The dream came like a ghost.
Flames again. Screams behind him. A village he once bled for, now scorched earth. Faces blurred by ash and fire. Soldiers he once trusted. A child screaming his name. And in the silence that followed—something new. Black veins. Hollow eyes. A rotting man casting spells with hands half-gone.
Cael stood frozen as the burning corpse of a priest turned toward him.
Then—
He blinked awake.
His body didn't move yet. Only his eyes, open and watching the faint glow of the dying fireplace. Voices murmured just beyond the wall.
"…Said the guild building's still standing," Ravik's voice, lower than usual. "Packed with people. Soldiers, mages, maybe even nobles. Like it's supposed to hold all this together."
Thorne replied, voice even flatter. "Might be the last place in Veyron where people haven't started tearing each other apart. That doesn't make it safe."
Cael exhaled, rasping out, "Safe, huh… That word's starting to lose meaning."
There was a pause, then the sound of boots shifting.
"Well, would you look at that," Ravik said. "Sleeping beauty's up."
Cael sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're the one whispering like a worried mother hen. Thought you'd kiss my forehead next."
Ravik scoffed. "Please. I'd sooner let you rot."
"You almost did," Cael muttered, stretching his arms, his joints stiff. "How long was I out?"
Thorne stepped into view, arms crossed. "Long enough to worry us. We weren't sure who'd wake up… or if they'd still be themselves."
Cael looked around. There were others—soldiers, scattered across the room, unconscious or barely stirring.
"They all passed out too?"
"Some just fainted," Thorne said. "Some started coughing up blood. Some didn't wake up at all."
Cael's eyes narrowed. "I remember I was asking something—before I dropped."
"You were," Thorne nodded. "Something about the priest. What happened."
"Right." Cael sat straighter. "What did happen? He collapsed, and then what? It all… just fell apart."
Thorne leaned against the wall, gaze distant. "He didn't just collapse."
Ravik shifted uneasily but said nothing.
"I was stationed just outside the sanctum," Thorne continued. " We thought maybe it was stress. When he fell during the blessing, they moved him to the inner chamber. Only the top mages and healers followed."
"And?" Cael asked.
Thorne's voice lowered. "Then the screaming started. The kind you don't forget. By the time I forced my way in, half the room was… wrong. Blood, fire, shattered glyphs on the walls. The priest—what was left of him—had torn open one of the healers' throats. His hands were glowing, but the spell—it wasn't healing. It looked like healing, but it burned. The others dropped one by one."
"And no one saw it coming?" Ravik asked, sounding more tired than angry.
Thorne ran a hand down his face. "We thought it was backlash. Overload. But then… the crystal above the altar, the embedded aetherstone—it flared. Like it absorbed something, then pulsed."
Cael blinked. "The stone… reacted?"
"Not just that. It spread. I could feel it. The mana in the air changed. It smelled like something dead had been chewing on it." He paused. "It was like watching the world hold its breath—and then exhale rot."
They fell into silence.
Then Thorne added, more slowly, "I've seen a lot of wounds. A lot of magic gone wrong. This wasn't that. This was like something entered the flow. Magic, faith, mana… anything tied to it. It's all carrying it now."
Cael's hand gripped the edge of the table. "The Healing… wasn't a cure. It was a broadcast."
Ravik looked up. "You sure it's the magic itself?"
"I'm not sure of anything anymore," Thorne said. "But every priest, every mage, every enchanted relic that was nearby… they were the first to fall. Not from wounds. From something deeper. Like the moment they tapped into mana again, it reached back."
Cael let out a long breath. "So what, we poisoned the well?"
"Maybe," Thorne said. "Or maybe the well was already poisoned, and we just stirred it too hard"