Sigil
The ladder from the trapdoor descended into a yawning dark. Math summoned a first-circle Sun spell, and a warm flicker of light answered in the form of a small swarm of fireflies, glowing gently, shifting with his steps.
By their glow, the passage revealed itself: tall enough to walk upright, wide enough for two, crafted of time-smoothed stone.
It was plain, functional, the sort of architecture common to Illuminated repositories.
There was nothing that declared danger or promised death, and no obvious gravings.
Math was careful not to touch the walls, anyway.
The margin for error must have been thinner than paper.
“For the spell to function correctly,” Kai said, her voice low and calm, “one must know their exact location, as well as the precise coordinates of their destination. Even the smallest miscalculation could result in being launched into the air or overlapping with an already occupied space. And I assure you, that never ends well.”
Math frowned. “What about continental migration?”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“Continental migration. It’s a new theory. The continents used to be joined, but they’re moving, pushed apart by geologic forces. That’s what created the twin bays. It must’ve moved the land’s position by at least a few dozen feet in the last thousand years.”
Kai smiled. “Ah. A fair question. But yes—it is accounted for.” She walked to the far wall and pressed her hand against a smooth panel.
A soft glow bloomed, revealing a map without borders or names, just the bare shapes of continents rendered in faint yellow lines.
A point lit in the southwest of the eastern continent, near the edge of the Rokasmaa Empire.
Another pulsed in the western landmass—likely Lomar.
Three more flickered faintly to the north, west, and east.
“So few,” Kai said quietly.
“Does the King of Lomar know about this portal?”
“I cannot be certain, but I see no reason why he wouldn’t. It shouldn’t be a problem, though—” she began.
Math stepped forward, pointing to the easternmost light. “That’s Kaliri.”
Kai paused. “Ah. I see. That is unfortunate.”
“The light means the gate is still active?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “Does that mean the Kaliri have had a hidden path into Rokasmaa this whole time?”
She said nothing for just long enough to make his stomach knot. Through the bond, he felt her hesitation ripple—a pause, thoughtful and cold.
“Perhaps,” she said finally. “But it has existed for over a thousand years. If they knew, they would have used it.”
He exhaled. “Good, but the idea of Lomar having one isn’t much better. Sanistral could walk an army through here, and no one would know until they were at the capital gates.”
Kai looked thoughtful. “True. But if it is Sanistral, I do not believe that would be his intention.”
“You don’t know that. Sanistral the Twenty-Seventh might not be that nice.”
She reached up and pressed the Lomar point. The sigil on the floor flared to life, casting yellow lines across the stone.
“There,” she said. “It is keyed.”
“You’re sure this will work?”
“There is no risk. It will either send us whole and healthy, or it will not activate at all.”
She stepped into the center of the circle and extended her hand. Math took it. He wasn’t sure it was necessary, but it felt right. A week ago, he wouldn’t have trusted her with his life. Now, it felt strange not to.
She laced her fingers through his and spoke the activation words. The world stuttered, folded, blinked.
They stood in a nearly identical chamber.
But this one had been updated. The old map had been painted over with a more modern one—names, borders, nations restored.
And guards.
Six of them ringed the edge of the sigil, weapons already drawn.
“On the ground,” one barked. “Now.”