My right hand shimmered with a cool, bright blue light as warmth spread from my palm to my body. I checked the black rope at my waist, securing it with a nod, then focused on the glowing rune beneath me.

Kneeling, I pressed my glowing hand firmly against the intricate symbol, igniting it along with several other runes that formed a perfect circle around me. A sudden, powerful gust of wind whipped through the chamber, tousling my silver hair and billowing my robes, sending all small, unsecured items hurtling through the air. The air inside the chamber pulsated with ancient energy.

Undeterred by the storm blowing around me, I chanted words long forgotten by the world. With each uttered syllable, the wind intensified, roaring around me like a beast eager to break free of its chains. It pushed and pulled against me, threatening to lift me off my feet, but I held firm, bracing myself against the ferocious gale, never lifting my arm from the glowing rune.

As the runes continued to glow brighter, the silhouettes of other men emerged against the room’s dark stone walls. They held onto the other end of the heavy, black rope tethered to my waist, sidestepping the airborne debris with practiced agility, their faces hidden beneath their hoods.

A blinding light burst into existence in front of me, casting stark, elongated shadows that danced menacingly along the walls. The light grew in intensity with each passing second, morphing into a swirling vortex of brilliant, ever-shifting colors. Its size threatened to consume everything in its path, turning the room into chaos and brilliance.

The power of the vortex lifted my body from the ground. My fingers strained to maintain their grip on an iron handlebar embedded in the stone floor, my last anchor in the storm. The light from the rune enveloped my entire form as my right hand remained pressed upon its surface despite the spell's force.

As hard as I struggled to continue the spell, the power unleashed by the vortex finally ripped me off the rune, pulling me toward its spiraling center. The rope around my waist pulled taut as the men on the other end held firmly to me. Even as I risked being consumed by the spiraling light, I continued the chant. A voice shouted from behind me—one of the men holding the rope—but I paid it no heed.

I was so close. I couldn’t stop now.

A sudden pang in my chest caused my breath to catch in my throat. In that pause, the runes’ glow extinguished one by one, their energy spent. The multi-colored vortex shrank until it was no more, leaving the chamber in utter darkness.

My exhausted body fell to the ground with a soft, almost pitiful thud. The chamber plunged into an oppressive silence, broken only by the ragged breaths of the hooded men who rushed to my side.

“It didn’t work,” I muttered softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. My heart heavy with the weight of failure, I closed my eyes, accepting the shroud of darkness that enveloped me.

A chill, icy as winter's touch, swept across my brow, pulling me from the grasp of dreams. My eyelashes fluttered, giving way to the world as I endeavored to dispel the remnants of slumber. As the fog in my vision dissipated, the familiar details of my opulent chamber emerged from the gloom.

Rising from beneath me was a majestic bed adorned with a canopy of deep sapphire velvet. The walls, covered in tapestries depicting ancestral tales of bravery and magic, reflected the warm glow from the golden sconces that held delicate flames. Now dormant, a grand chandelier of crystal and gold cast intricate shadows across the plush carpet.

Suddenly, one of the room's ornate double doors—sculpted with intricate designs of roses and vines—groaned softly, allowing a sliver of the hallway's muted light to break through. The figure silhouetted in the doorway was an older gentleman. Time had gracefully painted his hair with streaks of deep gray woven into the strands of his former midnight-black mane. His age showed in his hair and the crow's feet that lightly touched the corners of his eyes. Dressed impeccably, his suit—as dark as the night—clung to his slender frame, the cut and stitches speaking of a master tailor's hand.

His footfalls, barely more than a whisper on the carpet, brought him to my bedside. The relief in his oceanic blue eyes was palpable as they settled on me. "It is heartening to witness your eyes open once more, Your Grace," his gentle, fatherly tone resonated with genuine worry. Carefully, he removed the wet cloth from my forehead and aided me to a seated position.

Turning my attention to the grand, arched window draped in rich, navy-blue curtains, my eyes lost themselves in the early night sky outside. "Pascal," I began, "how long was I asleep?"

"Merely a handful of hours, Your Grace," Pascal replied, nodding toward a polished wooden bedside table where damp cloths lay folded in a neat pile. "A touch of fever had its claws in you."

A long pause ensued, thick with unspoken words and shared history. It was Pascal, always the caretaker, who pierced the stillness. "Shall I request your evening repast, Your Grace?"

A single, brief nod was all the response Pascal required. With a respectful bow, the elder retired to gather dinner for me.

Drawn to the outside world, I rose from the bed and approached the resplendent balcony doors; my gaze focused on the looming tempest gathering strength from the south. Rain, a harbinger, whispered to my soul.

However, a knock rippled through the silence before I could lose myself further in my thoughts. "Enter," I beckoned, assuming it to be Pascal and the maid with my supper.

Yet, as the doors swung open, a young man entered, his hair a chaotic cascade of chestnut and eyes azure as the midday sky, brimming with trepidation.

"Take a seat, Henry," I said, gesturing toward one of the lavishly upholstered couches, velvet the color of ripe plums, set against the room's regal backdrop.

Henry perched on the couch. "Your Grace," he began, his voice tinged with the gravity of the news. "We have just received a raven from Aeloria."

I sat on the couch across from Henry, my intense gaze compelling him to elaborate. "Is that all?" I inquired, a trace of impatience in my voice.

"The guild members claim they felt a strange energy pulse in the area a few hours ago, around the same time as..." Henry's voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

I didn’t need Henry to complete his sentence. My eyes lit with recognition. "We must head to Aeloria at once," I declared, moving with such urgency that my rising caused a bout of vertigo. I swayed unsteadily, grasping for balance, just as Pascal entered with a maid bearing my dinner.

"Your Grace, you are not fit to go anywhere," Pascal asserted, concern etched deeply into his features.

Henry stepped forward, offering his support as he and Pascal guided me back to the comfortable confines of the couch. "Pascal is right, Your Grace. You still need to recover. I will ride out and look into this. I'll send a raven ahead so the guild members in Aeloria can begin searching for the energy source," he explained to me, his tone resolute.

I shook my head, determination flickering in my eyes. "No, I will come with you. Pascal order the carriage to be readied." I insisted, attempting to rise but ultimately surrendering to my body’s protests. I sank back into the plush cushions, the maddening sense of helplessness washing over me.

"You and Belmont head out first on horseback. I will follow in the carriage." I addressed Henry, who promptly nodded his agreement.

"Yes, Your Grace. We will head out immediately. Lord Belmont and I should make it to Aeloria by tomorrow night." Henry bowed and took his leave. I was left in the care of Pascal and the maid, who were finishing setting up my dinner on the table before the couch. My thoughts churned in turmoil as they bustled about, arranging the dishes.

Could it have worked? I wondered, my gaze drawn again to the window, the darkened sky outside a canvas for my racing thoughts.