Chapter 18

Eighteen

T he Silver Tower loomed above them, a beacon of glistening stone amidst the urban sprawl. Its silver-white spires pierced the sky, etched with ancient runes that glimmered with unearthly light. Around it, the capital city buzzed with frantic activity as soldiers and mages prepared for the coming storm.

As Aric and Davin approached the Tower's wrought-iron gates, Aric couldn't help but notice the strain in Davin's posture, a tension that had been present between them since their falling out. The memory of their last confrontation—Davin's words sharp as daggers, his eyes cold as ice—was still fresh in Aric's mind, and he struggled to push it aside.

"The city feels different," Davin said finally, breaking the uneasy silence between them. "The atmosphere . . . It's like everyone's holding their breath."

Aric nodded, though inwardly he couldn't share his old friend's hopeful sentiments. To him, the faces of the citizens they passed were a mix of excitement and fear, anticipation and dread. And deep in his gut, a sense of foreboding coiled tight, a blackened knot that threatened to choke him.

"Everyone's preparing for war," he said finally. "The king's proclamation has lit a fire under their feet. But whether it's a fire that will illuminate or consume them remains to be seen."

Davin shot him a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable. "And what about us? Do you think we're ready for whatever's coming?"

Aric tried to make sense of King Aster's strange proclamation, and all he'd learned just before it: about Sylthris, and Valerian, and Malekith—and all the many unanswered questions he had still. He felt like he was circling around the answer that would make it all make sense, but it stayed just maddening, infuriatingly out of reach.

"All we can do is try," Aric said finally.

Davin gave a brisk nod, and they continued on toward the Silver Tower without another word.

Aric and Davin reached the main entrance of the Silver Tower, where they were met with a wall of guards, their silver uniforms gleaming in the midday sun. Aric stepped forward, ready to state their case, but the guards immediately raised their spears, blocking the way.

"Halt! No one is allowed entry to the Tower without express permission from the Council," one of the guards barked, his voice as sharp as the blade at his side.

Aric squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height. "I am Aric Solarian, a mage of the Silver Tower. I demand to see the Council immediately."

The guard's eyes narrowed, and he glanced over Aric's shoulder at Davin, who was watching the exchange with crossed arms and an impatient expression. Tension radiated off him, and Aric fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"You may be a mage of the Silver Tower, but that does not grant you special privileges," the guard said. "The Council is currently occupied with preparations to carry out the king's command."

"I understand that," Aric said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But this is a matter of great urgency. The safety of the entire kingdom is at stake."

The guard hesitated, studying Aric's face for any signs of deceit. Aric held his gaze steady, refusing to back down. Finally, the guard sighed and nodded to his comrades.

"Very well," he said. "We will escort you to the Council chamber."

As they were led inside, Aric risked a glance at Davin, hoping for some sign of approval or support. But Davin's expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

The corridors of the Silver Tower wound around them like the coils of a giant serpent, every curve and angle carefully designed to maximize its magical potential. Arcane energy pulsed through the walls, a gentle hum that resonated in his bones. It was a familiar sensation, one he'd grown accustomed to during his years of study at the Tower. Yet now it felt . . . different. More potent, more urgent, as though the building itself was straining against some invisible force.

"The high mage is furious," a passing mage was saying to another. "She thinks we're rushing into this without fully understanding the consequences."

"We don't have a choice," the other mage replied. "The army's already on the move with the weapon. We can't afford to fall behind."

Aric's heart sank. So they were moving forward with King Aster's proclamation—and it was even more urgent than he'd feared.

A quick glance at Davin confirmed he'd heard it too. Davin's freckled face was tight with tension, his green-gold eyes narrowed in thought. Aric wanted to reach out, offer some words of comfort, but the memory of their falling out held him back.

Their guide stopped in front of an ornate door, its surface etched with protective runes that shimmered in the candlelight. "The Council is expecting you," she said, opening the door with a wave of her hand.

Inside, a circular chamber waited, its walls lined with shelves stacked high with dusty tomes and glowing crystals. In the center of the room stood a long table made of dark wood, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen.

At one end of the table sat High Mage Diviandra, her silver hair piled high atop her head like a crown. And beside her was Lorekeeper Sylas, his gaunt face shadowed by the hood of his robes.

"Welcome, Aric Solarian," Diviandra said, her voice cool and measured. "I had wondered whether you might seek an audience. Though I must confess, this is hardly the best time for it."

"Please, High Mage." Aric stepped forward, his voice steady. "I understand the severity of our current situation, but I assure you, what we have to say is equally grave."

Diviandra arched a thin eyebrow, her silver ringlets catching the light. "I'm afraid I must question your judgment on that matter. There's very little that could be worse than our current predicament, Master Solarian."

Aric glanced back at Davin, who nodded subtly in encouragement. "It involves the nature of the weapon recently developed," Aric continued. "The one our forces are already deploying. We have reason to believe it is causing an . . . unintended consequence."

Sylas's eyes sharpened beneath his hood, but Diviandra only sighed. "You mean the anomaly." She turned back to the table, dismissing them with a flick of her hand. "We're already quite aware, Master Solarian. Archmage Thoros has a team investigating as we speak."

"But—" Aric began.

"Your services would be better spent in preparation for the coming campaign," Diviandra continued, not even looking up from her work. "I understand you've been away for some time—but now that you've returned, you can show Astaria you're dedicated and ready to serve."

Aric bit back his frustration. A part of him wanted to shout, to demand they listen; another part wanted to crumple at her feet and beg, a flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

Instead, he merely stepped forward once more, his voice firm and unwavering.

"High Mage Diviandra," he said, each word measured and precise. "Lorekeeper Sylas. You must listen to me."

Diviandra's sigh was long-suffering, as if she'd heard this all before. "Very well. You have five minutes."

Aric nodded. "As you know, the weapon being deployed by our forces has resulted in magical anomalies across the kingdom. These disturbances are not random, but rather correlate directly to the locations and intensity of the weapon's use."

He turned to a map already spread on the table, and highlighted a few points on it, making them glow with a whispered incantation. Brenville, Thornhaven . . . "Each of these represents an instance of heightened magical energy—spells going awry, wards shattering, ley lines shifting out of alignment. And they've only been increasing in frequency and intensity over the past few months."

Diviandra and Sylas exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. Aric pressed on.

"Our investigations in Thornhaven uncovered evidence of wild magic surges that match those reported here in Astaria and other affected areas. Spells going awry, mundane objects becoming sentient, even elemental forces like fire and water behaving unpredictably." Aric swallowed hard, recalling the storm that had nearly consumed them. "It's as if the very fabric of reality is coming unraveled."

Finally Diviandra's stern expression softened slightly, a crack appearing in her unyielding facade. "And you believe this is connected to our weapon?"

Aric nodded. "I do. The more it's used, the worse the anomalies become. I suspect it's drawing on ambient magical energy from the world around it—draining it dry—and in doing so, destabilizing the balance that keeps our reality intact."

Sylas's lips drew into a thin line. "These are grave accusations, Master Solarian. Do you have any proof?"

"I have observed it firsthand," Aric said. "When I was a captive of the demons' armies. And I watched it carve through the demonic assault on Brenville—and harm the human forces almost as cruelly."

Sylas's eyes narrowed; Diviandra shifted uneasily in her chair.

"Master Solarian, while I appreciate your observations, we must remain pragmatic in these perilous times." Diviandra's voice was honeyed steel. "The weapon is our best chance at ending this war quickly. These disturbances are a necessary side effect of a crucial tool in our arsenal."

"Perhaps," Aric conceded, "but at what cost? If these anomalies continue to escalate, they could tear apart reality itself. We must halt its use until we can devise a way to contain the side effects."

Diviandra's lips thinned. "These anomalies are temporary. We can mitigate them once the weapon has served its purpose and the demons are vanquished. But we cannot afford to hold back now, when victory is so tantalizingly close."

Aric took a steadying breath, his frustration clawing at him. "High Mage, I fear they are far from temporary. The longer the weapon is used unchecked, the more entrenched these disturbances become. There may be lasting consequences—ones we cannot fully predict."

"I understand your caution, Master Solarian." Diviandra folded her hands neatly before her. "But you must recognize that we're in the midst of a war unlike any we've faced before. We need every advantage we can muster."

Aric's jaw clenched. "And what if that advantage comes at the cost of our entire reality? We've seen the damage it can do firsthand."

"As have I," Davin cut in, his voice sharper than Aric had expected. "The anomalies don't just disrupt magic. They've caused physical damage to structures, and even injuries to people. Thornhaven was nearly destroyed by one."

Sylas leaned forward, his gaze intent. "These disruptions you're describing . . . How frequent are they?"

"Far too frequent," Davin replied grimly. "And growing worse by the day."

"We're aware of their increase," Diviandra said briskly, "but I assure you, steps are being taken to investigate the cause and find a solution."

Aric shook his head, frustration bubbling over. "Investigating isn't enough! We need to halt the weapon's use until we understand the full extent of its effects."

The debate reached a fever pitch, and Aric sensed Sylas's temper fraying. But instead of lashing out, Sylas took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto Aric's. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "Master Solarian and Master Lyantros have a point."

Diviandra's head snapped up, her expression thunderous. "Lorekeeper Sylas?—"

"There are ancient texts," Sylas continued, his voice gaining strength, "that warn of similar magical disturbances when powerful artifacts are misused. We cannot afford to dismiss these warnings lightly."

Diviandra's lips thinned to a razor's edge. "We are well aware of those texts, Lorekeeper. But they are precisely why we must press forward with our current course."

"At the cost of unraveling reality itself?" Sylas challenged.

Aric seized the moment, his heart racing. "Lorekeeper, if I may—your expertise in magical lore is unmatched. Surely you understand the importance of caution in matters like this."

Sylas held his gaze, his eyes searching. "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, I do."

Diviandra's eyes were hard, merciless. "I'm afraid my decision is final." She rose to her full height, a towering presence. "The weapon will be deployed as planned. We cannot afford further delays. Your concerns, while noted, are misguided at best, and potentially treasonous at worst."

Aric bristled at the accusation, but bit back his anger. He'd known it was a risk coming here, but it still stung to hear her dismiss his fears so cavalierly.

"I sympathize with all you've endured as a prisoner," Diviandra continued, "and I have deep respect for your studies under Olaya. But I will not tolerate insubordination when we are faced with such grave matters." She shifted to Sylas, her voice softening slightly. "Lorekeeper, if you wish to look into this further, you have my permission. But we cannot stop our offensive now."

Aric's jaw clenched as he tried to muster one final plea. "High Mage, please—I'm begging you. The consequences could be catastrophic. We must take this seriously before it's too late."

But Diviandra only shook her head, already turning away. "Enough. You are dismissed from the Tower until further notice. If you or Master Lyantros interfere with this matter again, there will be consequences."

With that, she swept from the room in a whirl of silver robes, leaving Aric seething with impotent fury. How could they be so blind? So determined to press forward no matter the cost?

Sylas stood as well, looking torn. "Aric—I do believe you. I will do what I can?—"

"It's too late," Aric said bitterly.

Sylas hesitated before laying a bony hand on Aric's arm. "Do not give up hope just yet, young one. The threads of fate are woven in strange ways."

Aric and Davin were escorted from the chamber, their footsteps echoing down the Tower's corridors. Aric's mind was a tempest, thoughts whipping around with no sense of direction.

"We can't just stand by and do nothing," he muttered, more to himself than to Davin. "There has to be another way."

Davin glanced at him, green eyes stormy with his own thoughts. "Maybe Sylas can help. Or we could try to reach out to the towns affected, gather more evidence?—"

But whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by the shrill blare of alarms ringing through the Tower. The very walls seemed to tremble with the force of it, a distant rumbling that set Aric's teeth on edge.

Aric and Davin exchanged a worried look, realizing something had gone terribly wrong. They broke into a run, following the flow of panicked mages and soldiers towards the Tower's entrance.

The courtyard was a swirling chaos of activity. Battle mages hurried to reinforce the wards, while the Silver Guard scrambled to gather their weapons. The air crackled with tension, an ominous hum that set Aric's nerves on edge.

A Silver Guard captain hurried past, his face pale and drawn. "An attack—unidentified enemies sighted on the horizon, but their movements are unlike anything we've ever seen before."

Aric and Davin broke into a sprint. They emerged onto the city streets, and were immediately met with a scene of chaos. People were running in all directions, screaming and shouting in panic. And in the distance, there was a strange, pulsating light in the sky—a dark wound in reality that sent chills down Aric's spine.

"What is that?" Davin shouted, but Aric could only shake his head.

"I don't know," he said, barely audible over the din. "But we need to find out."

The streets were a blur around them as they rushed toward the Tower's base. Everywhere, people were shouting, running, eyes wide with terror. But Aric's focus was only on the dark wound in the sky, its light growing brighter, more intense.

It was wrong, unnatural—like something that didn't belong in their world.

As they reached the base of the Tower, Aric skidded to a halt, staring up at the pulsing light. Davin stopped beside him, his face a mask of grim determination.

"Aric," he said, his voice tight with fear. "It's started."

Aric's heart sank as he felt the truth of those words settle in his bones.

They were too late.