Gaspar scowled, his grip tightening on his staff as he surveyed the narrow hallway before them. Behind him, the murmurs of his junior wizards and colleagues formed the dull hum of discussion and half-formed theories. Though he was more than loath to admit it, having the Baroness here might have been advantageous.
At the corridor’s end stood a lone figure, its features obscured by flickering robes that rippled spectrally in the ambient light. The air around it thrummed with mana, thick with arcane energy. Ancient Zuverian wards—the likes of which Gaspar had never encountered before—shimmered faintly, warping the space like a mirage.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Rosa grumbled from Gaspar’s right, sitting on the ground and slumped against the cold stone wall. Her wooden instrument lay beside her as she ran a hand through her hair, shooting a small glare towards the robed figure. “There has to be some way past that thing.”
Gaspar’s lips pressed into a thin line. He shared her sentiment, but it had been made clear this obstacle would not yield easily.
After they had left the Chamber of Remembrance through the hidden passage revealed by Baroness Hartford, their group had ventured deeper into the Hall’s depths. The Baroness’ party had marched with a quiet determination, while the wizards of the Isle—despite the gravity of their mission—moved with an undeniable excitement among them, intrigued to explore this uncharted facet of their home. Gaspar understood their enthusiasm, and even shared it to a degree, though he took care not to let it show.
At first, their progress had been smooth. Suspiciously so, even. For reasons Gaspar and the others did not know, the threatening echoes that plagued the Hall’s outer chambers were mostly absent here, allowing them to advance with relative ease. In his brief arrogance, Gaspar had even entertained the hope that they might reach the Hall’s depths mostly unchallenged. As with most good things, however, that hope did not last.
The obstacles in their path gradually changed. Subtle nuisances—such as sealed doors requiring some time to breach and the occasional group of less aggressive echoes—gave way to more tangible, yet erratic, threats. The occasional echo grew stronger, more defined, employing far more intricate formations and attacks. Traps and wards began weaving through the corridors, disrupting spells and chipping away at their defences. And with every step forward, it was as if the Hall grew more aware of their presence, working to expel them.
Still, it had been manageable until they had run into the particularly implacable adversary now before them.
While not as overtly belligerent or threatening as the echoes they’d faced before, it proved far more formidable in its ability to cut off their advance. No spell or attack seemed to touch it; every effort was deflected as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze. Gaspar had seen few defences this impenetrable, even among accomplished Arch Wizards.
If this was an echo like the ones they had encountered before, he could only wonder what sort of mage it emulated.
“Are we sure that we have to get past it?” Allyssa asked. Sitting next to Rosa, she sorted through her remaining alchemical supplies, the vials and containers spread out in neat rows. “This is where Scarlett would’ve just disarmed that thing. Or made it vanish. Or…something.”
Gaspar glanced at the two, then flicked his attention towards the rest of the group at the mouth of the corridor. Most of his junior wizards, along with Magister Penney, Grand Wizard Clemmons, and Shin, were clustered around a Zuverian device mounted on the wall. The device was very similar to the Tabernacle artifacts that the Zuver were known to have used, and for reasons he could not explain, it seemed to involve a convoluted puzzle of some sort.
He had already examined the artifact, but he had found himself at a loss. For all of his experience with Zuverian relics, puzzles were not his strength. He much preferred measured, methodical research, grounded in logic and structure, over anything that required fanciful leaps of reasoning to be solved. Why the Zuver couldn’t have simply kept to that was a mystery he doubted he’d ever solve.
Their group agreed that the puzzle was likely tied to getting past this robed figure, but they had discerned little else.
“…Are you certain the Baroness gave no indication of how to proceed beyond this point?” he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral as he turned back to Rosa and Allyssa.
Both shook their heads.
“Scarlett, as a rule, only shares information when it becomes immediately relevant,” Rosa said, picking up her instrument and placing it on her lap. “She’s not great at volunteering details in general. She’s gotten better at it, and she does make an effort now and then, but…” She plucked absently a few idle notes. “Well, there’s always a lot going on in that mind of hers.”
Gaspar’s gaze lingered on her before drifting back to the entity blocking their way. Since meeting Baroness Hartford, he had often wondered how she came by her knowledge of secrets that had been buried for countless generations. More than once, he had questioned her sources—and her motives—but her results were undeniable. At this point, he was convinced that the woman knew exactly what to expect within the inner sanctum of the Hall of Echoes, these increasingly difficult obstacles included. In fact, the only element that appeared to have caught the noblewoman off guard was whatever phenomenon currently had the Hall in its grasp. That, and her own sudden disappearance.
“…What will you do if she proves to be no longer with us?” he asked, the question slipping out unbidden.
“She’s alive,” came a calm voice from his left.
Gaspar turned to look at Fynn, sitting cross-legged on the ground with his eyes closed in what was supposedly a meditative trance.
“You seem remarkably certain of that assertion,” Gaspar said.
The young man’s eyes flicked open briefly, meeting Gaspar’s gaze. “You said you would do everything in your power to ensure her safety.”
“That was Magister Penney’s declaration, not mine,” Gaspar replied, adjusting his grip on his staff. “We will do what we can, naturally, but we are not omnipotent. If she’s fallen before we reach her, there is little more we can do.”
“She won’t die,” Fynn said.
Gaspar raised a brow. “I doubt your conviction alone is enough to make that a certainty. It is highly likely that wherever she may be at this moment, she is alone and in considerable peril. Even an experienced grand wizard might perish under such circumstances.”
“But she won’t,” Rosa cut in, her voice firm.
Gaspar studied her. She had been the most visibly concerned when the Baroness had vanished, yet now she seemed utterly confident in her patron’s survival. Even with what Gaspar knew of the Baroness, he struggled to understand this unwavering trust.
He cleared his throat, a sound halfway between a grunt and a sigh. “For now, there is little more I can do but take you at your word,” he said. “You must have your reasons for believing the Baroness to be as capable as you claim. If she is, I find myself curious about the true extent of her magical talents. Her earlier demonstration was…not particularly inspiring.”
He glanced expectantly at Rosa, who met his gaze for a few seconds before shrugging. “I can’t say. I’m not a mage.”
Gaspar shifted his focus to Allyssa. The girl tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, brows knitting slightly. “I’m not a mage either, but I do know some. It’s hard to compare Scarlett to them, though, since she doesn’t use spells.”
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The corners of Gaspar’s eyes narrowed, a subtle crease forming. “…She doesn’t use any spells?”
Allyssa shook her head. “Apparently, she can’t.”
Gaspar frowned deeply, the lines around his mouth tightening. He had noticed that the Baroness relied exclusively on pyrokinesis in the Hall’s earlier chambers, but he assumed it was a deliberate choice, not a limitation. Disregarding the sheer absurdity of a mage only capable of pyrokinesis, how could these people expect her to defend herself with just a narrow skill set? The raw talent needed to elevate pyrokinesis to rival a seasoned wizard’s arsenal was almost inconceivable.
“You shouldn’t underestimate Scarlett,” Allyssa added, seeming to have noticed his skepticism. She picked up a few vials and began stashing them into the pockets of her bandolier. “I’ve seen her reduce literal hordes of demons to ash. When she’s angry, she can be…well, terrifying.”
Gaspar raised a single eyebrow. He had heard rumours of the Baroness’ role in the incident where a Vile’s citadel manifested within the empire, but he found Allyssa’s words hard to believe. Even among the empire’s most talented wizards, he would be hard-pressed to find someone capable of wielding pyrokinesis at any sort of offensive level, particularly against demons. The fiendish creatures were notoriously resistant to most forms of fire. It would require something on the level of true pyrokinesis to be effective against them.
“I wasn’t there to see her torch any demons, but I can definitely vouch for Scarlett’s scariness,” Rosa said. “I’ve seen enough of her magic to know what happens when you’re on the wrong end of it.”
Gaspar considered her words. “You claim you cannot compare her to other mages, yet earlier, you seemed quite willing to measure her against odds of survival better than those of a grand wizard. Do you believe she is, at least in some respects, on par with one?”
Rosa shrugged once more. “To be perfectly honest with you, to me, it’s more of a question of whether your ‘grand wizards’ are on the same level as her.”
Gaspar regarded her silently for several seconds. “…Is that so.”
That answer was certainly food for thought, if an unpalatable morsel. He turned his attention back to the hallway ahead, his gaze lingering on the wards surrounding the robed figure.
After a moment, he spoke again, his tone measured as he tapped his staff against the stone floor. “I will say, Miss Hale, that I find you markedly more agreeable to converse with now that the Baroness isn’t present. I hope you do not take that the wrong way, but I much prefer this version of you.”
A rueful chuckle escaped the bard. “Are you suggesting that she’s a bad influence on me? What I wouldn’t give for Scarlett to hear you say that.”
“…That is not at all what I meant,” Gaspar replied. “If anything, it would appear the opposite is more likely to be true. Your comportment now is far more fitting for a task of this nature than it was earlier.”
“‘Fitting’ is one way to put it,” Rosa said. “I’m just trying to keep my cool. It wouldn’t do anyone much good if I didn’t.”
Gaspar glanced at her sidelong, noting the sober expression that replaced some of her levity. “It’s clear that you hold the Baroness in very high regard.”
“I’d be a proper fool if I didn’t. She’s the reason I’m still breathing. I owe her…well, my everything, really. My life, my sanity — Blazes, probably even my soul, and then some.”
“Rosa…” Allyssa said softly, slight worry etched into her voice.
The bard turned to her companion, offering a quick, reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Allyssa. Scarlett’s the one we should be worrying about here. Not that she’s liable to end up needing it, but you know how it is.” Her lips quirked into a small grin. “If it were one of us, you can bet she’d be kicking down doors and waking dragons until the whole thing was sorted.”
Allyssa let out a short laugh. “True. I’m still just waiting for the day when she’ll actually have us face down a dragon.”
Gaspar observed their exchange with another faint frown. He assumed they were simply joking. “While I am not as familiar with her as you two,” he said, “I would still advise tempering your expectations. Imperial nobility are a breed apart when it comes to principles and morality, and the Baroness strikes me as no exception. She certainly does not seem the type to possess a heart of gold.”
In fact, the woman seemed to embody many of the qualities he despised most in the empire’s aristocracy.
“Oh, trust me, I’m not under any starry-eyed delusions about Scarlett,” Rosa replied, chuckling. “She’s been real clear about not being a saint. I’ve seen her shrug off things that’d make anyone else lose sleep for days and weeks. And yeah, she’s about as cold as ice when it suits her. Honestly, sometimes, she seems to think half the world could’ve—or should’ve—pegged her as some grand villainess, and she’s just leaning into it.” Her grin faded slightly, and her voice mellowed. “That whole ‘arrogant noble’ persona she’s got going on isn’t an act, and her moral compass…? Sometimes, it points in strange directions, I’ll give you that. But despite that, for all her flaws—and there are plenty, though don’t tell her I said that—she makes an effort to be decent. That’s more than can be said for a whole lot of other folks.”
“…I see.” Gaspar went quiet. “Perhaps I have misjudged her somewhat, then.”
He didn’t say more as he turned back to the hallway ahead. In truth, he was not wholly opposed to admitting that he’d harbored a particular bias against the Baroness, even before meeting her. It was a prejudice that lingered, despite her having already proven some of her qualifications when she revealed the Astral Sanctum’s secrets.
Her stated purpose in coming to the Rising Isle—to investigate her family’s history on the Isle—had struck him as suspect from the outset. The vagueness of her knowledge or apparent ignorance about the actual nature of her mission only deepened his wariness. Regardless of her intent, he had seen little reason to trust her fully, let alone work closely with her.
They may share a family name, but to Gaspar, it was a mere coincidence with little weight. If he considered all who shared a common ancestor as kin, he would be related to half the Isle by now. No, the only connection between them was that name, and he had as much right to it as the Baroness did. His predecessors had long since severed their ties to the empire, and it was not the place of any imperial noble to barge in and lay claim to their heritage.
And yet…he would concede that these sentiments clouded his judgement in their initial dealings. Since then, the woman had proven herself to be true to her word, and the terms she proposed in exchange for her services had been…reasonable, given the significance of her contributions.
Gaspar remained sincere in his promise to aid her investigation into Arch Wizard Delmont’s past, if only because it had become his responsibility to do so. Though if his suspicions about what might have befallen the Baroness—as nebulous and implausible as they were—proved correct… He wondered if there would be much left for him to do in that matter once they found her again.
That, however, was a question for later. First, they would have to unravel the mysteries of this place.
Gaspar tensed as a sudden commotion broke out behind him, startled voices cutting through the stillness. He turned sharply, his gruff voice ringing off the corridor walls. “What’s going on?”
Magister Penney straightened up from his hunched position over the artifact, his portly frame forcing several junior wizards to shuffle back. “You had best see this for yourself, Gaspar.”
A frown returned to Gaspar’s face. With a final glance towards the motionless figure at the hallway’s end, he strode back towards the group, his staff tapping a steady rhythm on the stone. The junior wizards made space, leaving only Magister Penney, Grand Wizard Clemmons, and the young Shin gathered around the ancient device.
“Well?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over their faces before settling on the artifact.
What he saw made his eyes widen in confusion. The weathered stone surface, previously covered with elaborate inscriptions and Zuverian glyphs, was shifting. The delicate maze-like puzzle that had once occupied its center was dissolving, consumed by an expanding, amorphous pool of creeping grey. The glyphs writhed as though alive, twisting and distorting in ways that defied explanation.
“By Aubrianne’s tome,” Clemmons whispered.
Gaspar leaned closer, his grip tightening on his staff. “What is the meaning of this?” he murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the ever-spreading mass of grey. The sight filled him with an inexplicable sense of discomfort, as though he were witnessing a fundamental violation of the natural order.
“I have never seen anything like it in all my years,” Magister Penney said with a shake of his head, taking a wary step back. The other wizards followed suit, concern etched across their faces.
“I think…I might have seen something similar once,” Shin spoke up, a deep furrow on his brow.
Gaspar’s sharp gaze snapped to the young man. “Speak quickly, then. What do you remember?”
Shin opened his mouth to respond, but his words were drowned out by a bone-chilling crack that reverberated throughout the corridor. Gaspar whirled around just in time to see Fynn charging at the robed figure, his meditative calm discarded. The young man’s fist struck one of the shimmering defensive wards, the impact rippling like lightning through the air.
“You, you fool! You can’t—” Gaspar’s shout was cut short as the robed figure began to flicker and distort. Its solid form grew more indistinct, reminiscent of the other echoes they had encountered earlier. Then, without further warning, the air around it erupted with energy. The once-dormant wards flared violently, morphing into a seething mass of sigils signaling an impending attack.
“Clemmons!” Gaspar barked, spinning to his colleague. “Barriers, now!”
In the split second before Clemmons could act, the corridor exploded into chaos as a maelstrom of arcane energy—bolts of lightning, tongues of flame, and shards of ice—hurtled towards them in a deadly barrage.