The summons came not by messenger, but by the mountain itself.
I was in the Foundry Yard, not lighting a candle, but maintaining a complex, three-pointed shield of woven golden light against a simulated ley-line surge Lyra was triggering from the vent. Sweat beaded on my brow, but my hands were steady, the shield holding firm. Rurik watched from the sidelines, his crossed arms and slight nod being the highest praise I'd received.
Then, the mountain groaned.
It was a deep, sub-audible vibration that traveled up from the depths, through the soles of my boots, and into my bones. My shield flickered and died. Lyra cut off her ley surge, her head snapping toward the central keep. All around the yard, knights stopped their drills, hands going to weapon hilts.
Kaelen emerged from the keep's main doors, his face a mask of grim alertness. He didn't call orders. He simply looked at me and jerked his head toward the entrance. The training was over. Something else had begun.
I followed him, Damien and Lyra falling in behind us. We didn't go to the war room or the Starfall Vault. We descended down winding stairs carved into the living rock, deeper than I'd ever been. The air grew colder than the surface, a dry, ancient cold that stole breath. The walls changed from worked stone to raw, blue-veined ice.
"The Deep Listen," Kaelen said, his voice echoing in the frozen tunnel. "A chamber at the junction of the continent's greatest ley spines. It hears… disturbances. That groan was an echo. Something significant just happened. Something magical on a continental scale."
We entered a cavern that stole my breath. It was a geode of pure ice, massive and radiant. Ley lines, thick as ancient tree roots and glowing with violent silver light, converged from the walls, floor, and ceiling into the center of the space, where they twisted around a gigantic, perfectly clear crystal spire that rose from the floor to the shadowed ceiling. The air hummed with a pressure that made my teeth ache and my holy power rise in a resonant, uneasy chorus.
In the light of the ley lines, I saw a figure already standing before the spire. Archbishop Matthias. He looked older, wearier, his white robes seeming stark against the primal blues and silvers of the ice. Two of his Templars stood rigidly behind him.
My heart seized. The investigation. The Church. It had found me.
Kaelen placed himself slightly between me and the archbishop, his posture not hostile but definitively protective. "Your Eminence. You travel fast for a synod's deliberation."
Matthias turned. His piercing blue eyes found me, and in them, I saw not accusation but a profound, weary sadness. "There is no time for synods, Duke Frost. The echo you felt. We felt it in the cathedral spire an hour ago. It originated from the site of the first seal. The Anchor's prison."
A cold sharper than the ice pierced me. "What happened?"
"A forced communion," Matthias said, his voice hollow. "Someone with immense, corrupted power—and a profound understanding of the first Saint's grim geometry—has tapped into the Anchor's agony. They didn't break the seal. They amplify its despair. The corruption bleeding from that site has just increased tenfold. Its influence will spread. The nightmares, the paranoia, the casual cruelty that festers in the shadows of noble courts and common alleys… it will all grow stronger, fed by this amplified poison."
Cassian. It had to be. He had a system. He had access to Erebus's knowledge. He was making his move, not with an army, but with spiritual pollution.
"Why are you here?" Kaelen's voice was a blade of ice.
"Because the counter to a corrupted holy seal," Matthias said, looking directly at me, "is a pure one. The investigation the Church launched into the 'miracle' at the checkpoint is concluded. The evidence is undeniable. You possess the true holy lineage, which remains unsullied by the first Saint's compromise." He stepped forward, ignoring Kaelen's warning tension. "Lady Thorne. Rosalind. The world does not need a symbol in a cloister. It needs a warden at the gate. The Anchor was a sacrifice that became a poison. You have the power to become its opposite—a guardian that purifies."
He was offering me a role. Not as a hidden saint, but as a declared one. A warden. It was everything I had just begun to train for, but it was thrust upon me now, in crisis.
"The Crown Prince will claim her as his divine mandate," Kaelen said, the words a low growl.
"He will try," Matthias acknowledged. "I am here instead of sending a decree because of this." The Church is fractured. Many will side with the Crown, seeing a useful tool. My faction sees a necessary protector. By coming to you, I am declaring my choice. And I am warning you: Cassian's next move will not be a request. He will come for her, with the authority of the Crown and a corrupted 'divine right' bolstered by the very despair now leaking from the earth. You cannot hide her in this mountain forever."
The truth of it settled in the frozen air. My training, the slow grind, the precious control—it had all been for this moment. Not for a future battle, but for one that had already begun on a plane I couldn't see.
I looked at the colossal crystal spire, humming with the continent's pain. I thought of the Anchor, its amplified torment now a weapon. I thought of the checkpoint, the simple hope in those people's eyes.
I stepped out from behind Kaelen. I faced the Archbishop. "What would you have me do?"
"The amplified corruption has a source—the point of forced communion at the Anchor's prison. It is a spiritual wound. You have a power that heals, that purifies. You cannot seal the wound from here on. You must go to it."
"You want me to return to the academy?" The very idea was a chill deeper than the cavern.
"No. That site is a trap. Cassian will expect that. The wound is spiritual, but its effects are physical. It will create a bleedthrough. This is a place where the corruption manifests most strongly. We must find that locus. My scholars are scrying for it now. When we find it, you must go there. You must go there not in secret, but as a beacon. You must face the physical manifestation of the poison and cleanse it. It will be a declaration of war against the corruption and against the one who orchestrated it."
Kaelen was silent, his mind clearly racing through tactics, logistics, and threats.
"And if I do this?" I asked. "If I stand as this warden'?"
"Then the line is drawn," Matthias said, his gaze unwavering. "The Church will split. The Empire will tremble. You will be the target of every power that thrives on shadows. However, you will also provide a stronghold for hope. And you will no longer be investigating the past, Rosalind. You will be fighting for the future."
I looked at Kaelen. His silver-gray eyes met mine. He saw my decision before I voiced it. He gave a single, sharp nod. He had promised to defend the cause of breaking the cycle. This was it.
I turned back to the Archbishop, the holy power within me, now a well of calm, focused strength, humming in agreement.
"Find the locus," I said, my voice clear in the frozen chamber. "I'll be ready."
The investigation was over. I had located the source of the sickness, the architect of the cycle, and the terrible cost of the first seal.
Now, the Saint's war began.