We stepped through, the stale air of the workshop brushing against our skin. The spell closed behind us, and the conversation picked back up.
"So, how exactly are we supposed to get here on our own if Mage wasn't around to do her wishy-washy magic?" Fee asked, waving her hands dramatically. "Also, this place looks pretty cool."
The Arcane Sanctum Workshop. That was the fancy name Bolton had coined for this chamber years ago. The vast room stretched nearly the length of a grand banquet hall, its pristine white walls untouched by grime or time. Unlike the outside world, where the air was thick with rot and damp, this place was eerily sterile—like it had been frozen in time.
Bolton casually activated a glyph on the ceiling, and the room lit up with a steady glow. The light pushed back the evening shadows, illuminating heaps of discarded metal at the edges—failed attempts at fusing magic with machinery. Esoteric glyphs curled across the floors and walls, the remnants of past experiments still crackling faintly with residual energy.
Hogan let out a low whistle. Even under his helmet, I could tell Lancelot was impressed.
Bolton strode to the center of the room, grabbed a long-abandoned mage robe from a chair, and threw it over his shoulders with a flourish. Then, he spread his arms dramatically.
"Welcome to the Arcane Sanctum Workshop! The only hub for magical progression in this backward kingdom and the only place untouched by the cursed slime!"
Even the archers, who had seen plenty, gawked at the arcane symbols and tomes. Pages fluttered gently in an unseen breeze, imbued with lingering enchantments. None of them could understand the runes, but they appreciated the spectacle.
"As for how you're supposed to get in here without Mage?" Bolton continued, falling back in step with the group. "You can't."
"WHAT?"
"It's simple. Really simple," Bolton chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. **"In fact, think of it as a two-step security system.
First, the rubble blocking the building's entrance keeps out any intruders. If they manage to clear it, the second line of defense is this door—permanently locked with a spell only Mage can bypass. Anyone trying to force their way in? The sound would alert us before they got close."**
Lancelot finally spoke, his voice calm. "So that's why we have Mage. Her warping magic is the only way in or out of here. It's quite ingenious."
I smirked, giving him a mock bow. "Why thank you, fine knight. I'm your key…"
"But even though this protects us from enemies," Bolton interrupted, "it's still a cage. A prison, if Mage ever decides not to show up."
"Always thinking the worst, aren't you, dearest brother?" I teased, layering on the sarcasm.
"I'm your only brother," he muttered, still uneasy with the arrangement.
Bolton pulled out thick tomes, their cracked spines creaking as he stacked them on a cluttered workbench. Most covered fire creation and duplication chemistry—his latest effort to build the cannon.
"Electricity is more my domain than fire," he admitted, cracking his knuckles. "This'll be a challenge."
Fee, who had been fidgeting nearby, suddenly jabbed a finger between us. "Okay, but there's still one thing I don't get about you two."
Bolton exhaled, already exasperated. "And what's that?"
"You keep calling Bolton your brother," Fee said, head tilting. "But he looks, like… twenty-five years older than you. And you're dark-skinned, while he's, uh, really not. Is that just a side effect of shooting lightning?"
Bolton folded his arms. "None of your business."
"Eh, it's not a secret." I shrugged, propping my staff against the wall. "My mom had little Bolty at twenty with some guy from PrideFall. Thirty years later, she met someone else—guy from an annexed city. Still going strong, and boom. Here I am."
"Very succinct," Bolton commented dryly.
"That's wild." Fee chuckled, already losing interest. She turned and wandered toward the corridor locked behind the glass doors.
"Both men and my mom are gone," I added. "Unrelated to the Slime."
Bolton's gaze flickered, distant for just a second. Different fathers didn't change what mattered—we were family. The only family we had left. That would be enough.
Fee stopped at the glass doors, the setting sun casting her in a golden outline. "So, are you gonna unlock this, or what?"
"Right. That's what I wanted to show you." Bolton strode forward, but as he reached for the handle, his brow furrowed.
"The keys are gone."
Chains rattled against the locked door.
A slow silence settled. If we were thinking the same thing, then the keys hadn't just gone missing. They'd been stolen.
Probably by the same person who turned Bolton's arcane amplifier into the Slime.
No leads. No clear motive. Just chaos.
Fee turned to Lancelot, already sizing up his sword. "Think you can cut through it, big guy?"
"Try to be careful," Bolton warned. "Breaking the glass would be a dead giveaway."
Lancelot was quiet for a moment. Then, in one fluid motion, he lifted his silver-blue sword with ease, his one good hand steady on the hilt.
"I'll be careful."
With a single, precise swipe, Lance severed the chains. The links fell away with a muted clatter, and the glass doors remained untouched.
Hogan let out a low whistle. "If Kevin were here, he'd be singing ballads about your 'peerless swordsmanship.'"
I had to admit, it was impressive—clean, efficient, almost effortless. That was the result of a lifetime in the military. Rumor had it Lance saw his first battlefield at nine. If that were true, then this level of control was less a skill and more a second nature.
With the way clear, we stepped onto the balcony. A dozen wild crows lined the iron railing, their black eyes gleaming. The moment we crossed the threshold, they scattered.
"Not you lot again!" Leil groaned, already nocking an arrow. Lessa followed suit.
Feathers burst into the air as they loosed their shots. Four birds dropped, but the others veered sharply, already escaping into the sky.
"I got it, girls." I flicked my staff forward and twisted the air—warp spell. A portal flared open in front of the crows, yanking them back onto the balcony. My vision blurred for a moment. I was casting too much, but this was nothing I couldn't handle.
The crows flapped wildly in confusion, but in the next instant, six arrows struck home. Their bodies twitched, then went still, feathers littering the tiles.
"You're really good with a bow," Lessa said, her voice tinged with awe.
"It's a skill that comes with hunting wild game in the forest." Fee rolled her shoulders, a quiet crack audible as she straightened. Then, she raised a brow. "Now, why exactly did we just shoot a bunch of birds?"
"They're pests," Leil muttered, lowering her bow as she leaned on the railing. The evening wind tugged at her blonde hair. "Not as bad as the spiders or those bloated pigs, but they're smart. They remember things. If we let them go, they'd bring more to harass us for food. Plus, they're decent eating." She let out a sigh, eyes flicking to the horizon. "Goddesses, this view is something else."
I turned my gaze outward.
The city stretched before us, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. The rooftops caught the light in slanted streaks, the edges of the buildings soaked in gold. It made the city look almost untouched, almost like it hadn't suffered at all. A strange warmth bubbled in my chest.
"Goddesses," I murmured, "I wish I could go back to the old times."
"We will," Bolton said, his hand resting on mine. His grip was firm. Reassuring. "This is what I wanted to show you."
The sky deepened to violet as the first stars blinked into view. Below us, the city breathed—streets winding in ribbons, bridges arching over water barriers meant to keep the Slime at bay. Pockets of chaos flickered in the distance.
And at the city's heart stood PrideFall Heart.
It wasn't just a plaza. It was the spine of the kingdom, the point where all roads converged. Wide, polished stone streets radiated from its core like spokes on a wheel, leading to the colleges, courthouses, trade halls, and archives. The fountains that once spouted crystal-clear water were choked now, some dry, others flooded. Statues of past rulers loomed over the space, their faces worn by time.
But at its very center, where the kingdom had always drawn its strength, where orators once roused crowds and scholars debated laws—there, the Slime coiled, its mass reflecting the sunset in sickly colors. It had seeped into the cracks, sprawled across the once-proud marble.
A blight at the heart of it all.