Page 85 of The Ascended
"Inside first," I decided. "Make the wards, then run for that light."
But as we approached, a sound froze my blood.
A low, rumbling growl. Close. Too close.
I spun, searching the shadows. There—red eyes watching from the undergrowth. Then another pair. Another.
Moon-hares had found us. But these weren't the harmless creatures we'd hunted. They were wolf-sized now, their silver fur matted with blood, unnatural intelligence burning in their eyes. And more were emerging with each heartbeat.
"Inside. Now."
We rushed the locked door. Thatcher threw his shoulder against it with desperate strength. Iron hinges groaned, held, then gave way with a crash that sent us tumbling inside.
I slammed the door as the first hare struck. Claws raked wood while the pack circled, seeking another entrance.
Safe. For now.
The forge exceeded my hopes—a proper alchemical setup with crucibles and distillation equipment, grinding tools and measuring scales. Someone had worked here recently. The fire still blazed hot, tools warm to the touch.
I glanced up, noting a ripple in the air. A viewing portal.
"Kyren, grind the salt," I commanded, already moving. "Marx, help sort moss and sap. Thatcher?—"
"I know." He headed for the tool bench. "I'll file the iron."
"How long?" Kyren's voice stretched tight.
"Not long," I lied. I'd only made one ward before, under perfect conditions. This was desperate improvisation.
But Xül's lessons burned in my memory. Proportions. Process. How magical energy flowed through prepared materials. My hands moved with growing confidence as muscle memory took over.
Four parts iron to one part salt. Ernbrisk sap. Hylock moss.
Heat.
The mixture glowed as fire built beneath. Deep green to neon yellow.
"It's working," Marx breathed over my shoulder.
The crucible's contents looked different from my creation with Xül—rougher, less refined, but right.Gods.We might actually survive.
Now for the binding agent.
Marx stepped forward without hesitation, drawing her blade across her palm. Blood welled bright and warm, dripping into the small vial.
The moment her blood touched the cooling mixture, light erupted—brilliant blue that painted the forge in sapphire.
But as Thatcher stepped forward, panic lanced through our bond. From me. Realization hit like a physical blow. I looked up at the viewing portal above.
The Aesymar are watching.
I caught Thatcher's wrist hard enough to bruise.We can't. Our blood will betray us. They'll know.
I jerked my chin upward, gesturing at the reality ripples overhead.
His eyes widened.
But we'd come too far to stop. Every divine eye watched, expecting us to bind these wards.
