The setting evening sun let me easily find the west, and by taking into account our northern hemisphere position, I habitually noted that we were now moving down the northern slope of the hill.

I had not expected to see a railway next to the historic castle, passing right under the cliff. Matthew was unusually silent and kept anxiously looking around, occasionally sneaking a glimpse at the military personnel and tech patrolling the streets.

Under the watchful eye of the soldiers, we crossed a bridge over the tracks.

Remembering some markings on the maps I had seen, I tried to confirm: “Tourist spot?”

“Sort of, with businesses and shopping, Sir. But Princess Street, you can see it ahead, is usually more crowded. I suspect, the night’s events are the cause of what is going on now.” - Matthew carefully explained.

I hummed in response: “Hmm, well, I suppose with recent storms and earthquakes, combined with shocking news and army on the streets, it makes sense to stay away.”

“Sir, that’s so.”

---

We took another turn that led us past the sign that stated ‘Welcome to Princess Street Gardens’. That was a public park. One that apparently had a railway running through it. I reminisced about the High Line in Manhattan and Promenade plantée in Paris that I had visited years ago - those were obsolete elevated railway lines turned into parks. Here was a park with a fully functional railway running through it. British conservatism or practical approach? It was difficult for me to understand.

Nevertheless, it was surprising that the park remained open in present situation. But it might have been a trick to reduce the panic among the locals - something along the lines of ‘public facilities open as normal, nothing to worry about’.

The dubious calming effect of February’s wilted greenery was disrupted further by increased presence of the police forces, especially police support and firearms units. I had visited United Kingdom several times before, but I had never seen so many guns and riot gears equipped by the local police. Even during major football events, and that said a lot about the severity of the current situation.

At least, the officers looked bored and nothing seemed to happen. No riots or lootings. Yet, I allowed a glass-half-empty thought.

While I followed Matthew through the park, I had the leisure to think about many things.

My awareness, possibly with soul and spirit, was stolen around six months ago in Earth’s time frame. Approximately at the same time, the global weather turned unpredictable, rapidly worsening until most air and sea traffic became impossible. Four or so months ago, the space including the Earth’s surface, showed first signs of expanding. Then. around three months ago, in December, Eala’s group had disappeared in the other world. She had remained trapped for ‘six hundred summers’ in the time scale of the battlemage’s world. Unless the flow of time was distorted - accelerated or slowed down - due to the approaching destruction of that world, then it meant that I had spent around dozen centuries in the pyramid.

Compared to such a massive time frame, the recent events were happening way too quickly.

I returned on Earth on Sunday and first, there was GameCon and the first meeting with rabbi Aitan Es. On Monday, in search for extra funds, I found Bob’s gang, and that led to the unfortunate ending with callgirl Nicole and the redcap attack.

The next day, having learned about the upcoming black market from a captive redcap and hoping to use it to find Eala, I made contact with Aitan via synagogue. After reaching the agreement with the Government, we left London on Thursday evening.

The Bull’s Blood’s market started on Friday evening, with battle breaking out a while after midnight. This way, all the fighting, Taurus summoning, meeting up with Death in person and becoming a Mentor of the Akadem actually happened on Saturday, today.

All that, within less than a week since my return. Talk about being busy. I did have an unfair advantage compared to other people - I could always remain active and did not waste time on sleeping.

---

Now, the thick clouds were gone, and the darkening evening sky was oddly clear. But I was sure that things were far from over, and the calm was only temporary.

I kept considering the future actions I could take, and soon we reached the deeper part of the Princess Street Gardens. For some reason, we had to cross the railway again. After passing a small foot bridge, we ended up on a small intersection just beneath the castle high above us.

There, Matthew stopped.

“Yes?” - I became vigilant of our surroundings. But there was nothing except for some asphalt, trees, some grass and utterly unresponsive grey rock cliff further ahead.

For a while, Matthew was simply fumbling through his pockets. He also kept swiveling around, his eyes narrow while he was searching for something.

“Aha! Here it is, sir.” - he pulled out a small iron key from his pocket. The key looked rough and uneven, dull with age, but not even a speck of rust could be seen on it.

I accepted the key and held it in my hand. It felt heavier than expected, as if its material was far denser than actual iron. I sincerely hoped that it was not uranium or something. Was not lead the heaviest stable element in the periodic table? I squinted at the key in my palm, trying to see if it showed any signs of radiation. Nope, at least nothing I could sense.

“And?” - I was unsure about what had to be done next.

Matthew went over to a street light on the cliff side of the road. He poked it with his finger, before nodding.

He turned towards me: “Sir, according to what Mentor said, the key in your hand should match the keyhole here. That would also make it recognize you as the owner until you relinquish it or…” - he cut off the end of the sentence.

I wanted to be sure, so I pressed on: “Or…? Mr. Marsh?”

His voice got barely discernible as he squeezed it out: “Or die...Sir.”. Having said that, he drew his head down between his shoulders, as if being worried about my reaction.

“Mm.” - I could not come up with anything else, as I was still thinking about what I was supposed to do.

I rapidly reviewed everything I knew about the magical locks and keys, and soon decided that most likely it was the same arrangement as in Akadem.

Controlling my body language to maintain unperturbed look, I also approached the lamppost and smoothly touched it with the key in my hand.

---

The modern-looking steel pole shimmered, and as if a thin veil was drawn aside, it became a thick bronze pillar. The change was subtle, and I could only sense how the surface of the pillar became fuzzy and difficult to perceive before it had already finished changing.

In a darker, nerdy corner of my mind, I began to gleefully analyze the process and reference it with the previously acquired knowledge. On the surface, however, I was observing the endless, geometric dots and twirls on the pillar. Somehow, they were similar to the optical illusion images that seemed to move when looked at from a specific angle or distance.

The key in my hand was still touching the pillar. When it gradually became soft and began to crumple, I inwardly panicked, worried about ruining the key.

Next to me, the already calm Matthew suggested: “Sir, that bulky key shape is inconvenient for you?”

Inwardly thankful for the hint, I also experienced a feeling similar to the connection I had with my weapon and armor. Without pushing in my own energy to avoid turning it into something weird, I used that connection to manipulate it. Out of habit, I began to carefully shape it into the form of a small dagger.

But it was slow process because it was not too responsive, and felt more like using an unfamiliar remote control or really thick pair of gloves. To make it worse, as seconds passed, I felt its hardness increasing again. Silently cursing the bad timing and missing instructions manual, I hurried to finish it. By the time its shape was set, I had a somewhat plain and dull, but acceptable letter opener.

Feeling slightly disgruntled, I tapped the key-dagger again against the pillar. Now the changes were more impressive, and starting from the pillar the surroundings were drawn open like drapes.

I perceived how the subatomic particles around me swirled following the distortion of magnetic and other fields. Next moment it turned out that instead of standing just a few steps from the cliff, we were now standing in front of a wide, overgrown clearing. A wide path, paved with irregular slabs of stone, fought through the hundred or so meters of wild vegetation and led right towards an impressive frontage.

---

Impressive in the sense that it was cut into the steep rock face. The visible entrance was a wide arch, the sides hewn and carved into a semblance of trees. If that is Moria, I hope Gandalf has cleared out the Balrog already - I could not avoid the thought.

The doors had a size of a modest castle gate, the dark boards continuing with the plant motifs. And just like most doors I had recently seen, these were obviously thick and heavy, siege-grade stuff. I felt that I was getting familiar with some of the local traditions.

I looked at the rock that was now unrecognizable. Not only had the surroundings changed, but also the railway had shifted its position. How that worked with the laws of physics? I had no idea.

I looked at Matthew, who had his eyes wide open, and asked: “Whinstone Manor, I suppose?”. Not that there were many alternatives.

“Yes.” - he kept nodding continuously, while duly reciting what he knew: “Whinstone Manor gets its name from the dolerite that forms the Castle Rock above us. That’s what remains of the lava neck of an extinct volcano. Because of its origin, it differs from surrounding sedimentary bedrock, and also has a direct connection to nearby Arthur’s Seat. Of course, not Mentor’s, and I’m not exactly sure about the origin of the name. Not THAT one’s either, by the way.”

He stopped and thought for a second: “Sorry, Sir, I digress. Well, through the geomantic linkage, Whinstone Manor must’ve an access to the power ley lines that meet to form a triangle at Arthur’s Seat. What’s better, the distance and indirect connection filters out the overly violent and concentrated force that makes the end of the triangle unstable and potentially hazardous.”

I was impressed, so I enquired: “Not bad, Marsh. Did you know about that place before?”

“No, Sir. But since it’s inside the Castle Rock, and I’ve looked into its political and magical influence before. You know, Sir, that being a famous landmark and all. Mentor said the Manor is here, but I didn’t think it’s right, sort of, right in HERE.” - his voice shook as he stressed the last bit. Well, I kind of understood how he was feeling.

I shrugged, forcefully suppressing the emotions I had tried so hard to reawaken before. I had to remain rational to make the appropriate judgements, and I was not yet ready to open myself fully to Matthew and his mentor Arthur.

“Let’s go, then.” - I stepped forward.

“Uh, yes, Sir.” - Matthew carefully followed after me. Apparently, not only I was worried about unknown surprises in a wild, magically hidden front yard.

---

As we approached the entrance, the messy, old trees that had blocked our view were finally left behind. Here, under the dark cliff, in an forsaken wild garden, the evening seemed to be especially gloomy and isolated..

I liked it.

Standing right under the cliff, I saw multiple narrow openings within the rock above us. Those were either windows or ventilation shafts, but there was no sign of glass panels. I started to suspect that I had a piece of unwanted, cumbersome property dumped on me.

Getting used to the procedure, I rapped the key-dagger against the door. Some grinding sounds came from behind the door, then stopped. For a while, nothing happened, so I pushed it and it slowly swung open.

Before us was a wide hall, that looked different from the caves of the Akadem. The Akadem had its corridors and halls excavated in an organized, symmetrical manner, with all details finished according to predetermined plans.

The Whinstone Manor, however, followed more ‘natural’ design. The walls had deep alcoves cut into them, and the ceiling looked rough with large, luminous crystals embedded into the rock. At least the floor was perfectly evened out and covered in expensive-looking, but positively ancient carpets. Within the alcoves were low seats, carefully carved from stone and padded with dusty pillows. And of course, everything was covered by a thick layer of dust that billowed up from beneath our feet.

I imagined the effort required to clean everything up, and wished I could use a Kärcher here. But I could see no power sockets here. That made me doubt the presence of phone and internet lines or running water too.

“Oh, Sir.” - Matthew gulped from behind me: “That seems to date all the way back to Bronze Age.”

“Why?” - I asked in a neutral voice, while thinking if I should crush the entrance of the Akadem.

“I’ve read that Celtic druids had a power spot somewhere here, but I’d always assumed that to on top of some nearby hills. The old texts made little sense, there they used words that could mean caves, in a really euphemistic way, of course. And from the descriptions, it had originated from even earlier times, that would make it Bronze, or even Stone age relic, before Celts and their practices. No wonder magic is so thick here.” - he explained.

I felt no magic and only saw a dusty cave with fancy glowing crystals illuminating it like a high-tech diode setup. It also had a slightly more intense background radiation, but that made sense, as we were inside igneous rock. Back in the pyramid in my early exploration days I was already familiar with such phenomenon.

Well, Matthew’s reaction let me know that the place had actual value. For magic-users, at least. It was not exactly their fault that they did not know about my zero magic perception.

The first hall had a passage that led forward and that is where I went.

The next room was even more spacious that the first one and still had a path leading deeper. I looked at Matthew.

“Well, Sir, this place is big.” - he said. A very useful observation indeed.