asil met his gaze. “I’ve considered that,” she admitted. “These incidents didn’t start until after he left. They’re testing how far they can push while he’s gone.”

  “They’re fools if they think Anjelica bends easily,” Abby muttered, arms folded.

  “Freedom thrives on fools,” Tina said dryly, her ledger open beside her. “They don’t need the whole city to turn, just enough people to doubt.”

  Asil nodded grimly. “We’re already working to root them out,” she said, leaning forward. “Quietly.”

  Henry rubbed his chin, beard rasping against his gauntlet. “Aye, lass, but you’ll need to start askin’ questions of your own folk. A proper inquiry, interviews, statements, truth-binding, if you’ve got it. Pendle’s mages can pull honesty from a man’s throat if need be.”

  Asil sighed. “The situation needs a scalpel, Henry, not a hammer.”

  The old blacksmith chuckled at that, not taking offense. His enchanted hammer leaned against the wall, faintly humming. “Fair enough. You’ve the sharper mind between us, anyway.”

  “What you’re suggesting,” Asil continued, “is exactly what Freedom wants: panic, accusations, a witch hunt. We’ll find their agents, but we’ll do it quietly, with people we trust.”

  Henry gave a slow nod, respect softening his tone. “That’s why you lead, and I just make the armor.”

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  Asil leaned back, the weight of responsibility pressing across her shoulders. She couldn’t yet see what Freedom’s endgame was, but she doubted Marcus realized how strong the alliance among Anjelica, Pendle, and Hajill had grown. It was their greatest defense, though it did little to soothe the tension brewing at home.

  Ironically, she thought they’d escaped prejudice when they’d been cast into this world. No more lines of race or culture, only survival. Yet here it was again, only now the divide was between the displaced and the native-born. She cursed herself for not anticipating it sooner.

  “We’ve already opened an unscheduled portal to Pendle,” she said. “A contingent of our C-Tier guards is en route to reinforce patrols. Once Hajill’s next portal opens, I’ll contact Loren. He’ll send troops, he always does.”

  Henry nodded approvingly. “That’s good work, lass. You’ve not lost your edge.” He pushed back his chair, the old wood creaking. “I'd best get back through the portal while it’s still open.”

  Everyone rose as he did. Asil escorted him to the hall, the others trailing behind.

  At the doorway, Henry turned to her with a rare smile. “I can’t say how proud I am, seein’ what you’ve built here.”

  The praise caught her off guard. Henry wasn’t a man of soft words. Instead of replying, she simply stepped forward and hugged him tight. He patted her shoulder once, the gesture brief but warm.

  When they parted, his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, one of me apprentices came through this morning. She’s got gifts for you, Abby, and Petros from Jack.”

  Asil blinked. “From Jack?”

  “Aye,” Henry said, as if delivering a mundane message about spare parts. “She’s waitin’ in the courtyard. And she’ll need access to your rune table, lad,” he added, glancing at Petros.

  “Of course,” Petros said, already moving for the stairs to his lab, his blue companion padding at his heels.

  Henry gave a short wave and strode off toward the portal chamber, the sound of his boots fading into the hum of Myriad power that filled the fort.

  Asil lingered in the doorway a moment, watching him disappear through the arch. A pang of nostalgia tugged at her, memories of battles fought and scars earned beside the man who’d once saved Jack’s life.

  Then she exhaled, straightened, and turned to Abby. “Come on. Let’s see what Jack’s sent us.”

  Together, they made their way down the narrow stone stairs toward Petros’s basement lab.

  Asil, Abby, and Petros stood around the rune table in the heart of Petros’s lab. The air smelled faintly of chalk, oil, and the metallic hum of active runes. At the table’s far edge stood Henry’s rune mage, the woman responsible for enchanting the weapons and armor forged in Henry’s workshop.

  She was hunched over the table, her hands a blur as she finished sketching two intricate circles, each one an interwoven lattice of glyphs, pictographs, and flowing sigil script. The woman, Maryann, straightened at last, brushing a soot-smudge from her cheek.

  “That should do it,” she said, stepping back to inspect her work.

  Petros leaned forward immediately, eyes wide. “I never would’ve thought to combine the Ozark rune with a Punturny glyph,” he murmured, reverent as his hands hovered above the table. “The resonance layering alone, this is incredible.”

  Maryann’s lips twitched into a shy smile. She tried to hide her pride but failed. She was young in appearance, barely nineteen by the look of her, but they all knew better. The rune-smith was an eighty-four-year-old outworlder from just outside London, her body renewed when Myriad pulled her into Aerothane. Despite her age, her eyes gleamed with a craftsman’s fire.

  “Are you sure this is safe?” Asil asked sharply, breaking Petros and Maryann out of their mutual admiration trance.

  “Perfectly safe,” Maryann replied. “We’ve already transmuted three satchels into jewelry. See?” She held up her own necklace, a thin silver chain that faintly shimmered with stored mana.

  Asil nodded, glancing toward Abby. They’d already been briefed on the secret project Jack had started with Henry and Maryann: converting their traditional satchels of holding into enchanted jewelry. It wasn’t without risk; if the ritual failed, the satchel’s contents could be lost to the void.

  Their options were simple: a bracelet, a necklace, or a ring.

  Jack, of course, had chosen the gauntlet-style bracelet. His Class favored cloth armor, and with no need for gauntlets, he’d designed the artifact to look like a protective band rather than an adornment.

  Asil had been tempted to follow his choice. But when Maryann presented the three prototypes, she’d frozen. Among them was a ring, a perfect replica of her wedding ring from Earth.

  The sight had nearly undone her.

  When they first arrived in Aerothane, nothing physical had accompanied them. Their clothes, keepsakes, and tokens of their old lives are gone. Even their bodies were younger, reshaped by this world’s magic. The day she realized her wedding ring had vanished was the first time she truly cried.

  Later, she and Jack had reaffirmed their vows through an ancient Aerothanian bonding ritual, a practice not seen since before the Great Disconnect. They’d exchanged simple braided threads, promising that one day they’d forge new rings worthy of their bond.

  And now, somehow, Jack had found a way to give her that ring back.

  Maryann had no idea what it meant. She only mentioned that Jack had commissioned three designs for Asil to choose from. Asil could hardly speak when she saw it, her throat tight with emotion.

  “I’m sure,” she said now, her voice firm.

  Maryann nodded and began the ritual. The circles flared to life, glyphs glowing as she carefully guided the process.

  “Your satchel goes here,” she said, gesturing to the first circle.

  Asil carefully removed the strap from her shoulder. Hovering over the etched lines, she froze at Maryann’s warning: “Easy now. If you disturb the circle, we start over.”

  Asil coiled the strap neatly and set the bag within the runic boundary. As she stepped back, Maryann unclasped a gold ring from her necklace, an intricate band adorned with two emeralds flanking a humble diamond, a perfect replica of Jack’s late grandmother’s wedding ring. The piece seemed to hum with quiet power as she placed it gently within the second circle.

  “You can still change your mind,” Maryann said softly. “But Jack procured rare ore for this, enough for only a few more enchantments. We won’t be able to repeat this for a while.”

  Asil didn’t hesitate. “No. This one’s mine.”

  Maryann smiled faintly, then began the chant. Blue light rippled across the table as the two circles pulsed in unison. The bag shimmered, its physical form unraveling into threads of mana that coiled toward the ring.

  When the light faded, the satchel was gone. The ring gleamed softly, Myriad’s faint hum echoing through the lab.

  “It’s done,” Maryann said.

  Asil exhaled, unclenching fists she hadn’t realized she was making.

  Next came Petros’s bracelet and Abby’s ring. The air buzzed with energy as each enchantment settled.

  But just as Maryann raised her chalk again to begin the final attunement, the lab door burst open.

  Tina stumbled in, face pale, eyes wide.

  “Asil,” she gasped. “One of the guards is dead.”

  The hum of the rune table dimmed.

  No one spoke.

  Maryann’s hand froze mid-gesture, the faint light still dancing around her fingertips. Asil’s heart plummeted, the weight of the word dead sinking in.

  Abby straightened, her expression sharp. “Where?”

  Tina swallowed hard. “Near the eastern watch. And that’s not all, there’s a mark on his chest. One I’ve never seen before.”

  The lab’s silence deepened until the only sound was the faint crackle of the unfinished rune circles.

  Asil closed her eyes, the new ring cool against her palm.

  “Show me,” she said.