The Alchemist's Last Wish

Morning came colorless and thin, casting pale light across the workshop's worn floorboards.

Ashra stood by the cold furnace, arms crossed, eyeing the old journal. Liran sharpened his blade with slow, steady strokes—metal whispering against stone.

I leaned over the workbench, sketching the last of the binding circles onto parchment. The lines had to be perfect. My father's notes were clear on that:

A flawed circle invites ruin.

"Salt, flux stones, black sand... and this." I held up a fragment of crystal—a sliver of null-quartz, its surface smooth and dark. "For grounding the seal's charge."

Ashra raised an eyebrow.

"Good luck finding another piece of that outside the Guild Vaults. That's old stock. Your father's?"

I nodded.

"He used it to build containment rigs. Before the Purge."

Liran glanced up. "That crystal might save us, Vale. When the Vault wakes... things will leak through the cracks before the door is fully open. The seal won't hold them long."

I swallowed hard.

Ashra moved closer, picking up one of my diagrams. Her pale finger traced the sigils.

"Impressive. But this alone won't stop a Vault guardian." Her smile was thin. "Or the Carrion Order, if they find you before you finish."

Liran's gaze sharpened.

"They're close. Last night's mark proves it."

Ashra shrugged. "Then work faster."

I ignored them, focusing on the circle's inner lines—the binding array, the sigil of Severance. The symbol that cut essence from matter.

If it worked.

"Essence salt," I murmured. "We'll need the purest grade. And the flux stones—charged and stabilized."

Ashra tilted her head.

"I can get them. But not here. There's a supplier... across the river. Dangerous. And watched."

Liran looked at her sharply.

"Watched?"

Ashra's smile did not reach her eyes.

"Carrion agents. Maybe worse. Word's out, Vale. Someone knows what you're trying to open."

My blood ran cold.

"Then we go quietly. Tonight."

Liran stepped forward, laying a hand on my shoulder.

"Not you. Us. Ashra and I. You stay here. Prepare the circles. The workshop's warded. Safer than the streets."

Ashra nodded, already pulling her coat tight.

"Two shadows move faster than three. Besides..." she flashed a grin. "If the Carrion Order comes, they'll expect you to run. Let's disappoint them."

I hesitated.

Liran's grip tightened.

"Stay, Corwin. We'll get what you need. If we don't return by dawn—burn the notes. Hide the journal. Disappear."

The weight of the Vault pressed in around me, heavy as stone.

"Don't be late," I said quietly.

Ashra gave a mock salute.

"No promises."

And they were gone—slipping into the cold gray light, vanishing into the labyrinth of the city.

I was alone.

The workshop creaked softly.

I turned back to the circles, laying the crystal gently in the center of the parchment. The old wards flickered on the walls—faint blue light tracing ancient lines.

My father's voice stirred in memory.

No circle holds forever, Corwin. Especially against what waits beyond the Gate.

I brushed sweat from my brow.

And paused.

Something shifted.

A breath—soft as silk—stirring the air behind me.

I turned.

Nothing.

But on the window ledge...

Another feather.

Black. Fresh. Slick with oil.

And beside it, faintly carved into the glass:

"Soon."

My heart froze.

The Carrion Order had been here. Close. Watching. Waiting.

The sigils pulsed faintly—uncertain. Weak.

I pressed a hand to the wardline.

"Hold," I whispered. "Hold until they return."

But the darkness behind the glass felt thicker now. Watching. Hungry.

And the Vault... dreaming.

Somewhere far below the city, gears turned. Seals shifted. Old doors whispered in the dark.

The First Alchemist's secret stirred.

And time was running thin.