The grand hall had transformed into a stage of horror. The giant hand gripping the banquet table was not made of flesh, but of a density of darkness that seemed to swallow the light around it. The clatter of porcelain plates and the screams of the nobility were drowned out by a low growl that shook the very foundations of the palace.
"This isn't Tower magic," Harold hissed, drawing his longsword. The steel blade glinted, reflecting the orange glow of the steam lamps. "This is something far older."
"Bael..." Anne whispered. She felt a pulse in her veins aligning with the entity's emergence. "Or one of his kin from The Lesser Key. Silas was right—my mother wasn't just a leader; she was a walking prison."
Caine acted immediately. He didn't run; instead, he snapped open his briefcase and pulled out a portable frequency projector. "All The Catalyst agents, activate Protocol 'Iron Wall'! Divert all backup steam to the palace perimeter! We need high pressure to contain that mist!"
Within seconds, steam pipes along the hall detonated in a controlled burst, spewing thick white vapor that formed a heavy curtain. The steam was not merely hot water; Caine had laced it with ionized iron particles designed to disrupt non-physical energy structures.
The black mist roared as it made contact with the Isfellan steam. However, the entity began to pull itself from the floor, forming a shadow-figure nearly four meters tall with sharply curved horns. Its eyes were two pits of fire staring straight at Anne.
"Anne Marie Vaine..." the voice sounded like thousands of overlapping whispers. "Heir of the broken frequency. You released our jailer, and now you shall become our vessel."
"Over my dead body," Harold leapt forward. His strike was no longer that of a mere soldier. His blade had been coated with a resonance circuit provided by Caine. Every slash left a trail of blue light that burned the shadow.
The fight was unbalanced. Every time Harold struck, the entity regenerated itself from the darkness crawling out of the floor cracks.
"Harold, fall back!" Anne shouted. She realized that physical weapons—even those augmented by technology—could only restrain, not vanish the threat.
Anne closed her eyes, reaching out for the echo of her mother, who was now free. She was no longer seeking protection; she was seeking the key. In her mind's eye, she saw a massive circuit connecting the Magic Tower, Isfellan's steam engines, and the blood flowing through her body.
"Wheat to feed the world, steel to protect it," Anne murmured the Isfellan philosophy like a mantra. "And voice... to command it."
Anne raised her hands. Suddenly, every lamp in the hall shattered, but the room did not fall into darkness. A light of pure gold radiated from Anne's body, merging with Caine's white steam. The resonance was so powerful that the remaining Tower mages fell to their knees, clutching their bleeding ears.
"I am not your vessel," Anne declared, her voice now ringing like a massive bell. "I am the master of the era you have just entered."
A golden shockwave slammed into the shadow entity, forcing it to shrink back into the cracks in the floor. However, Anne knew this was only the beginning. The seal beneath Aethelgard had been completely shattered, and what had just appeared was merely a "pathfinder."
Emperor Valerion stared at Anne with both horror and awe. "What have you done?"
Anne turned, the golden light in her eyes slowly fading, leaving behind a cold and calculating gaze. "I just saved your city, Your Majesty. But now, we have a problem far larger than an energy crisis. Every demon from the past is knocking on our door, and only my Isfellan machines know how to lock it again."