I leaned against a pillar at the edge of the villa’s grand room, nursing a cup of watered-down wine that I could swear had a hint of vinegar. And here I thought this was a high society party. Besides the wine, it had the usual: nobles laughing too loud, servants weaving through with trays of food I didn’t bother touching. I’d never been one for these gatherings, all fake smiles and empty chatter, and tonight it was worse. My mind kept drifting, itching for something to do besides stand here pretending I cared. I scanned the crowd, half hoping for a brawl to break the monotony, but these people were too polished for that.

  Alira had disappeared a while ago, whisked off with Torvyn and Audemar to some private corner. The guest house, probably. What could they be hashing out at this hour? The triumvirate was still fresh, barely two days old, and already they were cloistered like conspirators. I guess a leader’s job is never done. I smirked at the thought. More likely, they were bickering over who got the bigger chair while the trolls sharpened their axes a week away. Alira’d be stuck in the middle, trying to herd those two like stubborn mules.

  I swirled the wine, debating slipping out for some air, when a young aide in a crisp tunic sidestepped a laughing noble and approached me. “Tiberius?” he said, voice low. “Alira requests your presence at the guest house.” I straightened, boredom evaporating. Finally, something. I set the cup down, nodded, and followed him out.

  The door creaked as I pushed it open, expecting to find a room full of advisors, generals, or at least a handful of nobles arguing in hushed tones. Instead, it was just her.

  Alira sat in a high-backed armchair, a small table beside her littered with scattered files and half-empty inkwells. The dim light of a single oil lamp cast long shadows across her face as she looked up from the papers in her hands. For a moment, she just studied me, her expression unreadable.

  Why summon me alone? I thought. Nothing good ever comes from private meetings in the dead of night.

  “You summoned me?” I said, forcing a lightness into my voice that I didn’t feel. “That was formal of you.”

  “Come sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her. No preamble, no small talk. Just that same relentless focus she always had when something was eating at her. She slid a single sheet of paper toward me. “Here’s the summary of the report that demanded such a late meeting.”

  I took it, scanning the contents. Then I read it again. And a third time, just to be sure.

  This can’t be right. I raised my eyes to hers, searching for some sign of panic, some crack in that iron composure. But she just looked tired. And yet… hopeful?

  “Maybe we read something different,” I said slowly, “because you don’t look that concerned.”

  “I have a plan,” she murmured, voice low. “I managed to convince my colleagues… eventually.”

  Oh, that’s never a good sign.

  “Plan?” I echoed. “What plan? Hope they get lost along the way? Because I don’t see anything that can save this city.”

  She hesitated, then something I rarely saw from her. Her fingers tapped against the armrest, restless. Guilty, even.

  Oh no. “By your look,” I said slowly, “I’m guessing this plan involves me.”

  “Yes.” She exhaled sharply. “We have a week until they get here. So time is of the essence.”

  “To quote you,” I said dryly, “are you going to keep me in suspense all night?”

  She reached for another document. This one sealed, official. Slid it across the table.

  “This proposes an alliance with the necromancers.”

  I stared at the paper like it might burst into flames.

  “Only you can make it there in time,” she added quickly, as if she could soften the blow by speaking faster. “And actually talk to them.”

  I didn’t realize I’d stood up until the chair scraped back.

  “Are you out of your mind…” I caught myself before my voice could rise further. Took a breath. Looked at her.

  She hadn’t flinched. Just waited, like she’d expected the outburst. Of course she did.

  “After everything I told you about the fate of the Triumviri, this is your idea?” My voice was climbing again despite my best efforts. “Do I have to remind you I got a knife in the back for helping a necromancer? Are you trying to get assassinated?”

  “There is no other option,” she said, quiet but firm. “We either convince them, or we abandon the city.”

  I exhaled through my nose. That was Alira unyielding, even when the world was crumbling. I would’ve sent envoys to negotiate surrender. Traded land for survival. But not her. Never her.

  “Even if—and that’s a big if—I could convince them,” I said, “there’s no way for them to mobilize in a week.”

  “I know.” She leaned forward. “We’ll have to hold the siege a few weeks until you bring reinforcements.”

  I barked a laugh. “Basing all these lives on my diplomatic prowess. which, I may add, is not that great, is…” Foolish. Suicidal. A desperate gamble dressed up as strategy.

  “The desert isn’t as far as Meteora,” she pressed. “You can open a portal briefly and inform us if you succeed. A week is enough for that. If you fail…” She shrugged. “We’ll make preparations to abandon the city.”

  I stared at her. At the dark circles under her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. She’d already made up her mind.

  “I don’t even know where their cities are,” I said, my voice flat as I stared at her, half hoping she’d back off the idea.

  “Well, you’ve always been quick to draw attention,” Alira shot back, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Maybe this time it’ll actually work in our favor.” At least she still had a spark of humor, even if she was sending me into the middle of nowhere.

  I picked up the document. Turned it over in my hands.

  “Fine,” I said at last.

  Alira rose from her chair, crossed the room, and pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “Good luck,” she said, already heading for the guest house door.

  “That’s it? One kiss?” I called after her, aiming for a lighter note to my departure.

  She paused, glancing back with a sad half-smile. “I’ve got to help organize an evacuation. One that somehow won’t spark a panic. Plus, every hour might count.” Her voice carried a weight she couldn’t hide, and then she was gone.

  ─── ????? ───

  I should’ve stayed at the guest house, hashed things out with Alira, but anger drove me out the door faster than I could think. Speed was everything now. Every hour could tip the scales. But once this was over, we were having a long talk about risk assessment. I’d always pegged myself as the reckless one, the fool charging in with a grin and a spell, but she’d snatched that crown right off my head. Sending me to the desert tribes? Alone? She was betting big, and I wasn’t sure I liked the odds.

  The problem was, she didn’t have a shield like mine. Sure, her new speed and skills were sharp, but she still needed food, sleep. Poison might not kill her as easily as some medieval lord sipping tainted wine. Small mercies for healing, but she wasn’t invincible. I wasn’t either, not really, but I had an edge she couldn’t match.

  At least I remembered where I’d gotten stabbed last time I was in this blasted desert. You don’t forget a knife sliding into your ribs. It tens to stick with you. That memory saved me time, letting me rip open a portal to the right stretch of sand and rock.

  I needed to get a good vantage point. By now it was morning. It had taken me some time to get some supplies I would need here. No point going to a desert without at least some water.

  I clambered up a jagged outcrop, my boots slipping on loose stone. My physical form wasn’t what it used to be, and the climb left my lungs burning. From the top, the desert sprawled out, a brutal maze of steep rock walls and deep ravines, carved by water long gone. Without Malvina to lead me through this mess, it was doubtful I would find any useful road. I couldn’t wander the tight paths below since they twisted endlessly. And climbing up and down every ridge? I’d collapse before I got halfway, stamina or not.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I had to improvise. The gaps between these high points were wide, but not impossible. My wind spell could lift a man off the ground. I’d done it before, so maybe it could fling me across the chasms. The fall would sting, no question, but the Mana Shield would cushion it… mostly. I tested it on the small mesa I stood on. First try, I barely cleared a yard, scraping my boots on the edge. Second try, I pushed harder, gaining height and distance. The direction wobbled, but I eyed the next ridge close enough to leap, too short to waste a portal. Portaling blind across this mess would drain me fast, and I didn’t even know which way to aim.

  I leapt, wind roaring behind me, and landed. Harder than I’d hoped, though. I hadn’t figured out how to brake, and after a few graceless tumbles, a boulder stopped me cold, jarring my shoulder. With that in mind, I started hopping from ridge to mesa, keeping the jumps under twenty yards. One stretch nearly ended me. I overshot, scrabbling at the edge as my heart lodged in my throat. The Mana Shield was handy, but I wasn’t keen to test its limits on a hundred-foot drop. Progress wasn’t fast, every leap took calculation, angling the spell just right. But it beat crawling through the ravines.

  Honestly, I hoped my bouncing around would draw attention. The tribes had to have scouts, right? Watching for intruders, guarding their hidden cities? Here I was, practically waving a flag. Where were they? I paused on a narrow outcrop, wiping sweat from my brow, the heat seeping through my shield. No shadows moved, no arrows flew. Just me, the wind, and a whole lot of nothing.

  Night crept in fast, and I was bone-tired from hopping around like some magical rabbit, leaping from ridge to ridge. My legs ached, and I knew I’d have to stop soon. At least the desert was cooling off, the brutal heat of the day finally easing as the sun dipped close to the horizon. I paused on a narrow outcrop, catching my breath, the sweat on my brow chilling in the evening air.

  Then it hit me: heat. An underground city would churn out warmth. Cooking fires, bodies packed close, all that life radiating up through vents or cracks. Back on Earth, I’d heard stories of police spotting weed growers because their roofs stayed snow-free in winter, the heat giving them away. Same principle. If I could spot that telltale glow, I’d have a bead on them.

  A faint tingle rippling through my eyes as the world sharpened into shades of gray and orange. I turned slowly, scanning the rocky expanse. The earth still held the day’s warmth, a dull glow everywhere, but then…there, in the distance. A patch burned darker, a richer orange against the cooling stone. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I didn’t have better ideas, so I locked onto it and started moving.

  The cooling evening made the difference starker as I went, the heat signature growing clearer with every leap. I pushed harder, chasing the last scraps of daylight, my wind spell flinging me from mesa to mesa. I stumbled a few times, boots skidding on loose gravel, but I kept going. By the time I reached the spot, the sun was almost gone, and I stood before a small cave. No, a tunnel carved into the rock. A natural vent, if I had to guess, warm air wafting up from below. My pulse quickened. This had to be it. Problem was, the opening was tight, and I couldn’t tell how far it narrowed. Squeezing in blind wasn’t an option. I’d get stuck or worse.

  I stepped back, night vision still active, and scanned the area. No time to waste guessing. Then I saw it, a figure moving in the ravine below, distinct against the gray rock, human-shaped. A guard, maybe a scout. No point delaying the inevitable. I braced myself and leapt, wind spell softening the drop, though I still crashed down harder than I meant to, landing right in front of him with a thud that echoed off the walls.

  The light was dim here, but I could make him out. An adult man, wiry, dressed in rough desert garb. He yanked a dagger from his belt, eyes wide, but didn’t lunge. I raised a hand and conjured a flame, focusing into it until it flared bright, bathing the ravine in flickering orange. He flinched, fear flashing across his face, but he held his ground, grip tight on the blade. Brave, I’d give him that.

  “Hello,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Sorry for dropping in like this. I need to get to your underground city. Preferably where your leaders are. I’ve got a message for them.” It wouldn’t be that simple. Strangers don’t just stroll into their city uninvited, but I had to start somewhere. I braced for a fight or for him to bolt, which’d be worse. If he ran, I’d lose him in seconds down here, the ravine’s twists swallowing him in the dark.

  Instead, he raised a hand to his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. I blinked, caught off guard. “Are you calling reinforcements?” I asked, a grin tugging at my lips. If more showed up, I’d get to their city faster. He didn’t answer, just edged back a step, wary.

  “Could you call them again?” I added, leaning forward. “Just to make sure they heard.” That threw him. His brow furrowed, confusion replacing some of the fear. I figured it’d take a minute, maybe more, but shadows started shifting almost instantly. They emerged from the rocks around me, silent, swift until ten figures surrounded me, cloaked in desert hues, weapons glinting in my flame’s light. Daggers, spears, a few bows notched but not drawn. I was boxed in.

  “I surrender,” I said, raising my hands slow and deliberate. The last thing I wanted was a fight. Not when I was this close. My flame dimmed but held, casting long shadows across their faces.

  “Kill him,” a voice barked from the shadows, cold and final. The circle of tribesmen tightened, weapons glinting in the dying light of my flame spell.

  I threw my hands up, words tumbling out fast. “Wait, wait! I’m a messenger from Malachor. Surely there’s some custom about not killing the messenger!” My voice cracked with urgency, maybe too much, but it worked. They froze. One of them, a wiry figure with a spear, glanced back at the leader, hesitation flickering in his stance. I’d bought a heartbeat, maybe two.

  The leader, a tall man with a scarred face and a dagger still in hand, scowled. “We don’t care for any message they might send,” he said, pausing as if weighing my fate. “I might’ve let you live, but you’ve stumbled too close to the entrance.” His eyes narrowed, and I could see the order forming again, his lips parting to seal my doom.

  Great. Just great. I cut in before he could finish. “You owe me at least an audience with your leaders after what I did for you,” I said.

  He snorted, sarcasm dripping. “And what exactly did you do for us?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I shot back, matching his tone with a smirk. “Is killing your centuries-old despot enough for you?” I let that hang, watching his face shift from scorn to something else. Shock, maybe doubt.

  It hit me then: whoever replaced Tara might’ve kept her iron grip intact. If they liked the old regime, my grand entrance wasn’t winning me any friends. Worse, it’d make convincing them to ally with Malachor a pipe dream. Still, I’d thrown the dice, might as well see where they landed.

  “You?” he said, disbelief cracking his voice. “Killed Tara?”

  I chuckled, leaning into it. “Well, technically, a friend of mine drove the sword through her chest at the end. But I did the heavy lifting, trust me. She wasn’t easy to take down. That black shield of hers was… something.” I kept it casual, like we were swapping tavern tales, but my pulse hammered.

  A new voice piped up, softer, from the edge of the circle. “He knows too much for it to be just guesses. We should take him inside. Let the council decide if he’s telling the truth.” It was a woman, shorter, with a bow slung over her shoulder, her tone practical.

  The leader wasn’t sold. “If he’s telling the truth, he’s more powerful than Tara,” he snapped, glaring at her. “You want to bring a monster like that into our city?”

  “Monster? Really?” I said, feigning offense. “I have feelings, you know.” keeping my hands up, flame spell still flickering, hoping a little humor might tip the scales.

  “He’s clearly a mage,” another voice cut in. A younger man, eyeing me like I was a puzzle. “Bind his hands, and he’ll be powerless.”

  “If I let you bind my hands,” I corrected, voice firm. That distinction mattered. Power was respect, same as it’d been on my Earth. You didn’t roll over unless you had to, and I wasn’t about to look weak, not when I was this close. “I’m not here to fight. I’ve got a message, that’s all.”

  The woman with the bow stepped forward, her face hard but honest. “Accept my conditions, and you have my word we won’t harm you. Unless the council says otherwise.” A council, progress. At least they weren’t just a pack of warlords. She wasn’t promising much, but it showed honesty.

  “Fine, I accept,” I said, stretching my arms out in front of me. I let the flame spell fade, the ravine dimming to a faint glow as the last of its light winked out. The leader nodded, still wary, and the younger man stepped up with a length of coarse rope. He bound my wrists tight, the knots biting into my skin, but I didn’t flinch. My Mana Shield hummed faintly under my sleeves. I realized I never tried to see if I could escape if I had my hands bound. I guess there was a first time for anything.

  The leader gestured down the ravine, and the group closed in, herding me forward. I kept my head up, mind racing. I’d bought myself time, maybe a shot at their council, but if they didn’t buy my story or just didn’t care, I’d be in deeper than ever. Escaping from inside a city of hostiles with my hands bound. That could prove difficult.

  They prodded me forward, moving through the ravine while I pretended the rope was chafing my wrists. The leader took point, his dagger still drawn, while the woman with the bow flanked me, her steps silent on the stone. The others fanned out, eyes sharp, like they expected me to try something despite the bindings. I didn’t, they’d won this round, and I wasn’t dumb enough to test them yet. The ravine narrowed, then dipped sharply, revealing a hidden crevice in the rock wall. They shoved me through, and just like that, we were inside.

  The underground city opened up below me, a sprawling warren carved into the desert’s heart. We descended a steep, winding stair, the air cooling as we went, thick with the scent of smoke and damp stone. My night vision wasn’t needed anymore. Torches lined the walls, their flickering light bouncing off rough-hewn tunnels that stretched in every direction. The streets, if you could call them that, twisted tight, more like alleys, packed with people who barely glanced my way. They wore loose, sand-colored robes, their faces weathered, moving with a quiet purpose I hadn’t expected. Stalls hugged the walls, piled with dried meat, clay jars, and woven mats, the hum of barter filling the air. Above, the ceiling arched low, studded with jagged stalactites, a constant reminder of the weight pressing down.

  I stumbled once, the uneven floor catching my boot, but a spear’s nudge kept me moving. The city wasn’t grand, no marble halls or golden spires, but it thrummed with life. Channels of water trickled through grooves cut into the stone, feeding small basins where people could wash clothes or fill pitchers. Buildings, if you could call them that, were hollowed into the rock itself, their doorways draped with faded cloth, some glowing faintly from fires within. It was raw, practical, a place built to survive, not impress.

  The deeper we went, the more I saw kids darting through the crowd, their laughter sharp against the murmur; an old man sharpening a blade on a whetstone, his eyes flicking to me then away. The tribes had carved a world down here, hidden from the sun and Malachor’s reach. I wondered how long they’d thrived like this, how many generations had lived and died beneath these rocks. It made Alira’s plan feel even crazier. Winning these people over wouldn’t be a quick chat.

  We turned into a wider tunnel, the crowd thinning, and stopped at a squat chamber carved into the wall. The leader shoved me inside, the rope yanking as I caught my balance. It was bare, it had a stone floor with a single bench and torch sputtering in a bracket. “Wait here,” he said, his voice gruff. “Word’s been sent to a council member.” He didn’t elaborate, just stepped back before they filed out, the heavy door falling shut behind them.

  At least the room had a door, though with its bare decorations it might as well have been a cell. Maybe the tribes were just that frugal down here, scraping by on the essentials. No point in debating over it. The bench didn’t look that comfortable, so I paced instead, boots scuffing the floor, figuring I’d be stuck waiting hours for someone as high-and-mighty as a council member to bother showing up. But not fifteen minutes later, the heavy door swung aside, catching me mid-step.

  A young woman stepped in, her face shadowed at first, the torchlight lagging behind her entrance. I squinted, ready to size up whoever they’d sent, but as she took another step into the glow, my jaw dropped. It was Malvina. And she was walking, no limp, no cane, like the injury that’d hobbled her back then had never happened. I blinked, half-convinced my eyes were playing tricks after too long in the dark.