Connor felt a cold spike of panic. He acted on pure instinct. From his crouch, he thrust a hand out toward the man and concentrated. A narrow, precise push—like flicking a single playing card off a deck, he imagined.
The whistle was knocked clean from the man's grasp, skittering across the floor and plunking into a far shadow. He yelped in surprise.
Zara seized the opportunity. With cat-like grace she sprang from hiding, closing the distance to the archivists in seconds. The young man barely had time to turn before the pommel of Zara's dagger struck the base of his skull. He crumpled silently to the floor.
The older archivist gasped, stumbling back from the rune. She raised a hand crackling with gathering energy—some defensive spell—but Thea emerged behind Zara and hurled a small object at the woman's feet. A cloud of fine powder exploded upward, and the archivist inhaled sharply by mistake. She coughed, arcane words dissolving on her tongue as the inhalant took hold—Thea's personal concoction, no doubt, maybe a sleep or stun powder.
Connor left the hiding spot to assist. The archivist lurched toward the door, perhaps to flee or sound an alarm herself. Connor concentrated and a gentle force pressed her back just enough for Zara to catch up and subdue the woman with an arm around her middle and dagger poised at her side.
To her credit, Zara did not harm the archivist further. She just held her firmly until the powder worked; within moments, the woman's eyelids fluttered and she slumped, unconscious. Zara eased her down next to her assistant, retrieving a coil of thin rope from her pack to bind their wrists.
Thea, coughing slightly from the residual powder, rushed to the door and shut it once more. "That will not hold them long if others come looking," she warned. Her eyes darted to the central rune, still glowing placidly. "We should deactivate that if we can—it might be some alarm or monitor."
Connor nodded and knelt by the rune. Up close, its pulsing patterns were mesmerizing. He dug deep into his memory of Asterholt's ward runes and general sigil knowledge. If this was similar to a standing ward, there would be a keystone glyph to temporarily disable it.
His gaze followed the lines until he found a small concentric circle at one star point, etched with a symbol for "rest" or "pause." That could be it. Carefully, he pressed two fingers into the circle and channeled a small thread of will, like turning a key.
The rune's glow flickered, then faded to a low steady gleam, the hum quieting. Connor felt a subtle shift in the air—as if a subtle observer had closed its eyes.
"Hells, Connor, that did it," Zara said, impressed, as darkness enveloped them apart from their own lantern. "Remind me to take you along next time I raid an archive," she added with a wink.
Despite the complexity of the situation, Connor cracked a little grin. "We make a good team."
Thea quickly rearranged the shelves to try to hide obvious gaps, though any thorough check would reveal the missing scroll. They could do little about the unconscious archivists except leave them safely bound and hope the sleep powder kept them out for a while.
With as much evidence erased as time allowed, the trio slipped back out the iron door, sealing it and engaging the lock again with Thea's tool. Then they hurried up the spiral stairs, Connor leading as he attuned for any approaching aetheric signatures.
The orrery chamber above was empty—no new guardians arrived yet, though distant clanking suggested the search might be expanding. The orrery still whirred faintly, its index projection rotating lazily. Thea took a second to withdraw her aether battery device, and the rings gradually ground to a halt, plunging the space into near-darkness again.
Zara guided them back through the corridors they had come, each of them now painfully aware of time and the weight of what they carried. Connor's heart hammered not just from fear of capture, but from exhilaration. They had done it. They had the star-run schematics—knowledge long hidden, now in their hands.
His mind buzzed with what they'd read. Amplification, echoes, resonance patterns. The hint of something malevolent stirring in that echo. He knew they had only pieces of the puzzle, but it was more than he had this morning. And it would help him understand the forces at play in his own arrival and abilities.
They retraced their path past the silent giant gears and into the old maintenance tunnels. Connor winced when they passed the spot where they'd fought the automaton earlier—its metal carcass lay strewn, and he sensed an aetheric beacon on it now, likely activated upon its destruction. But by now, it was too late for pursuers to catch them if they kept moving.
At last, a thin sliver of moonlight greeted them as they climbed a final ladder up to a disused culvert near the outer citadel wall. One by one, they emerged into the night air, gasping softly in relief.
Asterholt's skyline glittered around them, unaware of the trespass and theft that had just occurred in its underbelly. Connor helped Thea replace the heavy grate they'd slipped through and pile a bit of debris to obscure it further.
Then they ran. Through shadowed alleys and across silent courtyards, they made their way back toward the residential wing where their escapade had begun. A few patrolling guards were about, but they evaded detection using a mixture of Thea's knowledge of blind spots and Zara's keen senses.
At the low window they had jimmied open near Connor's suite, they slipped back inside the citadel proper. Only once they had closed the window behind and felt the familiar territory of the north wing halls did they stop to catch breath.
All three looked at one another in the dim corridor, sweaty, dusty, and victorious. Thea clutched the satchel to her chest, her grin wide despite a scratch on her cheek. Zara gave a low laugh of disbelief and triumph. Connor ran a hand through his hair, heart gradually slowing. We did it.
He knew the gravity of what they'd done. If caught, it could have meant severe punishment, straining Asterholt's trust in him. But as he remembered Sela's bruised form after the duel, and thought of the dangers swirling around him, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. This knowledge could be their edge, their way to keep him safe by empowering him.
They parted ways quietly in the corridor with whispered promises to reconvene soon and study their prize. Zara would hide the scroll in a safe nook in the barracks for now; Thea would inventory their notes and begin deciphering fully. Connor would rest and prepare an explanation should any alarm be raised by morning—though with any luck, they left no trail leading to them.
As Connor crept back into his suite and gently shut the door, he felt a trickle of something warm on his upper lip. He touched it—blood. A familiar nosebleed. The exertion of fine telekinesis and adrenaline had finally caught up. He grabbed a handkerchief and sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for the bleeding to stop.
His body trembled with exhaustion and the after-effects of fear, but his mind hummed with the quiet triumph of discovery. From under his jacket, he retrieved the folded extra notes he'd taken. A quick glance showed a sketch of the seven-pointed star rune and some equations. So much to dig into. But not now.
Now, he needed sleep. If tomorrow was as eventful as the past few days, he would need every bit of strength.
Before lying down, Connor allowed himself one last look at the notes by lamplight. His eyes lingered on that phrase he'd caught: "malevolent echo pattern identified, origin uncertain." A shiver traced his spine, but he set the worry aside. Knowledge was power; they would figure it out in time.
He extinguished the lamp and slid into bed, the stolen pages tucked securely under his mattress for now. His muscles ached, and new bruises from earlier scrapes made themselves known. But none of that stopped a smile from curling his lips in the darkness.
They had defied the limits placed on them and emerged with exactly what they sought. A taste of rebellion indeed—and it tasted sweet.
With that thought, Connor closed his eyes. The echoes of his bold venture seemed to reverberate softly in the night around him. Not dangerous echoes, not yet—just the promise that, through wit and daring, he and his friends could shape their destiny rather than be confined by it.
In the silence, a faint thrum sounded in his ears, like a distant star singing. Connor drifted to sleep with the sensation that he had taken one step closer to understanding the mystery that tied him to this world—and to whatever waited out there in the darkness beyond the black glass.
Chapter 14: Shattered Oaths
A blaring alarm shattered the midnight calm—two rising notes repeating urgently throughout Asterholt's corridors. Red warning crystals pulsed in the walls, painting everything in panicked crimson. Connor sprinted down a gallery of stained-glass windows, heart in his throat. Each alarm wail reverberated like a hammer in his chest. He had never heard this particular alarm before. Few had, he suspected, because it signaled the unthinkable: the city's protective wards were failing.
He skidded around a corner nearly colliding with a squad of watchwomen rushing the opposite way. One recognized him and shouted, "Sir Connor, this way! We must get you to a secure room—"
"My guardian—Captain Var?" Connor gasped, struggling to catch his breath as he jogged alongside them.
"She's at the west reactor site already," the watchwoman replied over the din. "It's sabotage. There are intruders—"
A thunderous boom rattled the floor beneath their feet. Dust rained from the ceiling. The squad leader cursed. "They've breached the reactor chamber!"
At that, Connor's blood ran cold. The western aether-reactor was one of three that powered Asterholt's great wards. If it was breached… The flickering ward lights and keening alarms told the story. Two reactors might hold the barrier for a time, but instability would spread like a crack in glass.
He had to get there—Sela was there. But the watchwomen were all but dragging him toward a side passage, intent on tucking him away in some bunker.
They rounded into an atrium near the western wing. Chaos reigned; couriers darted to and fro bearing messages, a wounded guard slumped against a pillar receiving bandage wraps from a medic, and every few seconds the building shook from distant impacts. Connor glimpsed, through a tall window, the night sky beyond the city flickering with a faint blue glow—the weakening ward membrane, visible as it ebbed.
A vice of fear clamped around his heart. If the wards fell completely, nothing would stop every lurking foe beyond the walls from pouring in—monsters, mercenaries, or worse. They had to be stabilized, and that meant securing the reactor now.
Just then, a familiar voice rang out: "Connor!" Thea emerged from a side door, hair disheveled, clutching a leather satchel and flanked by Zara, whose sword was drawn. Relief and worry warred on their faces as they rushed to him.
The watchwomen moved to block them, but Connor quickly said, "They're with me," and the guards let them through.
Zara's normally keen eyes were wild. "Sela and Brynna and a team went below to the reactor. There was an explosion—Brynna sent me to find you."
Thea pressed something into Connor's hands—his notebook and the folded star schematics they'd taken earlier that night. He realized with a start he'd left them under his mattress, and she must have fetched them en route. "If things get worse…" Thea said breathlessly, "we cannot risk losing these to fire or enemy hands."
Connor nodded, swallowing hard and tucking the precious papers inside his jacket. A profound gratitude welled that even in crisis, Thea had thought to safeguard their hard-won knowledge.
The squad leader, looking harried, interrupted. "Sir Connor, we need to move you to—"
An earthshaking crash interrupted her. The floor lurched, knocking several of them off balance. Connor grabbed a column to steady himself as a deep, bellowing roar echoed up through the stone underfoot. It sounded like metal tearing and something alive snarling all at once. Dust cascaded from a chandelier overhead and one of the stained windows cracked from the concussion.
Screams and shouts erupted down the hall. A pair of panicked civilian clerks ran by, babbling about shadowy figures breaching the barracks door. The squad of watchwomen exchanged uncertain looks; their orders were to secure Connor, but their comrades were clearly under attack.
Connor made the decision for them. He gently shrugged off the protective grip of the guard at his elbow. "Captain Var ordered me to trust in Asterholt's strength," he said to the squad leader, voice surprisingly steady. "That strength is you. Go. Help defend the barracks or the reactor or wherever you are needed. I will go with my friends here to a safe location."
The squad leader hesitated—duty to protect him warring with duty to follow the broader battle. Another distant explosion made up her mind. "May the Goddess shield you, Sir," she barked, then motioned her team to follow as she charged toward the barracks wing where clashing steel could be heard.
Just like that, Connor, Zara, and Thea stood alone in the trembling atrium. The alarms still wailed, though one sputtered and died—perhaps damaged circuits.
Zara's jaw was clenched. "The reactor is in the sub-level through there," she said, pointing to a stairwell access partially blocked by fallen plaster. "We have to reach Sela. They might be trapped."
Connor agreed, fear for Sela a persistent drumbeat in his mind. He also knew that if the reactor wasn't stabilized, all might be lost. "Let's go."
They clambered over debris and flew down the spiral stairs. Thea illuminated a small mage-light to guide them in the shaking gloom. As they descended, the air grew hot and acrid with the scent of ozone and smoke.
At the base of the stairs, a massive door of reinforced steel stood dented and partially ajar. Beyond it stretched the reactor chamber—a large cylindrical hall housing the humming, glowing core that fed the city's wards. Or rather, once hummed and glowed. Now it sputtered fitfully, its usual blue aura flickering dark.
The scene was a nightmare. The reactor core—a towering apparatus of spinning rings and crystal arrays—was cracked and listing to one side. Sparks rained from severed cables. Two of the three stabilizing pylons had been sheared clean off and lay smoking on the floor. And scattered around were the bodies of both Watch soldiers and intruders dressed in dark combat gear.
Sela was in the midst of the chamber with Brynna and Nima at her sides, facing off against a hulking figure draped in a cloak of midnight. The intruder wielded a bizarre double-bladed polearm that crackled with stolen aether energy. Even as Connor's eyes adjusted, he saw this foe swing the weapon, unleashing a crescent of crackling force at Sela's group. They dove apart as the energy blast slammed into a wall, blowing apart stone.
Assassins. Saboteurs. Connor counted two others engaging Watch soldiers near the ruined pylons. One delivered a blast of flame from some gauntlet device, keeping a cluster of Asterholt guards pinned behind a fallen slab. Another assailant was trying to pry open access panels on the reactor core itself, presumably to finish the destruction.
For a heartbeat, Connor was paralyzed by the tableau of chaos. Then he saw Sela. She was bleeding from a gash on her forehead, her left arm hanging oddly—perhaps dislocated—yet she gripped her sword one-handed, circling the cloaked attacker with calm ferocity.
Without thinking, Connor stepped forward, raising a hand toward the foe near the reactor panel. "Hey!" he shouted.
It was enough to draw the saboteur's attention. The woman turned, brandishing a pistol-like device that whined with charging energy and pointed it straight at Connor.
He reacted on instinct and training. With a thrust of his will, he created a kinetic barrier—an invisible shield—just as a bolt of green energy lanced from the pistol. The bolt struck his hastily formed shield and splashed, dissipating in a shower of sparks that singed his sleeves but left him unharmed.
Zara was already moving, darting around Connor and hurling a throwing knife at the shooter. The blade embedded in the woman's shoulder, causing her to cry out and drop the pistol.
Thea stayed slightly back, hastily drawing a chalk rune on the floor and whispering an incantation. A gust of wind—her limited mage talent—whipped forward, fanning thick smoke from a smoldering control console into the faces of the assassins.
Under this cover, Connor, Zara, and Thea pushed fully into the chamber, joining the embattled Asterholt soldiers. A nearby guard recognized Connor and shouted in alarm, "Sir, no, get back!"
But Connor had no intention of retreating. Not this time. He spotted Sela's eyes flick toward him in shock and concern. In that brief distraction, the hulking cloaked leader swung his crackling polearm at her torso. Sela barely parried with her sword, the force of it knocking her to one knee.
No more. Connor would not watch from the sidelines as those he loved bled for him.
He thrust out both hands and summoned all the focus he could muster. He remembered the star-sigil diagrams, the interlocking flows of force. Push and pull, together, directed as one.
The massive metal gate by which they had entered was partially off its track, hanging precariously. Connor seized it with his mind—its weight was immense, but anger and adrenaline lent him strength. With a guttural yell, he wrenched the gate off its remaining hinge.
The chamber shook as the steel door screeched and flew, not in one direction but two—Connor's power both pulling and pushing in a controlled arc. The door slammed down between Sela's group and the polearm assassin, forcing him back, and simultaneously slid to block the corridor from which two more enemy reinforcements were just appearing. An improvised wall and battering ram in one move.
The exertion made Connor's vision swim. He felt hot liquid trickle from his nostrils—blood, again. But it worked. The reinforcements on the far side of the fallen gate banged on it in frustration, temporarily shut out. The cloaked leader stumbled from the impact, his polearm's energy discharge skittering wild and harmless.
Seizing the moment, Brynna lunged from hiding and drove her spear into the leg of the cloaked assassin. He roared in pain. Sela, rising once more, yelled "Yield!" even as she pressed her sword to his back.
Perhaps realizing the tide had turned, the leader snarled something in a foreign tongue and depressed a switch on his belt. A sphere on his hip began to emit smoke and sparks—clearly some emergency escape device or last resort.
"Down!" Sela shouted, tackling Brynna away as the sphere exploded into a blinding flash of light and billowing smoke.
When Connor blinked his eyes open, the cloaked assassin was gone—retreated back through the smoke towards the jammed gate where his allies pulled it open enough to drag him out. The other saboteurs, seeing their leader's withdrawal and the arrival of more Watch reinforcements from behind Connor, likewise fell back. One threw a final charge at the reactor core—it exploded against the already damaged machinery, causing the lights to flicker, but the core still hummed faintly. Not quite dead.
Then they were gone, melting into the maintenance corridors, with only groans of the injured and the crackle of small fires remaining.
Connor sagged against a shattered pylon, suddenly aware of how much his entire body hurt. Blood dripped from his nose onto his shirt. His head throbbed. But they had repelled the attack.
Sela was on her feet, issuing orders between coughs. "Secure the chamber! Get coolant on that core now!" Technicians rushed to obey, spraying foam and stabilizing sigils on the reactor to keep it from meltdown. Nima and others hurried to hoist the heavy gate fully back and pursue the fleeing saboteurs.
Brynna was at Sela's side, holding her upright by the uninjured arm. Sela's gaze searched through the haze until it found Connor. It was a mix of relief, fury, and pride that flashed in her eyes.
Connor managed a weak smile and raised a trembling hand in a little wave of reassurance. His ears rang and the room pitched slightly—he realized belatedly he might collapse.
Thea appeared, supporting him from one side, Zara from the other. "Easy," Thea murmured, guiding him to sit on a fallen beam. "Deep breaths."
He leaned his head back, focusing on inhaling the sooty air slowly. The bleeding from his nose was slowing, at least.
Footsteps approached and Sela knelt in front of him. Her face was bruised and streaked with grime, and anger radiated from her. Yet her touch was feather-light as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You… reckless… infuriating boy," she rasped, voice thick with emotion. "Are you alright?"
Connor let out a breathy laugh that turned into a cough. "I will be."
They locked eyes, an entire conversation passing silently. She pulled him into a brief, fierce hug, then released him as he hissed—he hadn't realized until that moment that his ribs were bruised from earlier.
They exchanged a glance of understanding, and she went to speak with Saloma while medics swarmed the room. Connor watched her go, vision a little blurry, and allowed his eyes to drift closed.
The last thing he heard before fainting was Sela's voice calling his name, half-panicked, half-relieved that they had all survived.
He carried that voice into the darkness, clinging to it like a lifeline.
Chapter 15: Exodus Charter
Grey dawn light filtered through the high windows of the council chamber, illuminating motes of dust that drifted in the hush. Connor stood before the semi-circle of grim-faced councilors, feeling very small and very exposed. He was physically battered—bandages peeked from beneath the collar of his tunic, and faint shadows of exhaustion bruised the skin under his eyes. Emotionally, he felt even more raw.
High Councilor Saloma cleared her throat, breaking the heavy silence. In her hands she held a parchment scroll, its wax seal already broken. "Sir Connor," she began formally, though her voice softened at the sight of him swaying on his feet. "Last night's events have forced this Council to a decision. For your safety and the safety of Asterholt."
Connor clasped his hands behind his back to hide a tremor. To his right stood Sela, sling supporting her injured arm, her jaw set in open displeasure at what was coming. To his left, Matron Yara offered a sympathetic nod.
"We propose," Saloma continued, "that you leave Asterholt, at least for a time."
The words, though expected, still struck Connor's heart like a blow. He forced himself not to flinch. Behind him, he sensed Thea take in a sharp breath and Zara shift tensely—both had been permitted to attend this meeting as informal witnesses.
Saloma pressed on. "Lady Marisela of Aurelia and Matron Yara have collaborated on an alternative arrangement. Not a banishment," she added gently, noting the flicker of hurt in Connor's eyes. "But a discreet expedition. Away from city centers, where those who seek to harm or exploit you will struggle to follow, and where you might continue to grow in knowledge and ability."
Yara stepped forward, producing a rolled map. "We have determined an ideal locale. The site of the Falling Star." She spread the map on a table. It showed the region around Asterholt and far to its west, a mountainous expanse marked with an old impact crater. "Remote, uninhabited, yet of great scholarly interest. The very place that may hold answers to Sir Connor's unique circumstances."
Saloma folded her hands. "The proposal is thus: Under the guise of a research expedition sponsored by multiple guilds, you, Sir Connor, will journey to the Falling Star Crater. Officially, to study lingering aether phenomena. Unofficially, to be far from prying factions. You will be accompanied by a select group of guardians and aides."
Sela raised her chin. "I will lead the escort, of course." It was not a request but a flat statement. Despite her sling, no one in the room appeared inclined to object. Saloma nodded, already expecting as much.
"And I volunteer as well," came a clear voice from the back. Zara stepped forward out of the shadows of the hall, hand over heart in a pledge. "Combat specialists will be needed in the wilds. I offer my blades."
A murmur went through the councilors, but Saloma smiled slightly. "Your dedication is noted, Watchwoman Zara. Given your… experience protecting Sir Connor, your presence is welcome."
Thea swallowed hard, then piped up, voice wavering but resolute. "If—if knowledge is the aim, you will need a scribe and researcher. I volunteer as well." She blushed under the gaze of so many notables, but did not retract her words.
Matron Yara beamed. "Thea is one of my brightest aides. Her familiarity with maps and analytic mind will be of great use. I second her inclusion."
Saloma arched an eyebrow at the enthusiastic youth stepping forth. "Very well. Watch-Cadet Thea, you may accompany the expedition in a scholarly capacity." Thea's face lit in relief and pride.
Connor felt an overwhelming swell of gratitude and affection for his friends. In this bleak moment, they stood with him without hesitation. He realized perhaps he had feared, deep down, being made to go on this journey alone.
Councilor Saloma's gaze shifted to a corner where Brynna Var lay on a stretcher, stubbornly present despite a heavily bandaged leg. She propped herself up. "If my wound knits in time, I will not let Captain Var ride out without me," Brynna said hoarsely. "I owe that much."
Sela turned to her with a stern frown. "Brynna, you should be recovering—"
Brynna set her jaw. "I heal fast. And you will need a second spear out there with titans and bandits."
Saloma held up a hand to quell further debate. "Brynna Var, your valor is appreciated. You may join when fit to travel. If not, we depart without endangering your health."
Brynna acquiesced with a grunt, lying back down as the healer attending her fussed.
Saloma looked around. "Is there any other who will speak to this plan?"
Marisela cleared her throat. She had been standing quietly behind Connor, a steadying presence. "Only that while my heart aches to send him farther away, I believe this course is wise. The Falling Star site changed our world once; perhaps it will provide Connor the insight he needs to command his gifts fully. And distance from courts and conspiracies will give him room to grow without constant threat." Her voice trembled slightly at the end, but resolve held it firm.
Connor felt a tear threaten and blinked it away. He stepped forward so he stood beside the map, facing the council. This plan was far kinder than a cold exile; it was couched in hope and discovery. It did not erase the sting of leaving, but it transformed it into something almost empowering.
He bowed his head respectfully. "High Councilors," he said softly, "and esteemed guardians and friends. I accept this plan. And I am…grateful. I see the wisdom in it."
He raised his eyes and spoke more strongly. "If my presence here endangers those I hold dear, then I will remove that danger. Gladly. More so, I venture out with purpose: to better understand the forces that brought me here and stir within me. I vow to return stronger and wiser, so that I might serve and not just be protected."
Several council members nodded in approval. Sela's good hand rested on his uninjured shoulder, a quiet show of pride.
Saloma gave a rare, gentle smile. "Spoken like a true Asterholtan, Sir Connor. You will always have a home waiting in these walls when the time comes." She lifted the parchment she held. "Herein is the official charter of expedition: signed by guild heads of Scholarship, Watch, and Alchemy in a gesture of unity, and countersigned by Lady Marisela for Aurelia. This document will grant you passage through territories and support at allied outposts."
She handed it to Connor. He unrolled the top enough to see the fine calligraphy. A title stood out: "Charter of Starfall Expedition – Connor of Earth." It felt both grand and strangely personal to see his origin acknowledged in the text.
"Connor of Earth," he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips. They had given him a kind of surname, or epithet, rather than "Sir Connor of Aurelia" or any such. Perhaps at Marisela's suggestion. It grounded him in who he truly was while validating him as part of this world's history now.
He carefully rolled the charter and clutched it to his chest. "Thank you," he said to the assembly.
Within the hour, the council adjourned and action commenced. There was much to prepare for a journey expected to last months. Discreetly, supplies were inventoried, mounts selected, and routes planned to avoid heavily populated areas. The goal was to slip out unnoticed under cover of darkness in a day's time, after giving Connor and the others a brief respite to recover from their injuries and exhaustion.
Connor spent the afternoon in a whirlwind of preparation. He visited the Watch armory to select a suitable horse—a calm dapple-grey mare he took a liking to—and proper riding gear. Zara insisted he take a short sword, even if he was no swordsman, for emergencies. Sela arranged for a set of light armor to be refitted to his size, arguing that though he preferred not to fight directly, they could not risk him being defenseless if ambushed.
In quieter moments, Connor found himself in the library annex with Thea, poring over maps. She traced a path from Asterholt through mountain passes and down into the wilds around the crater. "It will be at least three weeks' journey," she mused, excitement and anxiety coloring her tone. "Longer if winter weather hits early."
Connor nodded, memorizing the names of waypoints. "We should avoid the main trade roads. Perhaps take the old Spur Trail here," he pointed, recalling that route from earlier readings. "It's overgrown but more direct, and unlikely watched."
Thea beamed at him. "Already thinking like an expedition leader."
He flushed a little. "Just cautious."
But truthfully, he did feel a burgeoning sense of leadership. The council had entrusted him with this mission—one he helped shape. He intended to see it succeed not just for his sake, but for those who accompanied him and those he'd leave behind, awaiting his return.
That evening, Marisela led him to a quiet balcony overlooking Asterholt's darkening sky. They stood in companionable silence as twin moons rose above the city's silhouette of spires. Finally, she turned to him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile. "I believe in you, Connor. More than ever."
He hugged her tightly. "I will make you proud," he whispered.
"You already have, my dear." She pressed a small velvet pouch into his hand. Inside, he later found, was a locket containing a miniature of Marisela and Sela together, painted years ago. "So you keep a piece of your family with you," her note enclosed read. That nearly undid him.
Night fell on the eve of departure. In his chambers, half-packed with travel gear, Connor sat at his desk by lantern light making final notes in his journal. He wrote out two lists meticulously:
Training Goals:
Sustain levitation on a heavy object (10 kg) for at least 5 minutes. (He imagined hefting perhaps a boulder or piece of wreckage easily by journey's end.)
Practice multi-vector kinesis: split focus on at least 3 small objects moving in different paths. (If he could learn to push, pull, and shield simultaneously, a repeat of last night's exertion might not knock him out.)
Enhance aether-sense range and clarity: identify friend vs foe magical signatures at 50 m. (He recalled how he sensed a presence at the archive before seeing it; honing that could save their lives.)
He paused, tapping the quill, then added one more:
Develop predictive vector mapping: anticipate an enemy's movement/attack trajectory using mental calculus. (This idea was nascent, inspired by something Zara said about reading an opponent's body. Perhaps his analytical mind and magic combined could literally chart a foe's next move, bending the curve of a projectile in mid-flight or sidestepping a blow before it began.)
Connor set the quill down, reading over the list. It was ambitious. Perhaps overly so. But he preferred to aim high. These would give structure to his practice under Sela's watch and with Thea's help on theory.
A soft knock at his door preceded Sela's entry. She was out of her sling, arm still stiff but functional. They had given her a salve that accelerated healing for the journey. Sela's eyes fell on the open journal. "Mind if I look?" she asked.
He nodded, suddenly shy. She perused the goals, lips curving in approval. "This is good. We will work on these together." She tapped the last point about predictive mapping. "This one especially intrigues me. Danger foresight? You truly never cease to surprise."
Connor rubbed the back of his neck. "Just a theory."
Sela closed the journal gently. "I am glad to see you approaching this so… proactively. It makes this parting slightly less bitter for me."
They moved to sit by the dying fire. Sela poured them each a small cup of mulled wine from a flask she had brought. "To warm the soul," she said, handing one to Connor.
They toasted quietly. Connor savored the spiced drink and the moment of camaraderie. "Thank you, for everything," he said. "I know leading this expedition means leaving your city, your station—"
Sela waved a hand. "My station is to protect you, wherever that leads. That has not changed." Her voice grew softer. "And Asterholt will be here when we return. Perhaps stronger for the respite from being a battleground."
Connor nodded. He hadn't considered that—his absence would allow Asterholt to recover, to strengthen defenses without constant assaults. In that way, leaving was as much a service as anything he could do by staying.
A comfortable silence fell. Finally, Sela stood. "Rest now. We have a long road tomorrow night." She squeezed his shoulder, then paused at the door. "Oh, one more thing."
From her pocket she drew a small object: the coin he had been practicing with days ago. He had left it in the garden in the chaos of the drone attack. "Found this during cleanup. Might be you want it for the journey—keep up your micro-push training when bored." She winked.
Connor accepted the Australian one-dollar coin, the little piece of home, and closed his fingers around it. "I do."
When she departed, he turned the coin over in his palm, its familiar ridges grounding him. On one face, the Queen; on the other, the mob of kangaroos in mid-leap. He smiled, imagining explaining those strange creatures to Thea around a campfire.
He realized with a gentle start that he felt… hopeful. Yes, he was leaving behind safety, luxury, and many he cared about. But he wasn't being cast out alone, and this journey was framed as one of growth, not fear. It was, in a way, the first major step of his life that was truly his to shape.
"Falling Star Crater," he whispered into the quiet room, tasting both the uncertainty and promise those words held. Beyond the black glass of his window, the night was moonless, dark. But somewhere out in that darkness lay answers he had yearned for since awakening in ash and shadow what felt like a lifetime ago.
He slipped the coin into his pocket and made his final preparations for sleep, journal tucked safely away. Tomorrow night they would depart through a secret mountain tunnel beyond the city—a detail mentioned by Saloma so they might avoid prying eyes.
As he extinguished the lamp and crawled into bed, Connor found his heart lighter than expected. Exile or opportunity? Perhaps a bit of both. But it was, at last, a path he would walk by choice, armed with knowledge, guided by loyal allies.
And as Sela had reminded him, Asterholt would be there when he returned. He silently vowed to make that return worthwhile for all of them.
In the darkness, Connor closed his eyes and let the gentle sound of his steady breathing lull him. The worst was behind; the unknown lay ahead. And for the first time in a long time, the unknown did not scare him—it beckoned, like a horizon ready to be claimed by the dawn.
Chapter 16: Beyond the Black Glass
Asterholt slept under a moonless sky. Only a sprinkle of stars bore witness as Connor and his small band gathered at the foot of a weathered statue in the citadel's inner courtyard. Midnight was minutes away. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of dew on stone and a whisper of autumn's approach. Connor stood clad in travel leathers and lightweight armor, a woolen cloak draped over his shoulders. At his side, Sela quietly tightened the straps on her gauntlet, while Zara checked the buckles on the saddlebags of their waiting horses.
Thea fussed with a freshly drawn map, rolling and unrolling it in her hands despite having memorized it. Brynna leaned on a crutch nearby—pale but determined to see them off, even if she couldn't ride out just yet. Two other watchwomen loyal to Sela held the reins of the horses, murmuring soft words to keep them calm in the predawn hush.
Connor found himself a little numb as he surveyed the scene. This was it. The moment he stepped beyond the black walls that had sheltered—and sometimes confined—him since his arrival. The statue beside them depicted an ancient guild-mother gazing sternly outward, as if warning them not to stray foolishly. Connor offered the stone figure a polite bow of farewell anyway.
Matron Yara approached with Marisela, both bearing small bundles. "Provisions for the road," Yara said, voice low. "Herbal remedies, dried fruit, a few of your favorite oat biscuits." She attempted a smile that came out more as a grimace of impending tears.
Marisela reached up to cup Connor's face one last time. She said nothing—she'd said it all the night before—but her eyes spoke volumes of love and worry. Connor gently removed one of his gloves and placed his hand over hers on his cheek, squeezing gently in promise. "I will return," he whispered.
"You had better," Marisela managed with a watery chuckle. "Or I shall march out there and drag you back myself."
Brynna barked a soft laugh at that. Sela stepped forward to clasp Marisela's shoulder. "I will guard him with everything I have."
"I know," Marisela replied. The two women exchanged a nod of mutual respect and something like sisterhood. Then Marisela stepped back, allowing the practicalities to resume—lingering too long would only fray everyone's nerves.
High Councilor Saloma was absent by design; this farewell was kept intimate and unofficial. Still, a single torch bobbed on the far curtain wall—Saloma herself, watching from a distance, perhaps unwilling to let Asterholt's prized conduit slip away entirely unmarked by her regard.
"All is ready," Zara said softly, handing Connor the reins to his mare, Selene. The horse nickered and bumped her nose against his chest. He patted her mane, feeling the warmth of a living companion who had no agenda beyond simple trust. It steadied him.
At Sela's signal, they moved out. The secret exit lay through an old service tunnel that delved into the mountain slope under Asterholt's foundations. Two watchwomen heaved open a heavy grate that had been cleverly masked behind ivy and stone. One by one, the horses were led in, hooves clopping on the ancient cobbles in echoing rhythm.
Connor was the last to enter, pausing at the threshold. He turned for one final glimpse of the courtyard: Marisela and Yara stood arm in arm, Yara dabbing her eyes with a kerchief; Brynna raised her crutch in a salute; high above, a lone torch flickered on the wall. The dark glass windows of the citadel loomed behind, reflecting faint starlight. Those walls had been his cage and his refuge by turns.
He felt no resentment now, only gratitude and a poignant ache at leaving. "Until we meet again," he murmured, not knowing if those gathered could hear.
Then he stepped forward and the grate was shut behind him with a reverberating clang. The tunnel greeted them with a gust of cool, damp air smelling of earth and iron. Sela and Zara lit hooded lanterns, casting dancing shadows along the curved walls. Connor walked near the front, leading Selene; they'd decided to stay on foot until reaching the outside to avoid noisy echoes of riding.
The procession moved in relative silence save for the occasional snort from a horse or drip of groundwater seeping through the rock. Connor's thoughts grew loud in the quiet. Each footfall was a step farther from everything familiar. Yet, with every pace, he also felt a lightening, as if an invisible tether line spooling out behind him instead of yanking at his core.
"You alright?" Thea whispered beside him. She kept her voice low, mindful of acoustics.
He glanced at her and realized he'd been unconsciously smiling in the lantern glow. "Yes," he replied, surprised to realize it was true. "Nervous, but… strangely alright."
Thea returned a grin. "Me too." She shifted the weight of the satchel on her shoulder. "I keep wondering if this is real. That I—me, Thea—am on a secret mission with a—" she caught herself, "with friends."
Connor chuckled softly. "It is real. And we will look after each other out there."
Ahead, Zara's silhouette turned. "Save your breath, you two. This tunnel goes on a while and gets steep." But even her admonition held warmth. She was not truly upset to hear some levity breaking the gloom.