This chamber has long been sealed beneath the palace's eastern wing and was not designed for magic.

That much was obvious

The stone walls were too old, too rigid. Built to endure sieges, not the fluid, temperamental flow of mana. Even the air felt wrong, heavy in a way that had nothing to do with heat or breath. Yet, at the centre of the room, a circle pulsed.

Faint.

Unsteady.

Water pooled within its etched lines—not spilt, not poured, but gathered, as though the stone itself had begun to weep.

 Duke Dawellen stood just beyond its edge, hands clasped neatly behind his back, gaze unblinking.

“Again,” he said.

Measured. Controlled. Like a request, not a command.

A man to his right hesitated.

“Your Grace… the last attempt—”

“I am aware, Maren.”

Dawellen’s calm voice needed no emphasis. Maren lowered his head immediately, swallowing the protest forming on his tongue.

“…Yes, Your Grace,” Maren muttered.

Across the circle, another hand trembled—Finn’s, adjusting the other markings. Ink bled where it should have held clean.

“Stabilise the outer ring,” Dawellen instructed, hands hovering over the circle. “You are allowing it to disperse.”

“It won’t hold, sir,” Finn muttered. “Not without a proper anchor—”

“It will hold,” Dawellen replied calmly. His certainty was enough to silence the room.

Half-shadowed by a pillar, Leopold shifted his weight.

“This again?” he drawled, voice low but edged with irritation. “I thought you said the last one nearly collapsed the west wing.”

No one else would have dared speak so casually.

“You are free to leave, Leopold,” Dawellen said without turning.

“And miss the spectacle?” Leopold gave a humourless huff. “Hardly.”

His gaze flicked to the water trembling along the etched lines.

“…Doesn’t look like it’s working,” Leopold muttered.

“It is working,” Dawellen replied quickly. “It is simply not complete.”

The circle flickered—unstable, not brighter or stronger. The water rippled outward, then recoiled as if pulled by something unseen.

Maren flinched.

“Your Grace—”

Dawellen’s glare froze him. Then he raised both hands.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Suddenly, the surface of the water tightened. Collapsing inward toward the centre as though some force beneath the stones had awakened.

“That’s new,” Leopold said quietly.

The air shifted, heavier, thicker, and harder to breathe.

“Not yet…” Dawellen murmured, almost to himself.

The water shuddered violently. The markings smeared, as the circle warped, vibrating the stone faintly under the pressure.

For the briefest moment, something answered. A distortion among ripples, formless. Ungraspable.

Then the tension snapped. Water flooded outward, erasing the circle as the faint glow vanished entirely.

Silence fell.

“…So,” Leopold said lightly, his eyes lingered where the circle had been. “It still failed.”

Calm as ever, Dawellen turned.

“It will answer,” he said.

“You can’t force it when you lack the power to summon it in the first place,” Leopold said bluntly.

Dawellen’s gaze lingered on the faint shimmer of water. A Crease of concentration marked his brow.

“You really think it’ll—what—answer eventually?” Leopold asked, leaning against the pillar, tone curious but sharp.

“It does not follow my impatience,” Dawellen replied softly. “It answers when it is ready…and when the summoning has a proper anchor.”

Maren shifted, unease pressing down.

“This chamber itself may resist,” he said. “It was never meant for such magic.”

“Then it will learn,” Dawellen said, lowering his hands. Calm, unshakable. “Water is patient. I am patient. Eventually…”

His eyes flicked to the edge of the chamber, where the faintest shimmer of residual energy lingered, almost imperceptible, before fading entirely.

Leopold frowned. “Water is also destructive.”

“I am aware,” Dawellen said, already calculating distance, power, and radius in his mind.

***

Far from the eastern palace, in the quiet halls of Lornyth Castle, Mirael paused mid-breath.

A sudden, unnatural pressure pressed against her chest.

“Like that!” Mirael blurted.

Her fingers tingled, and a shiver travelled up her spine.

“If I let the surrounding magic just exist, I can feel it,” Mirael continued. “I can tell what its intentions are, whether neutral or hostile.”

“Mirael, all we care about right now is whether you’re okay,” Valerie said calmly.

"I'm okay, and I truly mean it this time." No more collapsing, no more staring into space. Mirael said in a firmer tone this time. Naelle assisted with all of that in the place I saw when I was unconscious.

“Who’s Naelle?” Eldric asked.

“I don’t entirely know either,” Mirael admitted, shaking her head. “All I know is she helped me, and I’m okay now.”

“That’s a relief,” Valerie whispered so quietly that no one heard.

Mirael’s gaze drifted toward the window, where sunlight fractured against the castle walls. The air itself seemed… heavier, something foreign, like a ripple through water that she couldn’t see.

“There’s magic nearby,” she muttered. Her voice carried a note of uncertainty she rarely allowed. “Not here, and not in the castle… I can’t tell how far, but it feels wrong.”

Nyra’s ears twitched, alert. “Wrong how?”

Mirael shook her head. “I don’t know yet, it feels like a pressure in the air, like it's waiting for something.”

Valerie stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on Mirael’s shoulder.

“Then it’s a disturbance,” she said softly. “You’ve felt something like this before. Just… don’t let it overwhelm you. Breathe, and stay with it.”

“A disturbance?” he asked, voice low. “Something dangerous?”

“I can’t say,” Mirael admitted. “But it doesn’t feel hostile.”

A knock echoed through the castle halls. Rachelle then left the room and later reappeared.

“Someone’s here,” she announced, voice tight with curiosity. “She’s asking for His Majesty, with an urgent letter from an informant.”

“Let her in,” King Eldric said.

***

Rachelle flicked open the latch and, with a knight's assistance, opened the large, heavy door partway. A woman with black hair and a long black cape draped over her shoulders. Her spotted ears atop her head twitched as the heavy door closed with a thud.

“Allow me to guide you to the meeting room,” Rachelle said. “His Majesty will be with you shortly.”

As Rachelle left to get King Eldric, the woman walked around the room and paused at a curtain veiling a heavy frame. She bowed to the hidden portrait and whispered some kind words.

The door cracked open, and she quickly turned to it. In entered King Eldric, Queen Elena, Princess Valerie, Prince Valen, Nyra, Rachelle and—

“Naelle?” Mirael said suddenly.

“Mira?!” Naelle replied, equally surprised.

“It’s…Mirael,” Mirael corrected, calm, almost apologetic. “I never properly said it before.”

Naelle studied her for a brief moment, then gave a short nod. “Right…Mirael.”

Her expression shifted, the warmth fading into focus.

“We can catch up later,” she said, her tone turning serious. “This is about Duke Dawellen”

The room stilled instantly.

“The informant I was tracking was captured,” Naelle continued. “But before that, he managed to pass a letter through one of the out taverns. I intercepted it on my way through.”

She handed it to Eldric.

“I came as fast as I could.”

Eldric broke the seal, the parchment already creased and smudged as though it had changed hands too many times. His eyes scanned the page once—then again, slower.

His jaw tightened.

“What does it say?” Valerie asked.

Eldric exhaled quietly before reading:

“Your Majesty,

The Duke has begun secret experiments beneath the eastern wing. The chamber is ancient, sealed, and unsuitable for his pursuits. He is not alone; those eager to follow him partake in the dangerous study. His power is unstable; it falters, then grows stronger, as if he’s learning. I have sensed its effect, and it’s growing. It will not stay contained.

I fear the Duke does not intend harm… but he will cause it all the same.

—Your loyal servant of the crown, Finn.

P.S. If he continues, I do not know what will answer.”

“We cannot rush into this,” Elena said firmly.

Eldric lowered the letter slightly, his expression unreadable. “If this is accurate, we may not have the luxury of time.”

“It could be exaggerated,” Elena argued. “A frightened informant, writing under pressure—”

“It’s not,” Mirael said quickly.

All eyes turned to her.

She hadn’t moved, but her hand tightened slightly against the fabric at her side.

“The wave I felt not long after I woke, I just felt it again,” Mirael explained. “If this is Dawellen, it still doesn’t feel hostile, but the unease I felt is increasing.”

A faint unease crept into the room.

Nyra shifted on the spot, her tail flicking once behind her. “Where is it?”

Mirael hesitated.

“I—

“Close your eyes and feel where it is coming from before the feeling disappears,” Naelle interrupted.

Just as she did, she opened them almost instantly.

“Dawellen’s Palace,” Mirael said quickly.

Naelle stepped forward. “If the informant is right, then this isn’t just one attempt: he’s trying multiple times. He’s desperate… but why?”

Eldric folded the letter carefully, his decision settling in before he spoke it aloud.

“Then we go to him.”

Elena’s head turned sharply. “Eldric—”

“We go carefully,” he said, meeting her gaze. “We need to stop whatever he’s doing. If something answers before we act, we may not get a second chance.”

Valerie nodded, but her hand lingered briefly against her arm, her brow faintly furrowing.

“…Let’s not waste time,” she said, brushing snapping out of her thoughts.