Dewald had achieved many great feats, from beating The Cursed One single-handedly while hauling what could only be described as deadweight (also known as party members) to thwarting the will of The One who had forged the very world Dew had the misfortune of inhabiting.

  Yet if asked which accomplishment mattered most right now, his answer would be simple.

  Making it through the Red Gate.

  Not because it was some gateway to heaven. Or a path to eternal peace. But because of a predicament entirely of his own making.

  The thing with Dew was that he liked to do the right thing.

  So when The Cursed One fell and the League of Mages rose as the continent’s protectors, Dew expected them to do just that: protect. Not meddle in feudal squabbles over scraps of land because someone happened to be born there. Not install themselves as advisors to kings and emperors because they fancied their wives or daughters. Not hoard wealth as though coin could buy their way out of death. And certainly not turn on one another out of greed or ambition.

  They were meant to serve the greater good.

  Dew made his position painfully clear, stopping League members whenever he could. They did not take kindly to that. With their endless connections, they discredited him, tried to capture him, imprison him. A few even attempted to kill him outright.

  They failed, sure. But they made his life unlivable.

  Everywhere he went, there was a bounty on his head, so rich even the wealthiest adventurers couldn’t ignore it. Temples branded him a heretic, and from their pulpits ensured the whole continent knew his name and wanted it mounted on a pike. The charges were vile, absurd, so effective that even other races came to despise him, barring him from their lands outright.

  All of it was fabricated. And Dew could never undo it.

  So he quit. Retreated to the furthest corners of the continent, away from everything and everyone.

  The League followed.

  They invented the Framework, a device designed to track mana signatures, and set Death Guards on his trail with orders to kill him at any cost.

  They failed again.

  Still, they left him no choice.

  His mana signature was bound to his profession: Archmage. To survive, he had to shed it. Become something with no signature at all.

  Alchemist.

  The answer came quickly enough, and it led him to Redspire, the Free City and the greatest hub of alchemy on the continent. From its academy, he could learn the craft. From there, perhaps, he could finally find peace.

  Between him and that future stood the Red Gate.

  Equipped with Framework scanners.

  And orders to never let Dewald through.

  The line before the gate barely moved. Worse, rain poured as a gale swept across the open bridge, offering no shelter. Cloaks plastered to skin as water and wind battered the hundreds of men, women, and children waiting their turn. While the guards showed no urgency in clearing them.

  Many claimed the guards, comfortably positioned in the shade, took pleasure in the cruelty. Dew thought they were simply doing their due diligence.

  He peeked out from his corner and watched a family of six reach the front. Their documents were checked, along with the pitiful few goods they carried. The goods passed inspection. The papers, or rather the lack of them, did not.

  The guard explained it plainly. There was no seal from a local lord’s office, nor one from a temple. For all he knew, the names were fabricated, the papers forged. The couple could just as easily be criminals slipping into the city under the guise of helpless parents. It didn’t help that the three children looked nothing alike, nor like the adults. They were orphans, most likely, a common sight since the collapse of the League of Lords had plunged the continent into war.

  The father and mother pleaded. Cried. Begged.

  The guard remained calm, telling them they could seek shelter at one of the temples beyond the walls. By joining an order, they would receive proper identification and be allowed entry in time.

  They refused. Instead, they howled, insisting Redspire had to take them in.

  That was their mistake.

  Dew shook his head as he noticed what they never once mentioned. The children. Every plea was us, every gesture pointed inward toward each other, while the children stood apart, silent and watching with hollow eyes.

  The truth lay bare.

  The guards moved swiftly. The children were allowed through and sent on to the monastery. The couple was hauled from the line and dragged away from the gate, screeching and fighting.

  The line advanced.

  Dew exhaled slowly and stepped forward with it.

  Another incident followed, this time over goods not permitted inside the city. Something about the holy spirits needing it was shouted, but the guards didn’t budge. The argument dragged on, its outcome obvious to everyone, except the three priests of the Sun God.

  Dew looked away, fixing his attention on the coil-like wiring strung overhead along the gate. It glowed a scorching red, warming the shade beneath it and forming a thin barrier against the biting cold and wind. It felt comforting, but it was dangerous. Anyone who stepped beneath it was recorded, as it burned and read the mana leaking from their body.

  Dew turned his focus inward, tightening his grip on his mana channels and routing what little remained back into his core. It wouldn’t be enough. Any being with access to mana, be it an Archmage or a petty trickster, leaked it. The purification process discarded the impure, yes, but the mana had already passed through the core, already been stamped with a signature.

  And that signature was exactly what the Framework was built to find.

  The Sun priests were shoved aside, cursing and praying to their god that the city and her garrison would burn, preferably by tomorrow.

  The line advanced.

  The hour wore on.

  Dew kept waiting.

  With every passing minute, the rain, already miserable, grew worse. Thunder rolled, lightning followed, and visibility dropped to nearly nothing. Many in line had had enough and retreated to their tents, thinning the crowd. Fewer people meant fewer guards. Those patrolling the bridge pulled back to shelter, including the three archers posted atop the wall.

  The pieces fell into place.

  Finally, it was time for Dew to act.

  He turned, double-tapping the side of his coat. Val, you’re up, he sent through their shared bond.

  A black cat peeked out, emerald eyes glinting in the dark. She quivered. And then—

  Puff.

  She was gone.

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  Mana surged as her body shifted. From cat to mouse, she scurried down Dew’s coat, darted onto the bridge, wove between stomping boots, and vanished below.

  Mana surged again. She became a lizard, racing along the stone in a blur before leaping for the wall. Above the gate, where the Framework Scanner sat sealed within a locked compartment, she shifted once more.

  A fly.

  She slipped toward a narrow gap, when a sudden gust slammed into her, hurling her away.

  Puff.

  A raven now, wings fighting the wind as she clawed her way back to the wall. Another shift, to a cat, her claws biting deep into the outer casing. Inch by inch, she worked her way back to the gap.

  Puff.

  A fly again. This time, she slipped inside.

  Not a single soul noticed.

  Dew walked on, eyes closing as he followed the thread of their bond into Val’s sight. She accepted the connection, and the world shifted.

  A solid barrier of light blocked her path, separating her from the maze of machinery beyond. Cogs ticked. Bolts shifted. Mana hummed through countless pathways. Val searched for an opening.

  There was none.

  The League had spared no expense.

  Dew smiled. Not that it would stop him.

  Deterrence. Drop the shard and out, he sent. Val didn’t hesitate.

  She slipped back out, shifted into a cat, and clung just above the scorching coil. From her mouth, she spat a thin black shard into the gap. Then she pushed off the wall, transformed mid-fall into a raven, and vanished into the rain.

  “Five,” Dew counted, turning on his heel.

  “Four.” He pushed his hood back, letting the rain soak him.

  “Three.” He drew out a rolled parchment, careful to keep the seal dry.

  “Two.” He cracked his neck.

  “One.”

  BOOM.

  He sprinted for the gate.

  The noise was deafening, rattling the wall and shuddering along the bridge. Cries rang out as people and guards alike dropped to their knees, bracing for a collapse.

  It never came.

  There was no falling stone. No fire. No blast.

  Only a reaction. Pure mana colliding with its corrupted counterpart.

  The surge overloaded the conductors and triggered an emergency shutdown, severing the mana supply running from the city center to the gate. The scanner went dark. The scorching coils dimmed. The barrier holding back wind and rain collapsed in an instant.

  Tin! Tin! Tin! Tin! Tin!

  Alarm bells rang as the gate mechanisms engaged, iron chains groaning while the massive gate began its descent – the inevitable response to a blind checkpoint.

  Guards shoved aside the unfortunate souls mid-processing and barked orders, clearing the path beneath the falling gate.

  People scattered from the gate in a panic, and Dew moved against the tide.

  He kept his pace slow, body loose, letting the crowd brush past him. It spared them injury, but cost him precious seconds.

  The gate was already halfway down.

  “Hold the gate!” Dew shouted, waving the parchment high above his head. “Messenger coming through!”

  They couldn’t.

  He broke into a dash, weaving through bodies, and slid forward just as the gate slammed shut.

  Thud.

  Stone met his shoulder, then his back, as he rolled across the slick ground. He came to a stop, hands pinned beneath him, then forced himself upright.

  “What the—Trespasser!”

  The guards were on him at once, weapons half-drawn, until Dew flicked his wrist. A chain slipped free, a long tooth dangling from it like a pendant.

  It flared gold, dazzling, cutting clean through the gloom of the outpost.

  “Messenger,” Dew said evenly. “I am a messenger.”

  The men froze, blinded by the sudden light. Arms rose in futile defense as the glow intensified, feeding on the mana-rich air. Another minute, and it would explode.

  Dew lifted the tooth higher.

  “Hear me,” he roared. “This is my master’s insignia, a dragon tooth, from the Great Slayer herself. I am charged with delivering a letter of utmost importance to the High Mage of Redspire.”

  His voice hardened.

  “Any who stand in my way will face the Slayer’s wrath a thousandfold.”

  The guards sank to their knees. Eyes squeezed shut, hands raised in surrender.

  “Forgive us, sir. Forgive us,” they pleaded. “We are only common soldiers. We do not stand in your way. Please…”

  Their voices trembled. They meant it.

  Dew flicked his wrist. The chain vanished, and with it, the blinding glow.

  The men blinked, drew deep, shaky breaths, then slowly rose. They backed away at once, keeping their distance, eyes lowered, faces pale. Not one of them dared approach.

  You didn’t meddle with a messenger and invite the wrath of an Archmage. That lesson ran deep.

  Outside, the commotion only grew. Through the locked metal gate to his right, the one leading into the city, Dew saw soldiers edging closer. Any minute now, they would realize the gate was safe. The repairmen would rush in.

  He didn’t have time.

  Dew tucked the parchment away and stepped toward the iron bars. “Open the gate. I must go.”

  The guards didn’t move.

  He fixed them with a steely glare. “Did you not hear me?”

  “I… uh, we—we’re sorry, sir,” stammered the small, ginger-bearded man. “It’s only operable from the outside. Once the… scanner starts running again, it’ll open on its own.”

  Dew closed his eyes. His fists tightened. He drew in a slow breath and let just enough anger seep through.

  “What is your name?” he asked, voice low.

  “Will—William, sir,” came the reply.

  “William,” Dew said. “Look at me.”

  The man hesitated, then slowly raised his head.

  “Do you think I disabled your scanner?” Dew stepped closer.

  “No, sir,” William swallowed.

  “Then why must I bear the cost?” Dew snapped. “My head will roll if I fail my duty before four.”

  He jabbed a finger toward the clock on the wall, ten minutes from striking the hour. “It will take me eight minutes to reach city hall if I run without stopping. That leaves me two.”

  Another step forward.

  “Can your scanner be repaired in two minutes?”

  William stumbled back, trembling, fighting the urge to look away. “N-no, sir.”

  “Then,” Dew said quietly, “you tell me how I’m meant to leave this place in two minutes.”

  William fell silent. His lips parted, closed… no words came. Dew loomed over him, holding his gaze without blinking.

  Mortification crept across the man’s face. His breaths grew short and uneven, skin flushing as he wrestled with himself for an answer.

  Dew leaned in, just a fraction more.

  He took no pleasure in cornering a man who was only doing his job. But it was necessary. Necessary to rattle him, to shake duty loose from its hold and let survival take over.

  “Answer me, damn it!” Dew barked, the words cracking through the air.

  “I—I’ll scan you myself, sir,” William cried, tears brimming as his gaze flicked to the ceiling. “I’ll manually enter you into the archives.”

  Dew stepped back. “Do so. Immediately.”

  William lurched toward the corner. His legs buckled and he nearly went down, but caught himself, limping the rest of the way to a compartment set into the wall. He wrenched it open. Pale, humming light spilled out.

  “Please, sir,” he said, gesturing shakily for Dew to come closer.

  Dew did.

  William placed one hand on the crystal mounted within the compartment and extended the other. His palm trembled. Dew took it.

  William closed his eyes and began the scan.

  Dew felt nothing.

  Because there was nothing.

  What William had done was turn himself into a makeshift scanner: reading Dew’s mana, then letting his own be read by the archive crystal. In theory, it worked.

  In practice, a common guard trying to sense an Archmage’s mana was pure hubris.

  Half a second passed. Confusion flickered across William’s face. His grip tightened, palm pressing harder against the crystal.

  Nothing surfaced.

  He tried again, focusing harder.

  Still nothing.

  “What’s wrong?” Dew asked.

  “You… don’t have mana, sir?” William said, disbelief plain in his voice. What he meant was simpler. How could a man get this far without mana?

  He couldn’t.

  “I have my liege,” Dew said, pulling his hand free and resting it over his heart. “She protects me.”

  “Y-yes,” William nodded profusely. He had seen it firsthand.

  Dew raised a brow. “Now?”

  “I… yes, sir.”

  William bolted for the gate. Jamming his head through the iron bars, he bellowed, “OPEN THE BLOODY GATE! MESSENGER FROM ARCHMAGE SYBILLA THE GOLD-VEINED COMING THROUGH!”

  Everything blurred after that.

  Guards rushed in. The gate was hauled up in record time. Someone offered Dew an umbrella. Another, an escort.

  He declined both, stepping instead into the rain.

  Then he ran, far, far from the gate, straight into the heart of the city.

  He exhaled. For real this time.

  Caw! Caw!

  Val cried from above. She swooped down, shifted midair, and landed lightly on his shoulder as a cat before slipping back into his coat.

  A small smile tugged at Dew’s lips.

  Ahead, Redspire opened up. Lantern-lit streets gleamed with rain, stone buildings rising in layered terraces, windows glowing warm against the storm-dark sky. Voices drifted through the air, mingling with the scent of wet stone and distant hearth fires. Life went on, unbothered.

  It had all worked out.

  Finally, he was inside. One step closer to peace.