The stairs were a nightmare. For a seven-year-old, a "tight spiral" is basically a vertical obstacle course. By the time Alaric reached the common hall, his legs felt like jelly, and Gina looked like she was ready to carry him like a sack of potatoes just to speed things up.
Then the wall exploded.
It wasn't a slow "stone shifting." It was a structural failure. Goblins poured through the gap like green sludge. These weren't the cute, big-eared rascals from cartoons; they were wiry, stinking, and carried knives that looked like they'd been dipped in a sewer.
Gina didn't even blink. She snapped her three-section staff into a blur of hardwood and chain.
"Stay behind me!" she barked, her staff cracking a goblin's skull with a sound like a dry branch snapping.
Alaric tried to help. He really did. He pointed his fingers and shouted "Magic Missile!" hoping for a cool cinematic kill. Instead, four little sparks of blue light hit a goblin in the chest and... did nothing. The goblin just looked at its shirt, hissed, and kept coming.
First sphere sucks, James thought.
He didn't have a choice. He pulled the silver ring from his pocket and shoved it onto his finger.
The world didn't just stop; it crashed. The color drained out of everything, leaving the hall in high-contrast grayscale.
"Two souls, one cup," a voice echoed in his head. It was dry, arrogant, and sounded like it belonged to someone who spent way too much time in a library. "Or rather, one vessel. A native prince and... whatever you are, James Silver."
Alaric froze. "You can see me?"
"I am Alanor. I see the 'code' of the soul, boy. You're a transplant. A glitch. But a glitch with a very high mana capacity." The ghost of the Archmage didn't offer a friendship bracelet. He offered a contract. "I'll teach you the real stuff. Not this 'Sphere' garbage the humans use. But you have to get me out of these ruins. Deal?"
"Deal," Alaric whispered.
Time slammed back into gear. Alaric felt a surge of cold, ancient power rush from the ring into his arm. He didn't just cast a spell; he unleashed a flamethrower. "Scorching Ray!"
Three beams of white-hot fire tore through the front line of goblins, turning them into piles of glowing ash. The smell of ozone and burnt hair was overwhelming. Alaric's vision blurred—the mana drain was like a physical punch to the gut.
"Alaric!" Gina screamed, grabbing his shoulder. She looked at the ash, then at the glowing ring on his finger. Her eyes were full of questions he didn't want to answer.
But the questions had to wait.
Three Hobgoblins stepped through the breach. These guys were different. They were six feet tall, covered in muscle, and moved like professional soldiers. They didn't scream; they just raised their shields and formed a wedge.