Everywhere Wyatt went, there was nothing except dust. There was dust on the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and everywhere else. Every few minutes, Anton sneezed. Wyatt himself had sneezed a few times when he traipsed through enough dust to send Lea into a frenzy.

The thought of his wife, even after all these years, was like a punch to the gut. He could still remember her laugh and her smile, but everything else had become blurred. If she’d walked by him in a busy street he would’ve recognized her instantly, but if he had to describe her, he would be lost for words after less than a minute. He was forgetting her: bit by bit, moment by moment. It was devastating, and there was nothing he could do to stem the flow outward.

“You OK, Wyatt?”

“I’m fine,” Wyatt said gruffly. He scrubbed at his eyes irritably. “Just got some dust in my eyes.”

“I’ve never seen so much dust!”

There were several jokes that Wyatt could have made with that setup, but instead, he nodded.

“There’s a lot of it,” he said. He looked around the room from top to bottom in an obvious manner. “Looks empty.”

Anton laughed. “This whole castle is empty,” he said, and then his expression sobered.

“We’ve searched everywhere but the main bedroom, Wyatt. Do you want to go in there now?”

The thought of going even close to the Master Bedroom was something that Wyatt specifically did not want to do. He had never been in tune with his magic, but even his stunted senses positively screamed at him to not go in there under any circumstances. There was an aura of danger that surrounded it, like when a prey knows they are being followed by a predator. They didn’t know where or how the predator was following them, but they knew they were being followed.

Wyatt still didn’t know why he had kept his magical abilities a secret. Only Lea had known how strong he was magically. While others had known of his abilities, he had always implied that he had only the bare minimum required to become a guard at the Citadel. It had seemed a prudent thing to have in his back pocket, except now he couldn’t explain why he was so hesitant to venture into the Master Bedroom.

“Yes, we should inspect it,” Wyatt said. He held out an arm and stopped an eager Anton from rushing forward. “I will go first,” he said.

“Of course,” Anton said, bowing his head. “Sorry, Wyatt.”

Wyatt said nothing, giving Anton a pat on the back as he led him down the hallway toward the Master Bedroom. They had gone everywhere upstairs but there, exploring empty rooms big and small until they had no other choice but to go into the Master Bedroom.

When they arrived at the hallway, Wyatt stopped, dumbstruck.

The hallway was pristine. There was no dust, and a long and expansive carpet lined the floors. It was red and trimmed with gold. There were statues of stone warriors on pedestals, holding polearms with feral looks from their corners in the room.

“That’s a carpet,” Anton said, the first to break through his shock. “That’s the first thing I’ve seen in this place.”

The youth then walked to it and stepped on it gingerly. “It feels nice,” he said. He then went up to a statue and poked it. “This whole hallway looks undisturbed, like they just left yesterday.”

Wyatt shook himself out of his shock and turned to the door leading the Master Bedroom, one of the few that had been found in the whole castle. He felt something thrum deep in his chest as he stared at the dark wooden door. I don’t want to go in there, Wyatt thought.

Wyatt drew his sword. Anton copied him, drawing his own weapon. “Be prepared to run or fight,” Wyatt said.

He walked to the door, Anton following behind him. With a shaking hand, he grabbed the cold metal knob and opened it. He pulled open the door swiftly as if he were ripping off a hardened gauze.

The bedroom was like the hallway. It was untouched, with the same beautiful carpet, expensive drapes hung over a window overlooking the countryside, and furniture. There were table, chairs, and a massive bed, all of which looked expensive. The bed was unmade, its sheets tossed aside as if the castle’s master had risen for the day, and the servants hadn’t yet arrived to clean it.

Wyatt went to inspect the bed but stopped when he heard a faint scratching. “Do you hear that?” he asked Anton. Anton nodded, his expression grim as he jerked his head to his right.

“Over here,” he mouthed. He turned and began to creep toward the scratching. He held his sword back behind him so it wouldn’t reflect off the many candles arrayed throughout the room, something that Wyatt both approved of and hated.

“Stop,” Wyatt hissed. He began slinking toward the noise, which grew louder with each step. “I’m supposed to lead.”

Anton either ignored him or didn’t hear him as the blond kept moving toward the noise.

“By all that is holy,” Wyatt breathed when he turned the corner. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was a large rectangular room, big enough to fit ten people abreast from wall to wall. It was also completely unadorned. The only thing in the room was a table full of herbs, chalk, papers, and other supplies.

Talon was in the middle of the room, drawing a ritual circle with chalk. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, with deep circles under his eyes. Still, there was a frenzied air about him as he drew, drawing perfect lines that he wouldn’t expect out of the man.

“Close,” Talon muttered as he drew. “I am close. The mistress needs it. I need it. We need it.”

Wyatt gulped at the sight of the circle and Talon. As someone who had lived in Velaire, he had seen a ritual circle or two, mostly bored students fooling around. But this… this was something else, far more advanced than he had ever seen. How? How could he have drawn such a circle? Who taught him?

“Talon?” Anton asked. His voice started both Wyatt and Talon, who physically jumped in the air before he spun. His expression was murderous, but it softened slightly when his reddened eyes alighted on Anton.

“Boy,” Talon said, drawing himself up haughtily. “What are you doing here?”

“You disappeared, Talon,” Anton said, his voice almost cracking. His face was white, and his hands shook as they gripped his sword. “Everyone is looking for you.”

“Are they searching for me alone?” Talon asked casually. He stood, shoving the chalk into his pocket before he carefully stepped around the circle. He began walking toward Anton, and something in the air seemed to freeze. Wyatt grunted as his chest tightened and became heavy. He felt lightheaded, and it was all he could do to focus enough on the conversation.

“Are you alone?” Talon demanded, rushing forward and seizing Anton’s lapel. Anton tried to push Talon off him, but his grip was strong. “Did you come alone, boy?”

“N-no,” Anton said. He looked back at Wyatt. He was breathing quickly and looked close to panicking. “Wyatt is here.”

“Wyatt,” Talon said, saying Wyatt’s name almost as if he was tasting it. His eyes met Wyatt’s, and he leered at him. “You were a fool to come here with only a green boy for your protection.”

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Wyatt stumbled back as something slammed into his head. It wasn’t a physical attack but rather mental. He tried to visualize a wall to keep the intruder out. It was tall, sturdy, and was manned by archers and trebuchets. Such a wall would be all but impenetrable, but it was destroyed in a matter of moments as something burst through it. Wyatt began to scream as he felt his body begin to lock up. He fell to the floor in a twitching heap.

“Wyatt!”

“Don’t interfere, boy,” Talon snapped over Wyatt’s cries. “Your time will come soon. Do not seek it out.”

The pain was unbearable. Wyatt rolled on the ground, screaming, unable to do anything but to try and endure. The presence was rushing through his body, doing something. Wyatt didn’t know, and that made it worse. He heard Anton rush toward Talon, but that faded away as the pain overwhelmed him.

“Untrained; undisciplined; unworthy,” Talon crooned. Wyatt managed to catch a glimpse of the man. His expression was bestial. His eyes narrowed to slits and his smile impossibly wide. He held one hand toward Wyatt, while the other held a blue-faced Anton by the throat. “You thought you were so clever, weren’t you? Always one step ahead of the idiots at the Citadel. If only they knew of the sheer power that they could’ve claimed through you. I won’t be so foolish.”

Even as terrible pain ravaged his body, Wyatt willed himself to relax. Within his mind, he built a house. In the house, he conjured a stool. He sat on it gingerly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He took a deep breath, then another. The room was dark and quiet, and it allowed him to fall into a deep mediative state quickly.

Slowly, tentatively, Wyatt reached for his magic. He hadn’t done it in years, back when he was still a guard at the Citadel. It came to him willingly. He drew it in, more and more, allowing himself to dive further into his magic than he could’ve ever dreamed of.

“Fool!” Talon roared over Anton’s choking. “You will destroy yourself!”

Wyatt didn’t reply. Instead, with power rushing through his veins, he lashed out.

His magic erupted from him as if it were a lightning bolt. Anton’s choking stopped as both Talon and Anton were thrown back. Anton hit the floor, rolling before coming to a halt near the opposite wall. Talon was thrown farther away and out of sight. Wyatt, immediately freed from his paralysis, could only hear Talon smash into the opposing wall headfirst with a resounding crack.

“An-Anton,” Wyatt mumbled. He pushed himself up and to his feet, swaying as he reached down and grabbed his sword. He was exhausted and dizzy. He took a step, swayed, and then collapsed against the corner wall, falling onto his backside. He sat, unable to move, as both men began to stir.

“Anton,” Wyatt said. His voice was louder, but now, it was a murmur instead of a stuttered whisper. “Anton.”

“Ugh,” Anton said to the floor. He stirred again, managing to roll a bit. “My head.”

Wyatt thrust his sword against the stone floor, tip-first. When he pushed himself up this time, he managed to stay up, using his sword like a cane. He hunched over his sword like an old man, shuffling forward as he dragged his feet and sword against the ground.

Talon’s body twitched. Blood pooled around the body. The merchant stood, his eyes glowing red. His lips moved like he was talking, but no sound came out of them. He took a step toward Anton.

“Anton!” Wyatt shouted, wincing as his head throbbed at the effort and volume. “Up!”

Anton put his hands against the floor on either side of him, palms down, and pushed. He sat up and turned to look at Wyatt, blinking wearily.

“Draw your weapon!”

Anton blinked slowly, but his hands acted seemingly on their own volition. He grabbed his sword near his side and held it, looking down upon it as if he were admiring the blade.

“Defend yourself!”

Anton gave Wyatt an ugly look as he lurched to his feet, facing Talon. Blood was running down the side of Anton’s head and dripping onto the floor.

“Forgive me,” Anton said, bowing his head regally to Talon. Talon bowed his head incrementally in return, saying nothing. He cocked his head quizzically, and Wyatt could see his eyes glowing the same as Talon’s.

Return my servant to me.

The voice seemingly echoed off the walls, coming from nothing. Wyatt couldn’t tell if the voice was male or female. He raised his sword, rolling his back and trying to remove what felt like the weight of the world off his shoulders.

“At once,” Anton said. He bowed again and strode purposefully toward Talon.

“Don’t!” Wyatt shouted. He reached to Anton futilely, trying to pull him back from the crazed merchant. Anton ignored him, a frenzied smile on his face as he raised his sword above his head. “Take this offering,” Anton intoned, his eyes burning red. His voice was duller than a butterknife, but his movements were quick and sure. His sword flashed as he decapitated Talon, blood spraying out of his neck and onto the circle.

The circle glowed a pale white as the blood seeped into the circle before shifting to red as the blood sank into it. Wyatt stiffened, raising his sword warily as the latent magic in the circle thrummed. He turned slowly in a semi-circle, looking for threats.

When Wyatt looked at Anton again, he was shocked to see a darkness behind him. It was dark and malicious, and he felt the same presence as before within the cloud.

“Release him,” Wyatt said, proud that his voice was steady. “Release Anton.”

Amusement radiated from the cloud, and it moved closer to Anton. He stood there, his eyes still glowing, not reacting to the force behind him.

Wyatt raised his sword and grabbed what magic was left to him. It wasn’t as much as he had, but it was still more than he had ever wielded before today. He took a step forward and glared at whatever was holding Anton.

“Release him, or I will destroy you,” Wyatt said softly. In the background, he could hear the shrieks of his wife and the cries of his daughter as if it were yesterday. He hated magic and hated wielding it even more, but he would do whatever it took to free Anton from whatever this was.

Every night before he slept, just as he could now, he smelled the fire and the burning of wood and flesh. He felt the blood from his enemies splattered on his face, hands, and clothes. Most of all, a crushing sense of guilt weighed on him. While Anton wasn’t his daughter, he was a young man who he had taken under his wing. He would not allow him to die. He would not allow this thing to steal him away and to manipulate him like a doll.

Never again, Wyatt thought, steeling himself as he reached for more of his magic. He felt sick and like he was about to throw up, but he didn’t care.

You will destroy yourself, a voice said. It sounded accusing. Would you destroy yourself for this boy?

“Yes,” Wyatt said. He kept his sword up and inched toward Anton and the dark mass behind him. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he wanted to be close enough to do something if he needed to. “I would.”

There was a sense of amusement again, but this time it was scornful. Fine, the voice said before it vanished. After it disappeared, Anton’s eyes fluttered open as he sank to his knees.

“What?” he asked, but Wyatt was unable to answer as his eyes widened upon seeing his bloodied sword. “What!”

“Anton,” Wyatt said hesitantly. Anton saw Talon’s body.

“Did I do this?” Anton asked tearfully. His bottom lip quivered as he pointed at the merchant’s body with his sword. “Did I kill him?”

“You swung the sword, but someone else did it,” Wyatt said. “You were under some sort of spell.”

“I don’t remember much,” Anton whispered. He brought a hand to his head, and it came back bloody. “My head hurts.”

“You and me both, kid,” Wyatt said, smiling through his own pounding headache. Sheathing his sword, he limped to Anton and hauled him to his feet. Anton almost fell and took Wyatt with him, but after a few precarious moments, both men were upright.

“We need to find Marek and the others,” Wyatt said.

Anton nodded and sheathed his sword. “I agree,” he said. “I don’t remember much, but whatever the presence was, it was interested in both you and Marek. We should get to him fast.”

Cold dread swept over Wyatt’s heart at the idea of Marek being possessed like Anton. “Diev protect us,” Wyatt whispered.