Vael
Solcarin glittered beneath him like a jeweled sea.
From the balcony of the safehouse, Vael could hear distant music rolling through the warm southern air. Flyers drifted on winged mounts above the pleasure district; lamps ignited in soft gold arcs across the waterfront; the grand towers shimmered where mana lanterns caught on glass.
It was obscene.
He turned away from the view sharply.
Inside, the small upper chamber was lit only by cold-blue glyphlight. Scrying plates covered an entire wall, each displaying a different corner of the southern Highlands. Transmission crystals lined the table in measured rows, every one of them carved with coded sigils of the Demon Sect. A map of the frontier lay beneath his hands—pinned with red markers that had multiplied daily.
Vael stared at the spread.
“Everything has changed,” he muttered.
In his previous life, none of these events had transpired. He remembered it clearly: how the Iron Tide stirred and invaded; how the Murai repelled and retaliated. The Empire ignored early warnings. Then the demons came. Chaos spread. Years of bloody conflict followed.
Now everything was happening at once.
He was still trying to parse what this meant when the crystal beside him pulsed—three sharp beats that vibrated through the table.
Hoji’s signature.
Vael placed two fingers on the crystal. “Report.”
The reply came through with a static crackle. Hoji’s voice was steady—but strained. Vael had known the man for twenty years. Hoji did not strain.
“My lord,” Hoji began. “We have… an event.”
Vael went still. “Define ‘event.’”
“A mana displacement surge.”
Vael’s pulse tightened. “A weapon?”
“Not a weapon,” Hoji said. “Something else.”
He heard shouts behind Hoji, the sound of metal clashing accompanied by the low roar of orcs. Other sounds—the low groan of demonic cadence and death.
Hoji continued. “The surge wasn’t destructive in the conventional sense. The phenomenon is difficult to describe. Like a forced disruption in the mana field surrounding the camp. The mana felt… inverted.”
That made no sense. “Inverted? What in the name of the Demon Lords does that mean?”
“Simply the best description I can give. The wave triggered a sort of backlash in every demon-touched entity within several hundred paces. Most of the demon-touched orcs staggered—some even collapsed. Sword Demons announced dissonance. Several of our… instruments… lost synchronization with their hosts.”
Vael’s eyes narrowed. “It sounds like the demonic influence was interrupted.”
“Yes. I came to the same conclusion. Though it was momentary.”
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“How momentary?”
“Five heartbeats. Maybe six.”
Five heartbeats. Enough to destabilize a formation or wipe out a frontline. Enough to kill.
This wasn’t just irregular; this was something Vael had never heard of—something impossible.
“Did you see it? Any knowledge of the array signature?” Vael asked quietly.
“I had the priests attempt to formulate the array configuration and was able to pull pieces,” Hoji replied. “I can certainly tell by the effects: the Murai don’t have the spellcraft to create something like this. The residue of the array was chaotic and fragmented. So whatever set it off wasn’t stable at all. That is the positive news. The detrimental news is that it is most likely based on some sort of principle of mana that affects demonic power.”
Vael’s fingers curled on the table. A mana principle that can affect demonic power? What sort of lunacy was that?
This was a major development. It meant that someone had introduced technology or magic from outside the expected timeline.
“Continue,” he said.
Hoji drew in a breath. “There is more. The Iron Tide is present.”
Vael froze. “That is not possible. They were near the Second Gate—why are they that far south?”
“Unknown,” Hoji said. “But we saw them ourselves. Hundreds of them. Their presence is incoherent—fighting Red Orcs. It looks like they might be heading toward the same Gate. Their movements suggest they were pulled here by something powerful.”
Vael considered the words. They were pulled, not sent.
The fact that the Southern Gate was attacked and most likely destroyed, that the Iron Tide didn’t attack the Murai and came to the mainland years ahead of schedule, showed Vael that the pieces were stacking into a shape he did not like.
Hoji’s voice lowered. “I request directives. We can withdraw—but probably not quietly. The Iron Tide is here, and we wiped out a contingent from Solcarin—one of their rapid response teams. I am in need of guidance.”
Hoji never required clarity. That mana displacement seemed to throw him off more than he was willing to admit.
Vael spoke levelly. “Before I answer: is there a Gate in that valley?”
Silence followed—a long one.
Hoji exhaled as if he had been waiting for that exact question. “Yes. Clearly—with a group of noblewomen that went in.”
The room seemed to tighten around Vael.
“Was there divine power that registered and localized its fluctuations? Were they measurable?”
“Yes,” said Hoji. “There were divine power readings osliated greatly. There were surges of mana as well with trace marks of chaos energy—though that was more subtle.”
Vael gripped the edge of the table.
If there were consistent fluctuations in a divine signature, then there was only one explanation—a Herald. It had to be.
Hoji continued, voice dropping further.
“Our Void-Tongue Seer reacted to the Gate.”
Vael didn’t breathe. “How violently?”
“It convulsed. Split its tongue. Tried to claw off its own face. Whispered in several languages.”
“Prophecy?”
“Yes.”
Hoji recited the words in a monotone:
“A thread of Balance rises. A Blade of the Moon awakens. The fates… revolt.”
Vael felt cold spread across his shoulders.
The Void-Tongue Seers were as much artifact as they were living demonic embodiments. They had not spoken prophecy in years—not since before the Demon Lords fell.
Hoji added quietly, “It whispered.”
“Whispered what?”
“Warnings mostly. But it also made something clear: the women came to the Gate for a reason and accomplished it—whatever that reason was. It mentioned Divine Moonsteel.”
Vael closed his eyes. The developments kept coming. So the women were not incidental to the divergence. They were the divergence. The Iron Tide as well. They had to be. Too many players, the existence of an active Gate and a possible Herald. Too much of a coincidence. And what was this about Divine Moonsteel? He wasn’t aware the Empire was holy enough for it to exist anymore.
He straightened. “Hoji. Listen carefully.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where are those women now?”
Hoji answered quickly. “They are heading north. They had a run-in with some of our patrols. I just saw a runner.”
“Capture those women—don’t kill them. We have to know their purpose in the Gate.”
Hoji’s voice steadied. “What about the Tide, my lord? We’ve already attracted their attention. What if more gather?”
“The women are the priority. Capture them.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The crystal dimmed as the transmission ended.
Vael stood alone in the quiet chamber, the walls humming faintly with residual mana.
Below, Solcarin sparkled as if there were no danger in the world. Couples laughed along the lantern-lit canals. Music floated on warm currents. The Empire danced, oblivious.
Vael pressed both palms to the table.
“A divine Gate. A Herald. New and unknown variables.”
He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
The timeline was unraveling.
And if he did not act swiftly, it would bury them all.
Vael turned to the door, cloak snapping behind him as he strode from the room.