Freya stopped and glanced down at him. "Get some rest. I'll come for you at eight for patrol."
Regulus stopped too. A nod, nothing more.
She turned and left.
Regulus pushed open the door. The place was bigger than he'd expected.
Ground floor: a sitting room and kitchen, a fire crackling in the hearth, logs popping. The second floor held a bedroom with a window facing the sea, offering a view of the sea and the distant silhouette of the islands.
He climbed the stairs and stood at the window. Out on the water, a handful of seabirds circled low.
Her words came back to him.
'Their goal isn't to kill you. They'll make you forget why you were resisting in the first place'
An interesting thought.
Most combat magic served blunt purposes: harm, control, kill. But Abyssal Whispers operated differently. Their magic targeted the will to fight itself, and that was far more dangerous than any wound.
He wondered how that kind of magic worked. Illusions? Emotional contagion? Some curse that acted directly on consciousness?
He stood at the window turning it over until the sky began to darken.
When night fell, Freya knocked right on time.
Regulus opened the door. She'd changed into close-fitting hunting clothes in dark fabric, a waterproof cloak thrown over them, her wand holstered in leather at her hip.
"Let's go." She didn't step inside. That same low voice.
He tilted his head up to look at her. He had only what he was wearing. Drawing his wand, he tapped himself once and cast an Impervius Charm.
They set out along the same route they'd walked that afternoon.
Town at night was quiet. Only the sound of waves beating stone, dull and relentless.
Freya led, her pace still quick. Those long legs covered ground in wide strides, yet she moved almost silently. Regulus followed, matching her discipline, keeping his own footfalls mute.
They circled the perimeter of the aquaculture grounds without finding anything out of place, then moved on toward the observation station.
The station was a domed stone tower. Seaweed crawled up its walls, and firelight danced at the top. The door was sealed shut, its surface carved with intricate protective runes that glowed faintly blue in the darkness.
Freya stopped before the door. Her wand slid into her palm but stayed lowered.
She turned her head and gestured for Regulus to hold position.
Then she stepped closer and pressed her fingers to one of the runes on the door.
It flared once and went dark. She stepped back and shook her head.
"Undisturbed."
Regulus nodded and said nothing, though his gaze lingered on the runes a moment longer.
The carvings had a distinct character, nothing like the British style he was used to.
He could see what they did. A highly logical, dynamic defense that analyzed the magical signature of anyone attempting entry, then decided whether to block, permit, or trigger an alarm.
Neither approach was inherently superior. Just different schools.
They continued the patrol, following the coastline north into a stretch of reef.
The rock formations here were strange, worn glassy-smooth by the sea. Halfway through the reef field, Freya stopped.
She raised a hand, signaling him to halt, then turned slowly, scanning the surrounding stones.
Regulus felt it too. Magical fluctuation.
Faint, like ripples beneath still water, but there. Three sources, spread across three different points around the reef.
Freya said nothing. She raised her wand to chest height, tip angled slightly downward. Combat stance.
Regulus drew his wand.
Then three figures stepped out from behind the rocks.
They wore dark-grey robes soaked through with seawater, fabric clinging to their bodies. Each wore a Bone Mask, the twisted runes carved into them giving off a sickly, pale glow in the dark.
They arranged themselves in a triangle, Freya and Regulus caught in the center.
No one spoke. Just the waves.
The standoff lasted only a breath before Freya struck first.
Her wand swept in an arc. A silent Stunning Spel lanced toward the figure on the left.
But they were ready. One of them raised a palm, and a translucent barrier unfurled before them, swallowing the spell. Ripples chased across its surface and smoothed away.
The one in the center spoke. His voice was wrong, hollow, as if rising from a great depth, threaded with echo. "Eisenhardt..."
Freya didn't let him finish.
Her wand moved again, and this time three spells erupted almost simultaneously, one aimed at each masked figure.
Regulus was already moving. He leveled his wand at the one on the right. Decomposition Curse, first form.
The spell shot out in silence, faster than Freya's, its light turning ominous against the night sky.
The right-side figure clearly hadn't expected such a direct opening. He twisted sideways to dodge, the motion fast and controlled, the reflex of someone well acquainted with combat, but the spell still grazed the edge of his left shoulder.
The fabric it touched disintegrated instantly, baring the skin beneath.
A grey-green trace appeared on the flesh. Then the collapse began.
The skin around the mark lost its structure, dissolving in a fraction of a second into fine, dry, colorless particles that drifted silently into the air, exposing raw muscle underneath.
The muscle lost its texture next, its sheen fading as it shrank inward, full tissue going flat and hollow, as though the last substance had been drained from it. It crumbled into finer particles still and scattered.
The Decomposition Curse was taking hold.
The process was horrifyingly fast. Skin gone. Muscle gone. The collarbone beginning to show through.
The collapse was still spreading when the masked figure reacted, no hesitation at all. He raised his wand hand, aimed the tip directly at the wound.
A dark-red glow ignited at the tip. Regulus could feel the magic behind it: near-boiling, laced with a will toward self-destruction.
The red light engulfed the wound and a wide area around it. In the next instant, the entire left shoulder was ripped away, vaporized, reduced to a wisp of black smoke that dissolved into the night air.
What remained was a charred, concave crater where the shoulder had been. The left arm hung by a thread of flesh.
Then the light at the wand tip shifted from dark red to a clear, icy blue.
New tissue, vivid red, erupted from the edges of the wound at visible speed, weaving and layering, filling the cavity in seconds.
Skin spread over it and sealed shut. Moments later the left shoulder looked whole again.
He rolled the shoulder. The joint clicked softly.
Regulus's brow twitched.
The Decomposition Curse had performed exactly as intended. But the enemy's answer was to amputate the compromised area himself, then regenerate.
There was a brutal indifference to his own body in that response.
Damaged? Cut it off. It can be rebuilt.
The center figure spoke again. "A boy... interesting."
That same hollow echo, but threaded now with something like curiosity.
Freya gave them no room to talk.
She raised her wand high and spoke a rapid incantation, the syllables harsh and angular.
As the words left her lips, moisture in the surrounding air began to condense, forming a dozen ice spikes before her. Each one was perfectly transparent, razor-tipped, their surfaces shimmering with magical luster.
One sweep of the wand, and they launched as one.
All three masked figures moved at once.
The one on the left tapped his wand again, projecting a wider shield.
The one in the center raised his right hand, fingers splayed, and closed them in a grasping motion toward the incoming volley. The spikes wrenched off course mid-flight, slammed into each other, and shattered into sleet.
The wounded one on the right abandoned defense entirely and charged straight at Regulus, closing the distance at unnatural speed, gliding as though the stone beneath him were ice.
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