Jalen stepped into the Archives, gathering magic from his Runes and letting it build within his body. Invisible strands of power wormed through the air around him. His domain wrapped around them, preventing even the slightest hint of his energy from leaking free.

    Breaking into the Archives should have been impossible. He wasn’t even sure he could have done it. But it had been done — which meant the intruder was one of two things. Either they were a group of powerful mages, or they were the strongest mage in the empire.

    Whichever it may have been, Jalen had no plans of letting his guard down. Fights between high ranking mages tended to be startlingly short. With the amount of magical power they could fling around, there was only so much the average body could withstand.

    That is, unless both people are prepared. Then the fights can go on for days — which is why it’s all the more important to strike fast and hard. Whoever did this is no amateur.

    Jalen’s head turned on a swivel as his domain swept the Archives around him. They found nothing but cold, gray stone walls. The only thing in the room with him was the portal leading to his office at his back.

    Weapons littered the wall of the Archives — though not all of them looked the part. Amidst the blades and hammers were scrolls, books, a particularly devious chair, a pickle jar, and an assortment of everything in between.

    He wasn’t actually sure which of them were weapons and which had just happened to belong to whoever had made the Archives long before his time. In the end, it didn’t matter. Everything within the labyrinth was far too dangerous to touch.

    Even with the Imbuements destroyed, the risk of attempting to set a single finger on any of the objects around him was that of a madman who had nothing left to lose. He wasn’t nearly that far gone.

    Not yet.

    Dust scuffed beneath Jalen’s feet as he stepped through the room and made for the door — the real one. There was a fake on the other wall. He wasn’t sure where it led, and he didn’t want to find out. All he knew is that it hadn’t been there when he’d last been in the Archives. That wasn’t exactly uncommon. They tended to change small details when nobody was watching.

    Jalen set a hand on the doorknob. Then he paused. The frown on his lips deepened as he lifted his hand again and rubbed his fingers together. They were covered with dust. So was the floor — and all the weapons around him. @@@@

    Nobody had passed through the room. Jalen’s eyes narrowed. He pulled the door open, preparing to send a wave of magic tearing free into the next room — but there was nothing.

    Nothing but more dusty floors and abandoned weapons. The confusion continued to build within him as he silently stepped forward. The Imbuements were destroyed here, too. This wasn’t just a break-in. They’d known what they were doing.

    The Imbuements were sectioned off, room by room. Why would you destroy the defenses on a room and then leave without taking any of the things within it? That’s not the act of some blind thief.

    A chill wrapped its hands around Jalen’s shoulders. This was the behavior of someone who was looking for something in particular. Someone with a mission — and someone who understood the Archives and what they were.

    There would be no other reason why they would pass up the weapons scattered across the labyrinth like trash without even pausing to examine them.

    Jalen’s features had none of his characteristic amusement on them as he continued on through the Archives. The only sound was the muted scuff of his feet against the dusty floor and the distant thump of blood in his ears.

    The sprawling rooms were empty. It seemed as if they’d been abandoned for centuries. No matter how many doors he opened or rooms he passed through, the result was always the same. Not a single item was disturbed. There were no footprints on the ground or scratches in the walls... and every single Imbuement that had protected the ancient armory had been severed. Not a single one remained.

    Jalen made his way deeper through the Archives. His unease grew with every step. He couldn’t remember the last time something had actually unnerved him to this degree. Vermil had certainly managed to surprise the shit out of him a number of times... but this was different.

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    Despite the immensity of the situation, a prickle of excitement poked at Jalen’s heart. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d approached a fight like this. The last time he’d entered a battle without knowing if he’d live to see the end of it.

    There had been a time where this was what he’d lived for.

    That had never changed.

    He’d just run out of opponents.

    Let’s see what cocky bastard thinks they can fuck with the shit I’m supposed to protect... even if I’m fucking terrible at my job.

    Jalen arrived before the final door in his way. He couldn’t sense the presence behind it anymore, his domain was wrapped tightly around himself so as to avoid giving his position away, but he knew that his opponent stood just feet away from him on its other side.

    He gathered his magic, pulling deeper on his powers than he had in years. Deep purple twisted to life between two fingers and formed into a tightly packed marble. The power trembled, trying to collapse upon itself. There was enough magic within the ball to bring down a castle. The best way to end this would be within a single blow. Surprise was the greatest ally he had.

    A faint smirk pulled at Jalen’s lips.

    He shifted forward in a flowing motion, pulling the door wide and stepping into the room as he thrust his hand forward, taking aim instinctively. The tiny ball of magic shot from his hand before his eyes had even consciously located his target — but it flew true.

    A cloaked man stood in the center of the dusty room before Jalen. The man’s back was turned and his head was tilted up to look at a plain, wooden sheperd’s crook that rested against the back wall of the room.

    There was no time for him to dodge the attack.

    The man’s hand snapped up. His fingers splayed out.

    Too late. Gotcha.

    Jalen’s magic slammed into the man’s palm. There was a brilliant shriek as streamers of purple light sheared away from the orb, fluttering by the man’s fingers like confetti. The attack evaporated without so much as touching the man’s flesh.

    Disbelief dropped Jalen’s jaw.

    Impossible.

    The cloaked man turned to fully face Jalen. He reached up, pulling his hood back and letting it rest on his shoulders to reveal an aging, sharp-faced man.

    A man he knew.

    “Hello, Jalen,” Father said, the smile creasing his features failing to reach his empty eyes. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”