The mist surrounding the Isle of Aethelgard was not a product of the sea; it was a shroud woven from the fabric of time itself. As the Aeon's Wing glided into the narrows, the sun seemed to stall at the zenith, casting long, amber shadows that stretched across the waves like reaching fingers, frozen and unmoving. Here, the air didn't smell of salt; it tasted of ancient cedar and the ghost of forgotten summers.
"The Veil," Elara whispered, her knuckles white as she gripped the bowsprit. "It senses the Scroll. It's breathing for you, Lysia."
She was right. Every time I inhaled, the silver-blue light in my veins pulsed with a fierce, rhythmic heat that mirrored the heartbeat of the island. Before us, the jagged cliffs of Aethelgard rose out of the wine-dark sea like the obsidian teeth of a sleeping god. There was no harbor, no welcoming docks—only a sheer, vertical wall of basalt that looked like a tombstone for the world.
"There's nothing there but a shipwreck waiting to happen," Kaelen muttered, leaning heavily on his sword. He was pale, the violet taint of the Hive's corruption having left his eyes only to be replaced by a hollow, soul-deep exhaustion. "We're going to sail straight into the rocks."
"Look with your blood, Kaelen, not your eyes," I said. The words felt heavy, resonant, as if the Scroll was rewriting my very soul, replacing the assassin's jargon with the language of queens.
I stepped to the edge of the prow, reaching out into the empty, shimmering air. The space in front of the ship rippled like a disturbed pond. I felt a massive, ancient intelligence brush against my mind—a sentinel of stone and spirit that had stood watch since the first king fell. It recognized the "Key" carved into my spirit, the brand of my lineage that I had carried as a scar for a decade.
"Aethelgard, open," I commanded.
The basalt wall didn't crumble; it dissolved. The black stone turned into a shimmering curtain of cascading waterfalls that parted to reveal a hidden lagoon of turquoise water. Beyond the beach lay the sanctuary—a city of spiraling towers and hanging gardens that seemed to defy gravity, built into the very ribs of the mountain. It was a masterpiece of light and life.
But the awe was a short-lived mercy.
"Movement on the southern ridge!" Silas shouted, his golden eyes snapping toward the high cliffs flanking the entrance.
My heart plummeted. Perched on a natural stone balcony was a figure in the distinctive, crimson-trimmed armor of the Hive's High Inquisitors. It was Vane, Califer's most loyal hound—a man who could scent magic across leagues like a wolf scents a wounded deer. He wasn't attacking. He was holding a glass orb to his eye—a Far-Seer.
"He's been here the whole time," Kaelen hissed, his hand flying to his hilt. "Califer didn't just follow us. He sent Vane ahead to find the door. He knew we'd lead him right to the threshold."
Vane looked down at us, a terrifying, slow smile spreading across his scarred face. He didn't reach for a bow. Instead, he raised a flared signaling device toward the stagnant sun.
"Stop him!" I yelled.
Silas notched an arrow, the tip glowing with the searing heat of Unseen fire, and let it fly. The shaft whistled through the air, a streak of gold against the black rock. But Vane was faster. He pulled the trigger, and a bolt of jagged black lightning shot straight into the sky, piercing the magical veil and shattering the sky's amber peace.
The sky above Aethelgard turned a bruised, sickly purple. The signal had been sent.
"The coordinates are locked," Elara said, her voice trembling. "The Veil is compromised. He didn't need to break the door; he just needed someone to stand in the doorway and scream."
Vane touched two fingers to his brow in a mocking salute and stepped backward into the shadows. He had done his job. A low, rhythmic booming began to echo from the sea behind us. It wasn't thunder. It was the drumbeat of the Dread-Sovereign, Califer's flagship, and it sounded like the heartbeat of a monster already upon us.
"We have to get inside the Inner Sanctum," Elara urged, grabbing my arm. "If we can reach the Altar of the First Blood, we can reinforce the Veil. But if they breach the lagoon before we finish the ritual..."
"They won't," I said, looking at Silas and Kaelen. "Because we're going to turn this lagoon into their graveyard."
But the island had a different plan. As the first Hive skiffs began to materialize through the mist behind us, a series of massive, submerged chains began to rise from the lagoon floor with a deafening, metallic groan. They breached the surface like iron leviathans, locking together to block our path into the city.
The gates weren't just closing to keep Califer out. They were closing to keep us out.
"The Sentinels!" Elara cried out in horror, looking toward the high towers where ancient stone statues were beginning to shift, their eyes glowing with a cold, judgmental light. "They think we're the invaders! They see the Hive's mark on Kaelen and the shadow on your Scroll! They've locked the sanctuary!"
We were trapped in the "Kill Box"—the narrow strip of water between the island's external defenses and the city's internal walls. Behind us, Califer's fleet was emerging from the fog like monsters from a nightmare. In front of us, our own sanctuary was swiveling its massive ballistas toward our hearts.
"Lysia," Silas said, drawing his blade as the first Hive grappling hooks hit our railing with a sickening clack. "The Key works both ways. You didn't just open the door for us—you told the island we were coming. And right now, all it sees is the Reaper."
I looked at the glowing brand on my skin, then at the black sails closing in. I had spent my life as a weapon for the wrong side, and now, at the moment of my redemption, the world I was trying to save was preparing to execute me for the sins of the mask I no longer wore.