He collapsed on the uncomfortably rough cushion of the high-backed armchair and rested his head against the equally rough and terribly dusty padded backrest.

  The round chamber, dimly lit by candles, smelled of dusty old parchment. Filled bookcases lined the walls, and an unused crystal chandelier hung from the arched ceiling. The soft rugs on the floor did little to keep the cold of the underground away.

  With a sigh, Midhir closed his eyes. His father and the Ambassador were returning tomorrow, probably shortly before dusk. There were many preparations to make. Too many. It had taken him and Captain Marr half a day to plan everything, and it would take the soldiers an entire day to set things up. He could only hope they could complete the preparations by then.

  He let his eyes rest for a while longer as he breathed in the dusty, dry air.

  Then, he pushed himself back up on his feet, and headed out of the dusty, rarely used chamber.

  Derwen Hold was even busier than before. Preparations for the Emperor’s return were underway. But that wasn’t all. He spotted a battalion of the honour guard ride out of the gates as he passed by the windows overlooking the rift between the two halves of the mountain.

  The cultists had been seen near the road to An’Larion again. While the Imperial army had been unable to catch up with them, they still were effective at causing the scoundrels to retreat into the overgrowth.

  He clenched his fists as he made his way to the stairs and descended the steps into the more crowded sections of the fortress. Students, soldiers and servants alike were in a rush, either preparing to set off, or preparing for the arrival of the Emperor. Not a single person seemed to be lingering around or wasting time.

  For once, his gaze didn’t linger of the nearby students. Instead, it was fixed on his path as he marched across the narrow, yet long courtyard between the two halves of the mountains. “Captain,” he nodded towards Captain Marr as he passed by her. Amidst barking orders to her men, she saluted him.

  “Your highness,”

  “The prisoner, have they begun?”

  She nodded once, her gaze turning cold. “Yes, only a few moments ago.”

  He thanked her before hastening his steps. A weight pressed on his chest as he made his way down the stairs leading to the dungeon.

  A dozen or so resonance casters had formed a half circle in front of the cultist leader’s cell. They each gripped their staves tightly. Their eyes were closed, and brows furrowed with focus. In the centre of the half circle stood Instructor Caarda. Her petite frame seemed so small and weak amidst the Imperial Guard, almost as if she was a sickly child.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “You don’t need to come here every time.” Instructor Soraya’s low voice startled him. She stood with her back against the wall, her arms crossed, and her chin held high. Her sharp gaze never left the prisoner, even as she spoke to Midhir.

  “I hardly have other places to be,” he admitted. “Besides, I’d like to see the resonance on that helmet break with my own eyes.”

  Instructor Soraya clicked her tongue. “I hope we do see that happen…” her voice faded as Instructor Caarda’s staff lit up with a crimson light.

  The air suffocated him for a split second. His eyes shot wide open as he felt the spiritual power around them drain into the crystal embedded onto the instructor’s staff. She drew on more power, her eyes shut, her brows furrowed, and her lips a thin, pale line. Her legs trembled, her torso shook as she held onto the glowing staff.

  “Break!” She cried out, her voice sharp.

  The runes and script carved onto the helmet lit up as her resonance slammed into it. The cultist leader grunted, either with pain or annoyance. He clenched his fists and leaned forward ever so slightly. “It won’t work,” he said with a heave. “Your Empire has no one strong enough to break this.”

  Midhir scowled. Ilya probably could. Mother certainly could. And had it not been for the Ring of Stone, his father could.

  Instructor Caarda stumbled backwards, the staff escaped her grip, falling onto the ground with a thud as one of the other resonance casters caught her mid-fall.

  “Sivhe!” Instructor Soraya rushed towards her.

  “I’m fine,” the other woman meekly said. “It didn’t work.”

  One of the other resonance casters shook her head. “No, I think it did.”

  Midhir’s ears perked up. His gaze snapped to the imperial resonance caster. “Explain.”

  His voice startled her. She saluted him, and so did the other resonance casters. “The resonance didn’t break fully, but it was weakened. It needs to be done a few more times, I believe… but it will work.”

  “Lies!” The prisoner shouted. “Do you truly believe you – mere mortals who refuse to see the light of ascension, can break a spell so powerful? Pathetic!” He started on his feet, rushing at the metal bars of his cell and grabbed them. “Do you believe them, prince?”

  “I don’t have to.” Midhir shrugged. His gaze turned to the left side of the helmet. “Your helmet is beginning to melt.”

  One of the runes inscribed onto the metal had melted. It wasn’t quite legible anymore. It clearly wasn’t enough to break the script that maintained the ancient resonance, but it was enough to weaken it. “Please take your time to rest, all of you.”

  “Liar!” the cultist leader shouted.

  Midhir picked up Instructor Caarda’s staff, then gestured at the stairs. The instructors and resonance casters headed out of the dungeon, and he followed them. The prisoner’s yelling soon faded away as the heavy metal doors closed behind them.

  “The rune melted?” Instructor Caarda asked as he handed her staff over. “Are you sure, your highness?”

  Midhir nodded. “You don’t need to be so formal, instructor.”

  A smile flashed across her lips. “A single rune?” She asked, clenching her fingers around the haft of her crystal staff.

  “As far as I saw, yes.”

  She nodded. Her eyes lit up with determination. “I knew it. The resonance won’t break until the script has been weakened enough. I need to rest, then we will continue.” She nodded again, mostly to herself.

  “Tomorrow.” Instructor Soraya chimed in. “You and the others need rest today.”

  The other woman forced a smile. “That we do.”

  A weight had lifted off his shoulders. There was a way to break the resonance, a way to finally get that god forsaken man to show his face. Once the helmet was off, then it would be trivial to find just who was supplying the cultists with so many resources. Who was funding them, and to what end? And just how were they tearing the veil apart?

  There were many questions to be asked. And soon, he would finally get some answers.