The Mages' Tower. Night.
Mirena was adjusting the crystals, her hands steady, her eyes on the artifact. Alistair stood across the room, monitoring the resonance patterns. The portal was stable—a shimmering oval in the center of the circle, leading to a world of purple skies and blue-leaved trees.
They had opened this portal twice before. The world on the other side was strange but harmless. No hunters. No creatures. Just alien beauty.
Mirena wanted to test the limits. She wanted to see how long the portal could hold, how much power it could draw, how many times they could open it before the artifact degraded.
Alistair had warned her to be careful.
She had nodded. She had been careful.
Then she had reached for another refined stone.
---
"The resonance is shifting," Alistair said.
Mirena looked up. "Where?"
"Not toward the artifact. Toward the portal itself. The destination world is changing."
Mirena frowned. "The portal goes where it wants. We can't control it."
"We can close it."
"Not yet." Mirena adjusted the crystals. "I need more data."
Alistair's jaw tightened. "Mirena—"
The portal flickered.
The purple sky on the other side turned red. The blue-leaved trees twisted, blackened, crumbled. The ground shook—not their ground, the ground beyond. The air shimmered with heat, then cold, then something else. Something wrong.
"What's happening?" Alistair shouted.
Mirena stared at the portal. "The world is failing."
The portal surged.
---
The explosion was not from their magic. It was from the other side.
Chaos poured through—winds that burned, lightning that moved sideways, air that turned to stone. The portal buckled, stretched, screamed. The crystals shattered. The artifact flared—bright, too bright, then dark.
Mirena dove behind the workbench. Alistair threw himself through the doorway.
The room exploded.
---
When the dust settled, the tower was still standing.
The workroom was destroyed—crystals shattered, lenses cracked, notes scattered. The artifact lay on the floor, dark and still. The circle was blackened, the stones vaporized.
Mirena sat up. Her ears were ringing. Her hands were shaking.
Alistair crawled back into the room. "Are you hurt?"
Mirena shook her head. "The artifact?"
Alistair picked it up. It was cold, silent, dead. "It's intact. But it needs time to recover."
Mirena looked at the circle. "The world on the other side—it was failing. The portal opened to a world that was already dying."
Alistair's face was pale. "Chaotic forces. Unstable magic. We're lucky the backlash didn't kill us."
Mirena stood. Her legs were unsteady. "We can't do this here. Not in the tower. Not in the capital."
"Where?"
"Away. Somewhere safe. Somewhere with room to fail."
---
Grog arrived at dawn.
He stood in the doorway of the destroyed workroom, his face still, his eyes cold. Mirena sat on a stool, her head in her hands. Alistair stood by the window, his back bandaged, his face grim.
"How bad?" Grog asked.
Mirena looked up. "We lost thirty refined stones. A dozen raw cores. The artifact is intact, but it needs time to recover."
Grog's jaw tightened. "The room?"
"Can be repaired. The tower is sound."
"But we can't work here anymore."
Mirena shook her head. "Not safely. The portal opened to a failing world. The chaotic forces nearly destroyed us. We need space. We need to be away from people."
Grog was silent for a moment. "The countryside. Somewhere isolated."
"Yes."
"I'll make arrangements."
---
The site was chosen three days later.
A clearing in the hills, east of the capital, far from villages and farms. The ground was flat, the trees sparse, the sky wide. A stream ran nearby. The road was passable.
Workers arrived with tents, lumber, tools. They built a pavilion—large enough to house the experiment, sturdy enough to withstand a small explosion. They dug a foundation, laid stone, erected walls.
Mirena directed them, her voice steady, her hands sure.
Alistair supervised the magical preparations—the circles, the crystals, the containment wards. The artifact sat on a table in the center, dark and waiting.
Grog watched from the edge of the clearing.
Ken stood beside him.
"The adventurers?" Ken asked.
Grog nodded. "Hired. Twelve of them. Rotating shifts. They'll guard the perimeter, watch for hunters, keep away curious farmers."
"Expensive."
"The guild can afford it."
Ken was quiet for a moment. "And the portals?"
Grog looked at the pavilion. "We test again. Once the facility is ready."
"And if it opens to another failing world?"
Grog met his eyes. "Then we close it faster."
---
The adventurers arrived the next day.
They were young, mostly—veterans of the guild's contracts, survivors of the creature attacks. Mei was among them. She had volunteered as soon as she heard.
"The border?" Grog asked.
"William has Lira. Tina. Davin. Ken's clone." Mei shrugged. "He doesn't need me there."
Grog studied her. "You're not going to miss the action?"
Mei almost smiled. Almost. "I've had enough action. Guard duty sounds peaceful."
Grog nodded. "Take the north perimeter. Report anything unusual."
Mei saluted. Walked into the trees.
---
The tents were set.
Mirena had her own—small, private, filled with notes and crystals and the artifact. Alistair shared a tent with the other mages. The adventurers slept in shifts, their bedrolls arranged around the central pavilion.
Grog stood at the edge of the camp, watching the stars.
Ben walked to stand beside him.
"You're not sleeping."
"Neither are you."
Ben was quiet for a moment. "The hunters know we're here."
Grog nodded. "They know."
"They'll try to stop us."
"They'll try."
Ben looked at the pavilion. "And if they succeed?"
Grog turned to him. "They won't."
---
The night passed without incident.
The adventurers patrolled. The mages slept. The artifact pulsed faintly in the darkness.
At dawn, Mirena began her work.