“How long has it been?” Damien asked, an indeterminate amount of time later.

“Two weeks.”

“It doesn’t feel like two weeks.”

“Time does not flow in the Void as it does in the Planes. Or, more accurately, your mind is simply incapable of comprehending it.”

“What about Moon?” Damien asked. “He somehow survived more than one Cycle, so he must have been outside of the Mortal Plane, right?”

“Moon was not merely a mortal. He was more, and I do not know where he was. He would have been destroyed if we did. The Void is endless, so it is possible he hid within it.”

The snowy mountain that Moon had met Damien on drifted through his memories. What he would have done to find the strange man now. If anyone knew how to escape the Void, it was probably him.

There was a sharp tug at Damien’s chest. The breath caught in his throat and a violent gale howled past him. Something cold trickled into his shoes and he glanced down to see a field of white beneath him.

He stood atop a snowy mountain. Clouds drifted far below him and he shivered, his breath coming out in white clouds.

“Eight Planes,” Damien breathed, teeth chattering. “Well, that solves one thing.”

“So it does. So this is where he took you when he blocked me and Henry out,” Herald said, materializing beside him. “You will freeze to death here. Is this where you wish to die?”

“Is that concern I hear in your voice?” Damien asked, forcing humor through his rapidly chilling lips. He squinted down the mountain, trying to see if there was anything beyond the snow to be found.

“No. Simply a statement of the inevitable.”

A dark speck caught Damien’s eye. It was halfway down the mountain, along what was nearly a sheer cliff. Herald followed his gaze but said nothing. Damien set off toward it carefully, choosing each step meticulously.

Snow shifted precariously beneath his feet, threatening to give out and send him tumbling down the mountain. He lost count of the times that he fell, managing to catch himself on protruding rocks just moments before he went over an edge.

Slowly but surely, Damien continued toward the dot. It grew in size, soon becoming a stone outcropping positioned over a small plateau.

“So much for nothing being here,” Damien said.

Herald neglected to respond once more. He dropped the final few feet to the plateau, nearly slipping at the edge before he caught his balance. The outcropping ran into the mountain, turning into a tunnel. Faint orange light glowed from its depths.

“Would you look at that,” Damien said, sending a smug glance at Herald.

“This should not be here,” Herald said.

It was Damien’s turn to ignore his companion. He scurried into the tunnel, trying to temper his expectations. He didn’t know how long it had a been since he’d arrived at the mountain, but if this proved fruitless, he wasn’t sure how much more he had left in him.

The tunnel curved, depositing him before a circular room. It was a little larger than his room at Blackmist, with a single bed at the side. Across from it was a basin and a pedestal, both made of black stone.

Across from the entrance was a thick metal door that had been completely covered in runes. The only empty spot on it was a small, hand sized circle at its center.

Damien approached the pedestal. An old, weathered ring rested atop it. The basin beside it was full of dark, murky water.

“What is this?” Damien wondered, glancing back at Herald.

Herald peered down at the basin, its starry face twisting in surprise. “A viewing pool. Not the one we use, but of the same make.”

They both looked at the ring resting on the pedestal. Damien picked it up carefully, examining it. Whatever the ring had once been, it was so worn down now that it was little more than a metal band. He chewed his lip, then glanced down at his own hand. He worked the ring off his finger and set it on the pedestal.

The basin rippled, the dark water taking on color as a scene painted itself in perfect detail. Sylph sat in their training room, Henry floating beside her. Books were strewn across the floor around them and she was pouring through them.

“Sylph!” Damien exclaimed, almost reaching for her before he stopped himself, worried he’d break the magical item. They didn’t respond.

“It is one way,” Herald said. “They cannot hear you.”

Damien stared at Sylph and Henry, trying to memorize the sight of them. “Will this ever run out of magic?”

“No. It is Void magic,” Herald replied.

He took the ring back and the image vanished. Damien tested the basin once more before returning the ring to his finger. He didn’t want to risk somehow losing it to something when he wasn’t watching.

He examined the door and put his hand against it, but nothing happened. He didn’t recognize the runes on it either. The rest of the room didn’t provide much of interest.

“There’s got to be more,” Damien muttered.

“It is likely behind the door,” Herald said. “The runes are a magical lock tuned to Moon. Only he can open it. I could do it as well, with sufficient time. Some of those runes re set to deliver a magical charge to whatever is behind the door, destroying it if the door is damaged. I cannot brute force it.

Damien ran his hand along the door, tracing the runes with his fingers. He glanced back at the stone basin, then shook his bed.

“This can’t be it. He wouldn’t have left all of this here for no reason, right? It doesn’t look like anyone has been here in a long time.”

“According to your memories and what I saw of the fight with the Corruption, Moon is likely to be dead,” Herald said. “He was more than mortal, but not enough. You are seeking solace where there is nothing to be found. There is no gain from the suffering that you are putting yourself through.”

“I’ll be the one to decide that,” Damien said, striding over to the bed and pulling back the covers. He peeked under the pillow and shuffled around the sheets.

“Moon was an interesting creature, but he was not dumb enough to hide the key to something as clearly important as this room in his bed,” Herald said, cocking it’s her of the side. “Do not ruin the information stored within this room. It would be a waste.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” Damien replied, squatting to look under the bed. He reached underneath it and felt around on the ground. His fingers met a smooth, cold piece of metal. A grin stretched across Damien’s face and he pulled his prize out.

It was a small, metal disk covered in runes smeared with a brownish red substance that could have only been blood. Damien sent a pointed glance at Herald. “Waste, huh?”

“He was a bigger fool than I suspected.”

Damien ignored Herald and walked up to the door, placing the rune circle against it. A second passed. His smile wavered and he pulled away. As the circle broke contact with the door, the runes covering it lit with faint purple light.

A hiss of air escaped from behind the large door and it swung inward, revealing a small room. Disappointment struck Damien like a hammer. Aside from a single desk bearing a thin metal spike and a large, sealed pot, the room was empty.

“What is this?” Damien asked, walking over and picking the spike up. It was vaguely shaped like a thorn, with an incredibly sharp tip and knobby end.

“It appears to be made of the body of a Corrupted monster,” Herald observed. “Beyond that, it does not seem to have any magic. The pot also appears to lack magical properties.”

“Why would be leave something like this behind a sealed door?” Damien asked, turning the thorn over in his hand and doing another glance around the room. There was nothing else. He popped the top of the pot open, revealing a thick black liquid. “And why is this?”

“Distilled blood from a Corrupted monster,” Herald said. “Poisonous to mortal bodies.”

Damien resealed the pot and set it back on the table beside the thorn.

“You didn’t answer why he kept this sealed.”

“I don’t know. I study mortal magic. Your quirks are of no consequence to me if they do not directly aide my studies.”

With a final look at the table, Damien headed back into the main room. He took the ring off his finger and set it down on the pedestal, bringing forth the image of Sylph once more.

She was in the arena, sparring against Delph. The two danced across the sand with incredible speed, Sylph’s scythes clashing against the professor’s cloak. In the corner, Whisp watched them, a dangerous expression on her face.

A flash of silver at Sylph’s arm caught his eye. His eyes narrowed. She was wearing runed cuffs of some sort, but she was moving so fast that it was difficult to make out exactly what they were.

“Help me out here,” Damien said, nodding at the image. “I need to figure out what those runes do.”

“They will not help you.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

Herald stared at Damien for a second, then approached the pool. It raised a finger, tracing runes in the air. They remained there, glimmering with faint starlight. As it drew, Damien’s chest tightened. He recognized a fair number of them from parts of a summoning circle, and the rest weren’t hard to extrapolate.

“Magic seals. They must be deactivated since she’s fighting Delph, but why?”

“It is likely that the mortals discovered her association with the Corruption or Henry,” Herald replied. “From my understanding of mortals, they are likely to terminate the threat.”

“No. They can’t,” Damien said, his hands tightening around the basin until it cut into his palms. “Delph wouldn’t let them.”

“I do not know or care about what they will do. It no longer affects you,” Herald said flatly. “The Corruption will do irreparable damage to all of the Planes. She will just be one of the many souls to suffer the consequences of your inaction. The best thing you can do for her is to die so that I may aide in the fight - unless you plan to release me from our contract.”

“Shut up,” Damien said, staring down into the basin. His blood trickled down the sides of the bowl and mixed with the water. The image of Sylph flickered and faded away, turning to a black slate. He yanked his hands back and cursed.

He picked the ring off the pedestal and slipped it back onto his finger. “Why does it show me Sylph? How are these controlled?”

“The viewing well that I have used follows our will, but it functions with Void magic. This one uses some sort of focal crutch,” Herald replied. “The ring is tied to her.”

Damien blinked. He extended a tendril of mental energy to the ring, gently brushing against it. A tiny mote of Dark Ether responded to his touch, stored within the center of the ring. It was so small that he could barely feel it, but it was still there.

“I’ve got Ether,” Damien breathed. He thrust his hand toward Herald. “Can’t you use this?”

“There is not enough Ether there to do anything other than temporarily amuse yourself,” Herald said, shaking its head. “I could not even begin to work with that.”

Damien’s face fell. He studied his hands, somewhat relieved by the stinging pain that came from the cuts along his palms. It almost helped take his mind off the situation. Almost.

“Can you give me some time alone?” Damien asked.

“That will change nothing.”

“Just… do it. Please.”

Herald silently walked out of the cave and vanished into the snow. Damien clenched his hands and turned back to the basin, leaning on it and staring down into the murky water. He set Sylph’s ring back on the pedestal, but nothing happened. There was too much blood in the water now.

“Damn it all. Did I break the stupid thing?” Damien asked, resisting the urge to slam his fists down onto the magical scrying bowl. Frustration built up in his chest and his palms felt slick with blood.

He dipped them into the water, washing the blood off before drying his palms on his shirt. If he’d broken it, at least it would have some use. He turned to head over to the sealed room, but a flicker in the bowl caught his eye.

The water was growing darker. Damien stepped back over to it, hoping for another glance of Sylph. Instead, the water just kept growing blacker. Then, color started to spiral out from its center.

The image was muted and fuzzy, as if a distant memory. A man, wearing long, streaming robes, stood surrounded by an army of monsters and men. Jagged black tattoos covered the parts of his skin that were visible and magic roared at his fingertips, giving all those who stood against him pause.

A dream from long ago resurfaced in Damien’s mind. The image in the pool wasn’t the exact some as the one he’d had, but the runes…

Damien staggered back from the bowl and sprinted into the sealed room, desperation flooding his thoughts. But, deep within that desperation, there was something else. An idea, grounded in nothing but hope.

He slammed the huge door shut behind him. Runes flared along it, as if it had been waiting for this exact scenario. With a loud crack, the seams along the door sealed themselves shut. Four rune circles formed over the door, transposing themselves into it.

Damien grabbed the thorn and popped the top of the bottle off. The runes from the basin still floated in his head, as familiar as an old friend.

Something give him pause. Damien turned the thorn over, trying to scan for anything he had missed. There was nothing. Extending a thread of mental energy, he brushed the thorn. It felt… empty.

Damien’s gaze traveled to his ring. He swallowed, then coaxed the tiny spark of Ether out from within it. Instead of drawing it into his body, he sent it into the thorn. The Ether vanished within it and the tool grew slightly warmer in his hand.

Taking the thorn in his left hand, Damien dipped it into the pot of ink. Then he raised it over his palm and gritted his teeth. With a swift jab, he brought it down through his skin. Agony pierced through his body and he yanked the thorn out, staring at his work. A tiny dot of black color remained beneath his skin. He rubbed at it, but the dot didn’t budge.

Damien swallowed, then raised the thorn again. The image of the runes was still firm within his mind. Almost all of them were foreign to him, but they felt strangely familiar at the same time. He steadied his mind and then got back to work. He had a lot of runes to carve.