The chapter house sprawled out beneath a vaulted ceiling, its vastness overshadowed by the chaotic dance of tallow candles whose wild flames spewed greasy smoke into the air. Despite the grandeur of the stained glass windows, their artistry obscured by the dense, swirling mist outside, the room remained shrouded in an oppressive gloom. Even four years after the Cathedral’s retaking, this chamber held a disquieting edge for Warren. He was relieved that the bloodstains, remnants of battles long past, had been scrubbed from the floor by diligent groundworkers.

“You’ve got five minutes, Sid,” Warren stated brusquely, disregarding any pretence of courtesy toward the band of ten guards that flanked him. The weight of formality was dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Make them count.”

“So, no chit-chat then?” Sid quipped, his voice laced with a playful nonchalance that belied the gravity of the situation. “No small talk about what I’ve been up to for the past decade?”

“What you’ve been up to?” Warren echoed, incredulity and frustration boiling over. “Oh, sure, Sid. Tell me what’s been keeping you so occupied that you’re still only level eleven.” He flicked to the party screen on his MetaTEC, his irritation palpable. “In these ten years, I’ve clawed my way to level thirty-seven. Emmanuel, juggling three kids, has broken the thirty mark. And Jenny—God only knows what she’s achieved to get to forty-five. So enlighten me, Sid. What exactly have you been doing? I’m dying to hear.”

Sid’s grin was reminiscent of the mischief he’d displayed when he was the Game Master, guiding them through failed challenges with barely concealed amusement.

“To explain it all would take more than five minutes,” Sid said, his tone shifting to one of measured gravity. “But for now, know this: while I’ve been less active in adventuring, I’ve dedicated my time to unraveling the larger puzzle.” He gestured expansively toward the roiling mist beyond the windows. “We breached the barrier a decade ago. Hell, Sheol, or Jahannam, as my father called it. That astral realm where all human negativity is funneled and consolidated. Over millennia, our collective suffering coalesced into vast legions. One day, we tore through the veil, and those demonic sprites were unleashed upon the real world.”

“Through electromagnetic resonance,” Warren interjected, showing that he had indeed kept up with Sid’s sporadic updates via the MetaTEC’s global chat.

“Exactly,” Sid confirmed, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. “The sprites aren’t ‘real’ in the conventional sense. They’re constructs of electromagnetic signals perceived by our minds, which scramble to make sense of them. So when they ‘cut’ us, our skin reacts as if it’s been injured, even though the blade is nothing more than a distorted echo of reality.”

Without warning, Warren’s hand lashed out, delivering a powerful backhanded slap that sent Sid sprawling sideways. The guardsmen tensed, their hands moving toward their sheathed swords, but a single, stern glance from Warren halted them in their tracks. The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of unspoken questions hanging heavily in the air.

“Tell me again that sprites aren’t real, Sid,” Warren growled, his voice edged with a dangerous calm. “I’ve cradled too many dying people to hear that nothing killed them.”

“Not ‘nothing,’” Sid snapped back, his discomfort evident as he flexed his jaw. “Spiritual energy manifests as electromagnetic form. It’s not just the sprites. Our magic operates on the same principle but is channeled through the arcane technologies in our MetaTEC. It’s why batteries hold their charge and the electrical grid remains active despite the lack of maintenance. This world is siphoning electromagnetic energy from the other side.”

Warren’s anger simmered as he absorbed Sid’s words. “That explains why plants still grow despite the absence of sunlight,” he said, piecing together the implications. “The mist’s electromagnetic resonance is fooling photosynthesis.”

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Sid tilted his head, acknowledging the insight with a thoughtful frown. “That would make sense,” he conceded, though the confidence in his voice was wavering.

“I don’t see why you bothered coming all this way to tell me this,” Warren said bluntly.

Sid shook off his hesitation and refocused. “Right, well, here’s the crux. Not only is this world drawing energy from the other side, but it also requires significant energy to sustain the sprites’ corporeal form. They’re naturally drawn to points of electromagnetic resonance, emerging and performing their programmed functions.”

Warren wanted to challenge Sid on who exactly programmed these sprites but feared the answer might be worse than he anticipated.

Sid pressed on. “Initially, the sprites targeted us for our souls, our spiritual energy, to sustain their realm.”

“But we’re almost a depleted resource,” Warren interjected. “Only about ten percent of the population remains from a decade ago.”

“Precisely!” Sid said with a troubling eagerness. His enthusiasm for humanity’s end was unsettling, but Warren resisted the urge to strike him again.

“So now, the sprites are searching for alternative energy sources,” Sid continued. “And there’s an old source of power right beneath our noses.”

Warren remained silent, unwilling to give Sid the satisfaction of an immediate reaction. His mind raced with the implications of what lay ahead, the flicker of hope and dread intertwined in the darkness.

“Leylines,” Sid began, his voice taking on the tone of a scholar unveiling a grand revelation. “Ancient veins of mineral deposits that channel the Earth’s electromagnetic resonance across the globe. On their own, a single leyline doesn’t amount to much, but when several of these pathways converge, the energy reserves can be substantial.”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess: Canterbury Cathedral is a point of convergence?”

“Possibly,” Sid replied, his tone thoughtful. “Or at least a minor node. The Healing Garden sits atop what used to be the monastic herbarium. Maybe the power was channeled through the plant roots somehow?”

“That’s a bit vague, Sid.”

“Truth be told, it’s just a working theory of mine.”

“And you want to test it?”

Sid nodded with grim determination.

“There are maps on the internet that—”

“—the internet is still a thing?” Warren cut in, his surprise evident.

“Sort of, but that’s a different story,” Sid said, brushing off the interruption. “There are old maps online indicating where these leylines cross. One significant and accessible location is the old BT Telecommunications Tower in London.”

Warren’s laughter was harsh, cutting through the dimly lit room. “You must be out of your mind if you think I’m going to trek sixty miles into the heart of London’s hellhole just to test out your pet theory.”

Sid’s gaze hardened, unperturbed by the dismissal. “You’re right, I am insane. But right now, I’m the only one doing more than burning pig fat for light.”

He cast a disdainful glance at the tallow candles flickering in the chapter house.

“We’re losing, Warren. We’ve been losing for a decade. I hoped my discoveries would help us push back the darkness, but so far, they’ve only slowed our inevitable defeat.”

Sid’s gaze fell to his MetaTEC, where the global population counter ticked down slowly, the numbers dwindling with each passing second.

“Here’s the deal,” Sid said, lifting his eyes to meet Warren’s with a steely resolve. “Come with me to London, and I’ll leave forty of my guards here. We’ll take these ten with us. All of them are seasoned warriors and runesmiths—valuable assets to the council. I also know of three magi in London whose settlements lie directly on our route. I won’t mention our quest to them; you’re free to invite them to Canterbury if you wish. What do you say?”

Warren took a long, contemplative pause, weighing Sid’s proposal. The audacity of the plan was as staggering as it was reckless. His hand absently brushed against the pack at his belt, where he carried his mentor's memento—a constant reminder of the wisdom and guidance she once provided. He could almost hear her voice, firm and resolute, echoing in his mind, urging him to act despite the risks.

After a moment’s silent communion with that inner counsel, Warren nodded, his decision settling like a leaden weight in his chest.

“It’s going to be a hard sell to the council,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of reluctant acceptance. “But I’ll see what I can do.”