Episode 3 Part 3 Sneak Peek #17

Like the last one, today's sneak peek contains spoilers! I decided to show a low approval Aeran section instead this time.

When you emerge onto the final floor, to your surprise you find it painfully bright. You raise a hand and shield your eyes, squinting against the glare. A row of arched, stained-glass windows line the gallery, light seeping through the cracks in blackened glass. It’s virulent and orange, a reminder of the apocalyptic storm that waits outside—and that your safety here is never guaranteed. 

The far side of the gallery is marked by an arch leading into a wide corridor. Guarded on either side by the remnants of bronze statues, this entryway oozes grandeur in a way only the Guild of Mages can achieve. There is something different about this floor compared to the ones below, as if the statues denote the beginning of a restricted area—as if those without permission may view what lies beyond, but never venture there. 

“Must be the grand archway Quinn was talking about,” you grunt. 

Aeran catches your eye. “Yeah. That’s west.” 

You grimace. “I know. I have my sense of direction, thanks.” 

He shrugs and lets it go, though from his expression you have a feeling he wants nothing more than to snap back at you. Together you round the perimeter of the gallery, the floorboards creaking and sagging underfoot. It’s a miracle that they hold your weight. 

You frown, your gaze focusing on the statues as you approach. The closer you get, the stranger they become. They are defaced, their arms blasted to pieces, the bottom of what you imagine must have been some type of robe liquified and pooling at their base. This isn’t unusual compared to the other damaged statues you’ve seen, but here… 

The remnants of overwhelming magic cling to the remains. You can sense it, like a low voice murmuring in your ears, too distant for your to make out the words but close enough for you to hear. Like the second floor so far below, a cloud of gold specks float in the air, suspending in flowing mist, their colours intermingled with green and orange. The specks are far more concentrated than before, shifting to and fro of their own accord. They hang around the statues’ remains, flowing through the archway into the hallway beyond. Magical excess of some kind, little more than a memory of something greater than itself—like a footprint pressed into the sand. 

Your eyes narrow and you stare down the hallway ahead. The glittering flecks grow stronger, clogging the way. It would be pretty if you didn’t have a sinking suspicion about what they are. 

Aeran turns away, uninterested in the hallway ahead. He turns around, his expression distracted, one hand idly toying with his quiver as he stares down six levels into the pit below you.   

“Fuck,” you say, watching the undulating cloud.

 He flinches at the sound of your voice and glances over his shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you step past him and enter the cloud, holding out your hand in wonder as you watch how it reacts to you. The flecks sparkle and dance as they are repulsed by your presence, creating a wedge of empty space between you and them.   

“Huh,” you say, your mind spinning. “Maybe this is where it started… The epicentre…” 

Aeran grimaces. “I don’t think so.” 

“No?” 

“No. This is… excess.” 

You bite your tongue. After what he told you about Sunderfell, maybe this is where you should defer to his expertise. 

The pair of you fall silent as you examine the golden haze. The remnants of strong magic, frail and broken, a whisper of what they once were, too weak to do anything but flee from the touch of a magianis. Umbria’s apprentice must have stood here on the day of the explosion, performing whatever ritual or task it took to break the wards.

This is all that is left—pieces with no purpose, something beyond your comprehension.