Phineas burst through the door, his eyes burning with a fury Quill had never seen in them before. Those fiery eyes scoured the room. After his entrance everything went completely silent, including the demon who had his hand halfway through the phantom walls. Phineas took a deep breath and spoke with a calm that betrayed the look in his eyes.

“Cinder Iara do you know what you’ve just done? I did not spend 17 years of my life teaching you that magic is not a set of cheap tricks to be shown off for fun. Your mana signature was so close to the ambient mana of this area that it was almost perfect. Admittedly it took me six years worth of work to inscribe the mountains with enough runes to make that difference practically non-existent. And here you are throwing up the second brightest flare of magic this continent has seen in recent memory.”

His rant started to trail off as he looked around. “I might be getting older, but I don't believe I’ve met the young lady laying in my bed before. I hope I won’t have to take in another stray if she’s as foolish as the ones I have currently.” He moved over to the bed and straightened out the clump of sheets wrapping the girl. As his grizzled hands gently pushed her back down into the bed he froze for a moment.

“Ah, that explains it. I would like to formally greet the Heir when there is more peace around here, but for now you are safe. Do not worry.”

The male demon broke the silence.

“And who-”

Phineas held up a glowing hand and no more sound came out of the demon’s mouth.

“Shush, I’ll be with you in a moment. Ms. Andhara, I’m going to assume the balance of power in the Clans has drastically changed? Though judging by the chains on your wrists you don’t need to answer. Sleep now, you look like you could use the rest. I’ll handle the rest little one.”

Phineas waved his hand back towards the male demon. “It’s your turn now.”

“-your little brats will-”

Phineas waved his hand again. “I’d like for this conversation to be civil if you wouldn’t mind. There are children here after all.”

Quill noticed Cinder’s mouth begin to open, but Phineas spoke without even turning his head to look at her.

“Cinder, yes you are still a child, and before you say anything more remember that I am still very upset.” He annulled whatever spell was keeping the demon silent. ”Now, would you care to introduce yourself?”

The male demon grunted. “Emyr. I’m going to enjoy tearing you to shreds.”

“And which Clan do you hail from?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because that will determine how the rest of this interaction goes. If you’re the Emyr I’m thinking of, then I doubt that handing over the heir to the Andhara bloodline will be good for anyone, least of all her.”

After a brief pause the demon, Emyr, replied. “Stergrud.”

“See? It wasn’t that hard. It’s hard to believe I’m face to face with the Ghost of Monain himself.”

“I said I was a Stergrud. The Ghost was a-”

“Laengr? He was. And judging by your horns, so are you. It might be hard for you to understand, but I’m quite familiar with what you look like. And if you are her jailor, then things are much worse than I imagined. Remove your hand from the wall. I’m afraid I must close this rift permanently. As much as I’ve enjoyed our talk, time is now something I have a remarkably small amount of.”

He raised his palms towards the portal as Emyr began to try and push his hand through. Phineas’ face tightened in concentration, and he began to speak in a language Quill had never heard before. The palms of his hands began to glow with two strange runes. Emyr’s fingers pushed through the portal.

The runes steadily grew brighter as he spoke with more intensity. Emyr’s hand was through to the wrist when the runes glowed a bright red. The hand flopped to the floor, completely severed from an arm that was no longer there. The partially visible stone walls were gone along with the male demon. Quill barely noticed the disappearance, his attention fixed solely on the still moving hand laying on the floor.

Phineas’ sigh snapped him out of his shock. The old man bent down and grabbed the hand by the wrist.

“I owe both of you an explanation, but for now I need to bury this. I give it a month before a relief mission gets here, but it will be less than two weeks until an Inquisitor arrives.”

“Releif mission? Inquisition?” Quill’s head was spinning.

“Usually the only things that generate this much mana are natural disasters and with how close Cinder’s mana is to the natural signature of the area, the Coalition shouldn’t look twice. The Inquisition is by nature more suspicious and lack the shackles of bureaucracy.”

With this he stepped outside, leaving the door open. The afternoon sun cut through the air, illuminating dust particles hanging lazily in the air, uncaring about the sudden shift in the world. Chirping birds sense the chill wind coming down the mountainside and take flight, warning an ignorant world with their song. The moon watched silently. Speaking was getting harder, and she didn’t have the energy to waste now. The sun felt fear and hope churning in her chest. Emotions yet unknown to something like her, but ever present in the mortals she looked down upon.

A lonely god watched from places in between, seeing the paths of the world leading to so much chaos. A young woman snaps her head to the west, towards a small valley forgotten by its insignificance. She looks to her teacher, whos eyes are locked on the same point on the horizon. He felt it too. She began to tear down her tent. They would be moving fast.

Emyr Tohn Laengr raged against stone. He beat at it until his hand and newly formed stump were raw and bloody. The tear in reality he had tried to leave through had been stitched together perfectly. His plaything had been taken from him. His hand. The bastard had buried it. Emyr didn’t know how he could still feel his hand, but he knew he would tear the worlds asunder to get back at the man who stole so much from him.

“Are you going to do nothing but throw a tantrum?”

Emyr turned around. “Arazel. What. In the Seven Hells. Happened.” Specks of spittle flew from his mouth.

Arazel reached into the front pocket of his shirt and removed a small handkerchief. He wiped his face and glared at Emyr.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Don’t forget your place. My favor can be squandered easily, and I do not forget.”

The bloodlust in Emyr’s eyes cooled almost instantly. He dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the floor.

“Forgive me Kel’ir. I was not thinking straight. The Heir escaped through a portal to Valea. I attempted to follow but the portal was sewn shut with my hand on the wrong side. I cannot follow.”

There was a moment of silence, and Emyr felt a drop of cold sweat winding its way down the back of his neck. Then his Kel’ir spoke. His voice sounded strangely tight, and was nearly shaking with anger.

“Leave this room. Immediately.”

Emyr wasted no time. He ran from the room with his tail tucked between his legs.

Arazel Tyr Baelfost ensured the door was closed behind Emyr. He set up a ward that silenced any noise inside the chamber. His hands shook. Emotions waged a war inside his chest. Anger fought against joy, against hope. Silent tears ran down his face, and he offered up a small prayer to gods who had abandoned his people long ago. Keep her safe.