Chapter 7 | Part 3

Drusniel woke to grey light filtering through shuttered windows.

For a moment, he didn’t remember. The bed was soft. The air smelled of old books and dust. He could almost believe he was back in his family compound, that the night before had been a nightmare, that his mother would call him down to breakfast any moment.

Then memory returned, and the hollow weight settled back into his chest.

He rose. Dressed in clothes Zaelar had laid out—surface garb, lighter than drow leather, better suited for travel. His old clothes were ruined beyond salvage. Blood and smoke and the ash of everything he’d lost.

Downstairs, Zaelar waited with the artifact.

“Did you sleep?”

“Some.” Drusniel approached the table where Zaelar had arranged his tools. Maps, provisions, a small pack. And at the center, the metal plate he’d glimpsed the night before.

It was smaller than he’d expected. Roughly the size of his palm, geometric, covered in symbols that seemed to shift when he looked at them directly. The metal was dark—not iron, not steel, something older. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

“What is it?” Drusniel asked.

“A tool.” Zaelar picked up the plate, handling it with careful reverence. “Very old. Very rare. It removes your magical presence—makes you invisible to the defenses that guard the barrier.”

“Removes my presence?”

“Not your magic itself. Your signature. The way the world knows you’re there.” Zaelar turned the plate over, revealing more symbols on the reverse. “The barrier between realms is protected by magical detection. Ancient wards that sense anything with power trying to cross. This”—he tapped the plate—“suppresses your signature. Masks it. The wards can’t find what they can’t sense. You slip through like a shadow.”

Drusniel reached for it. The metal was warm against his fingers. Almost alive.

“Press here,” Zaelar instructed, guiding his thumb to a specific symbol. “And focus. Like you do when gathering air for a spell.”

Drusniel pressed. Focused.

The world went silent.

Not silent—that wasn’t right. The world was still there. The sounds were still there. But something had changed. Something fundamental. He felt…

Nothing.

A hole where his presence should be. A void in the shape of himself. The sensation was—

Familiar.

His body remembered before his mind caught up. The trial chamber. The moment when his magic had failed. The void that had swallowed his power and left him empty.

This felt uncomfortably similar. His body reacted before he understood why—a flinch, a tightening in his chest.

“Drusniel?”

He blinked. Released the symbol. The sensation faded, and he was himself again—present, real, occupying space in the world.

“It worked,” Zaelar said. “I couldn’t sense you at all. Your presence just… vanished.”

Drusniel stared at the plate in his hands. That familiarity—that echo of the trial—

But the thought slipped away before he could grasp it. There were more important things to focus on. The crossing. Szoravel. Revenge.

“How long can I use it?” he asked.

“Don’t use it continuously.” Zaelar’s voice carried a warning edge. “The cost builds. Brief activation for the barrier crossing—that’s safe. Extended use…” He shook his head. “Trust me. You don’t want to learn what happens.”

“What does happen?”

“Nothing you need to worry about if you follow instructions.” Zaelar took the plate back, slipping it into a protective pouch. “Activate it before you reach the barrier. Slip through while the defenses can’t see you. Then deactivate immediately. Your natural magic handles the rest.”

“The Nightmare Sea.”

“Your water affinity will let you sense the currents, the depth, the pressure. Your air magic—use it to stay afloat, to breathe when the air goes wrong. That’s why you’re suited for this crossing. That’s why Szoravel agreed to take you as a student.” Zaelar handed him the pouch. “He’s expecting you. Show him what you’re capable of.”

Drusniel tucked the artifact into his pack. His fingers brushed the Vrinn dagger still at his belt—the evidence from the massacre. Too clean. Too convenient.

He didn’t think about that either.

“How do I find him? Szoravel?”

“He’ll find you. The artifact will signal your arrival. Just survive the crossing and wait. He has ways of knowing when someone with potential enters his territory.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Nothing about Wyrmreach is easy.” Zaelar met his eyes. “But you’re not looking for easy. You’re looking for power. Power costs. The question is whether you’re willing to pay.”

Drusniel thought of his mother at the base of the stairs. His father falling under three blades. Meren’s dying words.

“I’m willing.”

“Good.” Zaelar clasped his shoulder—the gesture almost fatherly, perfectly calibrated to reach a young man who had just lost everything. “Then let’s begin. The crossing point is half a day’s travel. I’ll take you as far as the edge.”

Drusniel shouldered his pack. The artifact pulsed against his side, warm and strange and somehow familiar.

He didn’t look back at the tower. Didn’t think about what he was leaving behind.

There was nothing left to leave.

End of Chapter 7.3 —> 7.4: The Package: The Crossing