Page 66 of Unveiled

“It’s not invisible,” Adrian muttered. “It’s energetic.”

“Adrian.”

“I know.” He took a breath. “But if the rend left something behind, anything, something we can use to rescue Irial, then we have to investigate before we get the others involved.”

Connor hesitated, then nodded. “Fine, let’s make a detour. But we don’t go far. And we don’t split up.”

Adrian nodded, then stepped forward, letting the echo pull him back deeper between the trees, farther away now from the welcoming village in the distance.

The woods thickened quickly. Branches intertwined overhead, filtering the weak daylight into fractured patterns on the forest floor. The echo nudged him left, then right, as though weaving through threads Adrian couldn’t physically see. He followed cautiously, every sense tuned to the unnatural cadence humming beneath the earth.

After several minutes, he stopped short. The clearing was small. Barely ten strides wide, and unmistakably warped. The air was colder, and the ground was darkened in a perfect circle as though scorched by frost instead of flame. At its centre lay a jagged dent in the earth, no larger than a shield, shaped like something had struck it with tremendous force.

Connor stepped up beside him. “What the hell?”

Adrian crouched, running his fingers a few centimetres above the indentation. The air tingled with the residue of tearing magic. “This is where the rend anchored itself.”

“So we found the footprint. Can you tell where it walked off to?”

Adrian shot him a look. Connor shrugged. “Worth asking.”

Adrian closed his eyes. The echo pulsed faintly, now fading and scattered. Whatever energy remained was dissipating quickly. If Irial had been pulled through, the path had gone cold.

Except… His eyes snapped open. At the rim of the indentation, half-buried under loose soil, something glimmered. Adrian brushed away debris, revealing a small charm, roughly carved, circular, etched with sigils he recognised. Utharian, and not from any clan, this was Desert Realm magic.

He swallowed a curse. “This belonged to Irial.”

Connor leaned in. “How do you know?”

“Because I saw it on her wrist the other day.” He turned the charm over. The sigil pulsed with a faint light. “It’s attuned to its wearer. A sign of protection. If she dropped it, she did so while conscious.”

Connor’s jaw tightened. “Meaning she was still fighting.”

Adrian nodded grimly. “And trying to leave a clue as to where she is now.” He stood, pocketing the charm. “Come on. This will help find her, but we need more people. Let’s go back and get more people to help.”

“Again,” Connor muttered. “Let’s go back again. Hopefully you won’t have any more woo-woo feelings. I really want a pint.” He grinned to take the sting out of his words.

They started their journey back to the village again, and with each step Adrian’s mark grew quieter.

The village square was alive with worry when they returned. People moved in tight clusters, murmuring anxiously, clutching shawls and each other.

Adrian’s stomach tightened. He hated seeing their fear. These people had endured too much already. Torn from their world and dropped into another like driftwood after a storm.

Xiathen and Fraser stood near The Dry Pig’s entrance. When Adrian and Connor approached, Adrian said, “We found something.” He pulled the charm from his pocket and placed it in Xiathen’s outstretched hand. As they examined the charm, Xiathen asked, “Irial’s?”

“Yes,” Adrian confirmed. “Dropped near the rend’s anchor point. The rend itself has shifted, so we’ll need to track its new location.”

Xiathen inhaled sharply. “Then she was conscious when taken. That is troubling.”

“Why?” Connor asked.

“Because the Nightwrought rarely take conscious prey,” Xiathen murmured. “Unless commanded.”

Connor’s jaw flexed. “By whom?”

Xiathen didn’t answer.

Fraser cursed softly. “We’re dancing around the same bloody answer. The ones you won’t name.”