Sealing: This gateway has been sealed. Time remaining: ~30 days.
Note: Relocation expires if not used within the specified timeframe.
—
He opened his eyes. “There’s no option to open it. We have to wait until the sealing ends in thirty days.”
Annie stared at him, face pale.
Augustus took a breath, then pulled up the System interface. Grimnir’s guild list first, followed by his contacts. Alexander was grayed out, but his name remained.
“Whatever happened to him, he’s still alive. All we can do is believe in him.” He sighed. “I’ll move the gateway to the sanctum. It’s the most secure location for when it opens.”
“And what are we supposed to do until then?” Annie demanded. Her eyes were wet.
Augustus met her gaze.
“Prepare for war.”
***
Alexander blinked awake.
The ceiling was straw. Bundled, dried, and lashed to a wooden frame that looked like it had been built by hand. The walls were rough-hewn logs, gaps stuffed with dried mud. The floor was straw. From the feel of it, the bedding was made of straw too.
Sunlight streamed through an open doorway. Warm air carried smells he couldn’t place. Something herbal. Something cooking.
Two children knelt beside his bed. Small. Maybe six or seven. They were bickering with each other in a language he didn’t understand. Quick, sharp syllables fired back and forth, voices rising and falling with the intensity of an argument that had been going on for a while.
If there was any doubt about where he was, that settled it. The fortress had translation magic woven into its metal structure. This place had straw.
The bond pulsed faintly. Droney was nearby, but not in the room. Somewhere outside, positioned between Alexander and whatever lay beyond the walls of the hut. A sense of duty threaded across the connection.
The little guy was standing guard. Well, hovering.
Then Droney noticed he was awake.
The bond flooded. A jumble of sensations and half-formed impressions crashed across the connection, too tangled to separate, too fast to process. Fragments of things Droney had seen, heard, recorded, understood, all tumbling over each other in a rush to reach him at once.
One thread ran through all of it, clear and steady beneath the chaos.
Safe.
Alexander closed his eyes for a moment, dedicating one mental thread to deciphering the information packet.
Then he opened them. And noticed the lights.
Flashes of color danced across the rough-spun wool blanket draped over his chest. He blinked again, focused.
Two semi-transparent figures, each no taller than his index finger, stood on his chest. One held a tiny sword. The other held a spear. They circled each other, lunged, parried, dodged. The spear-wielder jumped back from a slash and counterattacked with a thrust that caught the swordsman in the shoulder. The swordsman flickered, recovered, and charged.
The children weren’t arguing. They were playing. Each one controlling a fighter, casting in rapid bursts, their small hands glowing faintly as they directed their champions across the battlefield of Alexander’s blanket.
He lay there and watched. It seemed rude to interrupt.
And he needed to see the ending.
His money was on the spear figure.