Chapter Eighty-Seven: Old Friends

  “I’ll assume you’ve all been waiting for shipments that never arrived,” Theon said, the room’s air thick with unspoken dread. He gestured to the pile of grimy parcels beside him. “Here’s your mail.”

  The assembled group exchanged uneasy glances. Brutus spoke first, his gravelly voice breaking the silence. “You don’t think…” he started, “…that we actually asked for these?”

  “No, Professor Ironclad, I do not,” the Archmage replied, his expression hardening. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sharing this with you now. But whoever sent these was either unaware or already under the influence when they did.”

  Brutus’ eyes narrowed, a crease of genuine worry forming between his brows. “But my parcel… it came from my brother and sister.”

  “A troubling possibility, no doubt.” The Archmage gave a solemn nod. “Still, we can’t rush to conclusions. There’s a lot we don’t know yet—how they came into possession of these items in the first place, how many of them are circulating, how long it takes for the curses to fully bind and the possession to occur. And then there’s the difference between how it affects Travelers versus Citizens.”

  Silence fell heavy, the uncertainty pressing on them like a storm cloud about to burst.

  Then Marcus spoke, surprising them all with a voice uncharacteristically fragile. “I… I might be able to help with that.”

  The others turned toward him, eyes wide. The Archmage, an unreadable expression settled on his ageless face, gave Marcus a slight nod. “Go on,” he prompted.

  Marcus swallowed. “I wore it… I wore one for weeks.” His voice wavered but gained strength as he continued. “It was mailed to my father… I didn’t realize what it was at first.”

  He recounted the nightmares—thick, endless nightmares that seeped into the waking world—and the growing impulse to do things he’d never imagined. He spoke of resisting, inch by inch, but feeling himself slip further away all the same.

  Theon shifted, leaning in. “When did it get worse?” he asked, his voice soft, almost coaxing. “The effects, Marcus. Was there a trigger?”

  Marcus took a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “It was slow at first. Subtle. It felt like my own thoughts, like a voice hiding behind mine. But things escalated after… after the logout problem. That’s when it became visceral, you know? I started hearing voices—ones that definitely weren’t my own. That’s what tipped me off.”

  The Archmage sighed. “As I feared,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on some distant horizon only he could see. “Along with losing the ability to respawn, we’ve lost access to something else... something dear. When a Traveler respawns in Terra Mythica, the connection to our original bodies mitigates much of the damage—a buffer of sorts, a stable reference point, keeping us… tethered.”

  His gaze shifted back, capturing the eyes of each person in the room. “But now? Now, I suspect we haven’t just been locked out. We might’ve been cut off from our earthly bodies altogether… if they even still live.”

  The words landed like a fist to the chest, taking the breath from the room. Jace felt the ground sway beneath him. His heart skipped, then picked up the beat, pounding in his ears.

  If they even still live.

  The notion rattled around in his head, each repetition feeling heavier. The world seemed to lurch, suddenly unsteady, and Jace clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay grounded.

  “Because of this,” the Archmage continued, “when we die, or when a foreign influence takes hold, it attacks us directly—as though we were mere Citizens.”

  A heavy pause followed, pressing down like an anvil. Jace shifted uncomfortably, watching the grim expressions reflected across the room.

  “You mentioned Gregor was one of the cursed,” the Archmage said, his gaze settling on Marcus. “He’s dead now. Has anyone seen or heard of him respawning?”

  They all exchanged glances, the silence hanging thick between them. Finally, Brutus shook his head, voice low. “I doubt we will. His soul has likely followed the same path as any Citizen’s—unable to withstand the pressure of the possession. Though…” He hesitated, casting a sideways look toward Jace, “…we won’t know for sure without going to the source.”

  The Archmage turned, his stare drilling into Jace, pointed and unyielding.

  “This is all absurd,” Professor Thorne interjected, voice dripping with disdain. “Travelers becoming Citizens? Students and faculty being possessed? Utter hogwash!”

  “Careful, Thorne,” Blackwood spoke up, his words laced with dark humor. “Keep talking like that, and you might reveal why you’re our first suspect.”

  Thorne blustered, his face flushing an angry red as he stood. “I—why, I never—“

  “Sit down, Dranice,” the Archmage said with a tired sigh. “And Orion, enough with the jabs. I’ve known Dranice since he was a boy, and I assure you, he is acting precisely like himself.” He shot a warning glance at Blackwood, who merely shrugged, a smirk lingering on his lips.

  With a disgruntled huff, Thorne sank back into his seat, muttering under his breath.

  “Now,” the Archmage continued, his tone commanding attention, “we need to study these artifacts. Find some way to verify our suspicions.”

  “I’ve got just the thing,” Brutus said, a gleam in his eye. He reached out, his hand brushing through the air before him in a way that suggested… well, something.

  Jace raised an eyebrow. Does Brutus have an inventory space?

  “Aha, there it is!” Brutus declared, triumphantly pulling a lantern seemingly from thin air—its silvery surface catching the dim light of the room.

  He set it carefully on the table, everyone watching in tense silence. He pointed it towards the brass pocket watch—the very one meant for the Archmage—and flicked a small lever on its side. The front of the lantern opened, a circular iris widening until a dim glow began to pulse from within.

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  Then, in a flash, a beam of light shot out, striking the watch. A terrible, shrill sound pierced the air—a screech, a howl, something that wasn’t just mechanical. It was a scream.

  “Turn it off,” the Archmage barked, a note of urgency breaking through his usual composure.

  Brutus reached out, but the moment his fingers touched the lantern, they recoiled, as if burned.

  The scream grew louder, reverberating off the stone walls. It felt like it was slicing through them, a force neither of this world nor the next. Jace clamped his hands over his ears, the shrill sound slicing through the air like a shard of glass. The pitch climbed higher, relentless, burrowing into his skull. He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as if he could will the noise away. The world seemed to fold in on itself, the sound pulling everything taut, a tension that hummed through his bones.

  “Brutus!” the Archmage shouted, his voice almost drowned out by the unearthly wail.

  The High Council had their shards out in a heartbeat, ready to blast that device into oblivion. And then the world...paused. The walls took a breath, bowing in, then exhaling like a sigh from some ancient, annoyed deity.

  No one moved.

  Except Jace. He blinked, looking around, the universe frozen, everyone else caught mid-action. Was it happening again?

  And then he saw him. A young man, lounging in the corner like he was waiting for a train, feet propped up on the table, casually observing.

  ***

  “Jack,” Jace said, his voice low.

  Jack gave a lazy wave. “What’s up, kid? Said I’d keep an eye on you? And here we are—are you seriously trying to rip open my universe again?” The boyish grin was there, but the face was older, maybe twenty-something now, like he’d skipped a few years for fun.

  Jace sighed. “I’m just trying to survive it.”

  Jack nodded, slowly. He looked older still, hair sprouting from his chin and turning into a ridiculous beard that dragged along the floor as he stood. “Ah, survival,” he said, voice deepening. “Such an interesting goal. Ever think about trying to really live, instead?” He gave Jace a thoughtful look, and then—blink—the beard vanished, Jack was young again, all roguish charm.

  He strolled around the room, inspecting the scene, leaning in close to the lantern, squinting like he might uncover some secret written on the light.

  “Are you here to help?” Jace asked, weary.

  “Oh, worlds no,” Jack said, chuckling. “Helping would be... disastrous. I’m just the trees, my boy, waving in the wind. Never the wind itself.”

  Jace frowned. “So who’s the wind, then?”

  Jack tilted his head, eyes glinting mischievously. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? It’s you, Jace. All of you—Citizens, Travelers, whatever you want to call yourselves. You’re the wind. I’m just... here. Watching it blow.”

  Jack paused, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you ready to ask the question yet?”

  Jace furrowed his brow. “What question?”

  Jack grinned. “The one Persephone already answered. The one you’re too scared to ask.”

  Jace felt a flush rise in his face. The old anger surged. Enough of this cryptic nonsense. He had been through hell and back, and what he needed now were answers.

  “Are you blocking the logout?” he snapped.

  Jack laughed, an amused glint in his eye. “Oh no, no. Wrong question, Jace. Which is sad,” he took on a mock frown. “The answer is something you could desperately use for what lies ahead.”

  Jace’s patience snapped. “I’ve had enough of this!”

  Jack didn’t flinch, just smiled in that infuriating, knowing way. “Oh, we’re not even close to enough. This is only your beginning, Child of the Grey.”

  Jace’s lips tightened. “What does that even…”

  Jack held up a hand, cutting him off. “Wait. Do you hear that?”

  “What?” Jace started to ask, but Jack was already gone, just a wink left hanging in the air.

  The world jerked back into motion. The ear-splitting shriek of the pocket watch returned, tearing through the silence like a blade.

  ***

  And then, without warning, there was yet another interruption. A blinding light filled the room. The shriek of the watch cut off abruptly, silenced as the Device melted into molten slag beneath a jagged beam of lightning that seemed to crackle from every direction at once.

  The light blared from the doorway where Jack and the group had first entered. The door flung open, revealing three immense figures—larger-than-life, statuesque, and brimming with power.

  Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades stood shoulder to shoulder, a triumvirate of gods in their full glory. Zeus, at the center, was broad-shouldered and imperious, his hair and beard a tempest of swirling white, his eyes like flashes of a storm that hadn’t decided yet whether it wanted to rain or rage. He radiated authority, a presence that commanded the very air to behave.

  Poseidon, beside him, looked as if he had stepped from the depths of the ocean. His robes moved as though stirred by underwater currents, his hair a frothing tide of blue-green, salt-crusted. His eyes were cold, vast as the ocean depths, and held secrets older than memory.

  And Hades, larger and more imposing than Jace remembered, wore darkness like a shroud. His form seemed less physical, more of a silhouette edged in smoke and shadow, and his eyes—deep and thoughtful—carried an ember glow, like the last light of a dying fire.

  Everyone in the room dropped to their knees at the sight of them. Everyone except Jace. Zeus’s gaze swept over the crowd, pausing on Jace, eyes narrowing in a look that felt like he was scrutinizing a fly that had dared to land on the face of his domain.

  Before Jace could decide how to respond, Alice yanked him down beside her. He landed with an awkward yelp, his knees smacking the floor.

  Hades caught Jace’s eye, and a glimmer of amusement passed through his expression—something fleeting, there and gone like a shadow.

  Zeus spoke, and his voice was the crack of thunder on the horizon, the rumble that warned of the storm to come. “Children, Travelers, Citizens, I thank you for securing these devices. They are more dangerous than you know, far beyond your ability to destroy without unmaking this very realm.”

  His words held weight, like each syllable was forged from iron and had to be borne with effort by everyone listening. The echoes seemed to linger, resonating in their bones.

  “We shall take them now, for they do not belong to this plane,” Zeus continued, each word final, without question or pause. “They are not of this realm, and they shall be returned from whence they came. If any others are found—use this.”

  He dropped a golden coin onto the table before him. It landed without a bounce or a roll, just a solid, heavy thud as if the earth itself had accepted the burden.

  “Do not presume you can handle these alone. Call upon us,” Zeus added, his eyes lingering on the gathered crowd as if daring someone to argue.

  Poseidon stepped forward, his trident held loosely at his side, its edges glistening like sunlight on waves. He gave a curt nod before they turned to leave.

  Hades hesitated, hanging back for a moment, his gaze catching Jace’s. It wasn’t a glare, nor the cold regard of Zeus. There was something else, something that spoke of shared history, and of secrets half-spoken.

  Jace seized the moment, scrambling to his feet. “Hades,” he said, “we still need to know—how do we find out who possesses these devices?”

  Hades smiled, but it was the kind of smile that offered no comfort. “You already have access to the knowledge you need,” he said, his voice like distant embers crackling, “though perhaps for fewer hours each day than you’d prefer. Seek the knowledge that resides within.”

  Hades made to leave, but Jace wasn’t done. “One more thing,” he called out, the audacity of it turning heads and making jaws drop. “Did Gregor come through?”

  Hades paused. The air grew still, and a hush fell over the room as the god considered. “As you are my Chosen, I will say this much—his soul has found its rightful place, though not in the way he once was.”

  He moved as if to go but paused again, turning slightly. He tossed a coin to Jace—a dark one, black as obsidian and as heavy in his hand as the night itself. “If you find more,” Hades spoke, the words flowing into Jace’s mind without sound, just a presence, an echo of thought, before he vanished, dissolving into the light.

  And then the gods were gone, as quickly as they had come. The light faded, leaving the room dim and stunned.

  The professors exchanged glances, muttering to one another, debating quietly what Hades might have meant by “having access to the knowledge.” Jace and his friends did their best to look as baffled as everyone else, though the quick glances they shared spoke otherwise.

  It wasn’t long before the High Council dismissed them with stern warnings, ordering them not to pursue this matter further, to leave it to those “better equipped.” Everyone nodded, giving their solemn agreement, though some agreements were less honest than others—particularly on the subject of not looking for trouble.