The Mages' Tower. Morning.
The second attempt failed.
Alistair drew the circle again, placed a fresh silver blank in the center, channeled his magic. Mirena stood beside him, her staff glowing, her eyes fixed on the ring. The air shimmered. The ring glowed brighter this time—hotter, steadier.
Then it cracked.
Not shattered—cracked. A thin line along the surface, like a scar.
Alistair cut the flow of magic. The ring cooled. The glow faded.
"Better," he said.
Mirena picked up the ring. Turned it over in her fingers. "The structure held. Mostly."
Alistair nodded. "We're getting closer."
Grog watched from the corner of the room, his arms crossed, his face still. He had been here for hours, watching, waiting, supplying. The rings on his belt were lighter now—the mana stones he had given Mirena were dwindling. They would need more soon.
"There's a pack of creatures in the eastern hills," he said. "The guild is hunting them today. We'll bring back more stones."
Alistair looked at him. "How many?"
Grog shrugged. "Enough."
---
The guild was thriving.
Word had spread. Adventurers were coming from across the kingdom—young men and women with swords and bows and dreams of glory. They signed contracts, took missions, hunted monsters. They brought back carcasses, mana stones, strange materials from the creatures' bodies.
The mages studied them. The craftsmen turned them into tools, weapons, armor. The merchants sold them.
Everyone was making money.
The guild took a cut. The mages took a cut. The crown took a cut. And the adventurers kept the rest.
It was working.
---
Grog walked through the guild hall.
The building was complete now—stone walls, wooden beams, a great hall with a fireplace large enough to roast a boar. Tables lined the walls, covered in maps and contracts and mission reports. Adventurers sat in clusters, drinking, laughing, sharpening their weapons.
Ren sat at a corner table, his feet up, his sword across his knees. Olive was beside him, her bow propped against the wall.
"You're back," Ren said.
Grog nodded. "The mages need more stones."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "More? We just gave them a dozen yesterday."
"They used them."
Ren shook his head. "How many does it take to make one ring?"
Grog shrugged. "They haven't made one yet."
Olive leaned forward. "The experiments are still failing?"
"They're getting closer."
Ren stood. "Then we need to hunt."
---
The eastern hills were crawling with creatures.
The pack Grog had been tracking had grown—dozens of gray-skinned, red-eyed monsters, their limbs too long, their teeth too sharp. They had been breeding, spreading, adapting.
The guild had been hunting them for weeks. Every time they thought they had culled enough, more appeared.
Grog led the party into the hills—Lira, Ken, Ren, Olive, and a dozen other adventurers. They moved through the forest like ghosts, silent, watchful, deadly.
They found the lair at midday.
The creatures were sleeping, curled up on the stone, their bodies rising and falling in slow rhythm.
Grog raised his hand. Stopped.
"We kill them quickly," he whispered. "Before they wake."
Lira notched an arrow. Ken drew his blade. The adventurers raised their weapons.
Grog nodded.
They attacked.
---
The battle was brutal.
Grog moved through the creatures like a storm, his sword carving deep wounds, dark blood spraying. Lira's arrows flew past him, finding eyes and throats. Ken danced through the chaos, his blade flashing, his body moving like water.
Ren fought beside them, his sword steady, his face calm. Olive stayed close to Lira, her bow in her hand, her arrows finding marks.
The creatures fell. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
Some escaped. Grog let them go. They would tell the others. They would know the guild was hunting them.
They would be afraid.
---
They gathered the mana stones.
Dozens of them—dark, warm, pulsing. Grog stored them in his rings, the ones he had kept for himself. The ones he had been saving for moments like this.
Lira watched him work.
"How many?" she asked.
Grog counted. "Forty. Maybe more."
Lira's eyes widened. "That's enough for—"
"A dozen rings. Maybe more." Grog met her eyes. "If the mages can figure it out."
Lira was quiet for a moment. "They will."
Grog nodded. "They have to."
---
They returned to the capital as the sun began to set.
The gates were open, the streets crowded, the guild hall busy. Mirena was waiting in the tower, her face pale, her eyes tired.
Grog handed her the rings. "Forty stones."
Mirena's eyes widened. "Forty?"
"The creatures are breeding faster than we thought. We need to cull them. Regularly."
Mirena took the rings. Held them in her palm. "This will help. The experiments—"
"Are getting closer." Grog met her eyes. "I know."
Mirena nodded slowly. "We'll try again tomorrow."
Grog turned to leave.
"Grog."
He paused.
"The adventurers are making good money. The guild is thriving." Mirena's voice was quiet. "You're making even more."
Grog shrugged. "I don't need money."
"What do you need?"
Grog was quiet for a moment. "A way to find Aldric."
Mirena nodded slowly. "We're working on it."
---
That night, Grog sat alone in his room.
The rings were on the table—eight of them, warm and pulsing. The four he had given Mirena were empty now, but she still had them. The mana stones she had kept for herself were hidden in her desk. The ritual was still untested.
But they were making progress.
The experiments were getting closer. The adventurers were getting stronger. The mages were learning more every day.
Grog picked up one of the rings. Looked at it. The silver was warm, alive, waiting.
He didn't know what the future held.
But he knew one thing: he wasn't going to give up.