The Guild Hall. Night.
The infirmary was crowded.
Healers moved between cots, their hands glowing, their faces grim. Vex was still there, pale and bandaged, sleeping off the worst of her wounds. Now there were more.
Ken lay on a cot near the window, his shoulder wrapped, his head bandaged. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady. The healers said he would live. They said he was lucky. The burn on his shoulder was deep—Tina's lightning had done its work—but it hadn't touched his heart. Another inch and it would have been over.
Davin lay on a cot across the room. His arm was bandaged, his face was pale, his chest rose and fell in slow rhythm. Mirena had put him to sleep with the same spell she had used on Tina. They didn't know how to hinder his teleportation otherwise. If he woke, he could vanish. He could appear anywhere. He could free the others. They couldn't risk that.
He was young. He looked even younger when he was unconscious. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. His face was soft, unlined, the face of someone who should have been worrying about exams or first loves, not running from monsters across worlds.
Tina and Ben were in the holding cells.
The guild didn't have proper cells—it wasn't a prison, wasn't meant to hold people—but the basement had storage rooms with thick walls and heavy doors. Grog had ordered them locked separately. He didn't want them talking to each other, coordinating stories, planning an escape.
Now he stood outside Ben's door, his arms crossed, his face still. The corridor was dim, lit by a single torch. His shadow stretched long and dark against the stone.
Lira stood beside him, her bow across her back. Her broken bow had been replaced—a spare from the guild's stores—but her hands still trembled. Not from fear. From exhaustion. From the memory of Ken falling, of the boy appearing beside her, of Ben's sword swinging toward her face.
Mirena approached, her staff in her hand, her face pale. She had been in the infirmary, checking on Davin, on Ken, on the others. Her robes were torn from running through the forest. Her hair was wild.
"The boy is stable," she said. "He'll wake in a few hours."
Grog nodded. "The woman?"
"Asleep. The spell will hold for a while."
"The man?"
Mirena looked at the door. "He's awake. He's been asking for water."
Grog stared at the heavy wooden door. He could hear nothing from inside. Ben was quiet. Patient. Waiting.
"Open it," Grog said.
Mirena gestured. The lock clicked.
---
The room was small, windowless, lit by a single lantern.
Ben sat on a cot, his wrists bound with rope, his ankles tied. His shoulder was bandaged—Mirena had seen to it before he was locked away—his face was bruised, his eyes were sharp. He didn't struggle. He didn't complain. He just watched.
Grog stood across from him. Lira stood by the door. Mirena stayed outside, her staff glowing faintly, ready.
"Water," Ben said.
Grog nodded to Lira. She left, returned with a cup. She held it to Ben's lips. He drank. The water spilled down his chin, wetting his bandages. He didn't care.
"Thank you."
Grog waited until he had swallowed. Until his breathing steadied.
"Who are you?"
Ben was silent for a moment. His eyes moved to Grog's face, to Lira's, to the door where Mirena waited.
"Survivors," he said.
"Of what?"
Ben met his eyes. "Of Vorlag."
---
Grog's jaw tightened. The name hung in the air like smoke.
"You know Vorlag?"
Ben nodded slowly. "Everyone who's been through what we have knows Vorlag." He paused. "He rules countless worlds. We've seen them. Conquered worlds. Burning worlds. Worlds that used to be like yours." He looked at the stone walls, the lantern, the rough cot. "This one is still standing. For now."
Grog was quiet for a moment. "You're running from him."
"We're running from his hunters." Ben's voice was flat, tired. "We were supposed to be vessels. We rejected him. Now he wants us back."
Lira stepped forward. "Vessels?"
"People he can possess. Bodies he can use to spread his influence." Ben looked at his bound hands. The rope was tight, chafing his wrists. "He finds people with strong wills, strong bodies, strong magic. He breaks them. He fills them. He uses them."
Grog thought about Aldric. About the portal. About the choice he had made.
"The boy," he said. "Davin. The woman. Tina. They were supposed to be vessels too."
Ben nodded. "We all were."
---
Grog was silent for a long moment.
He thought about the clearing. About the bodies of the guild scouts. About Vex, barely alive, crawling to the gates. About Lira and Ken, fighting three people and losing.
"There was a man," Grog said. "In our world. He stepped through a portal. He closed it behind him." He met Ben's eyes. "He sacrificed himself to keep Vorlag out of this world."
Ben's expression flickered. Respect? Sadness? Hard to tell.
"Your friend," Ben said. "He bought you time. But Vorlag can still find a way here. It's just a matter of time. Your world is not safe." He paused. "Your friend died for nothing."
Grog's hand tightened on his sword. The berserker stirred.
"He's not dead."
Ben stared at him. His eyes were dark, tired, ancient in a way that had nothing to do with age.
"You don't really believe that, do you?"
Grog met his eyes. "I know he's alive."
Ben was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"Then you're luckier than us. Everyone we left behind is dead."
---
The room was quiet. The lantern flickered. Lira shifted by the door, her hand on her bow.
Grog studied Ben. The man wasn't lying. He could see it in his eyes, in the way he held himself, in the way he said the names of the dead.
"What happened?" Grog asked.
Ben's face tightened. "The hunters. Our healer. Two worlds ago. She bought us time to escape."
"She died."
"She lived long enough for us to run."
Grog nodded slowly. "And now you're here. In our world. With an artifact that can jump between worlds."
Ben looked at the door, as if he could see through it to the corridor where Mirena waited. "The artifact needs time to recharge. Days. Maybe a week. We were going to hide. Wait. Leave."
"You killed my people."
"They attacked us. We defended ourselves." Ben's voice was steady. "We didn't know they weren't hunters."
Grog was quiet for a moment. "And now?"
Ben met his eyes. "Now you have us."
---
Grog left the room.
Lira followed. Mirena was waiting in the corridor, her staff glowing faintly.
"He's lying," Lira said.
Grog shook his head. "He's not."
"He could be."
"He's not." Grog looked at the door. "He's telling the truth. He just doesn't know all of it."
Mirena stepped forward. "The artifact. The boy's teleportation stone. I've been studying it."
Grog reached into his belt. Pulled out the dark stone—warm, pulsing faintly, alien and strange. He held it out to her.
"It needs time to recharge," Mirena said, taking it carefully. "Days. Maybe a week. We can study it before it's ready."
"Do it."
Mirena nodded. "I'll need help. Alistair knows spatial magic better than I do."
"Take whatever you need."
Mirena left, her staff clicking on the stone floor, the artifact clutched to her chest.
Grog stood in the corridor, staring at the door. Lira moved to stand beside him.
"What do we do with them?" she asked.
Grog was quiet for a moment. The torch flickered. His shadow swayed.
"We keep them here. We question them more. We find out what they know about Vorlag." He paused. "And we find out if they can help us find Aldric."
Lira raised an eyebrow. "You trust them?"
Grog shook his head. "I trust that they're scared. That's enough for now."
He turned and walked down the corridor.
Lira followed.
Behind them, the door remained closed.
Ben waited.