Derek steadied the micro-welder around the device. The joints were no bigger than a grain of dust, invisible without magnification, yet sturdy enough to hold together a beam of high-energy particles. Or in this case, fire magic.

  Whatever the hell that actually meant.

  Holy shit. He was making a magic gun that fired fire magic. Or at least, that’s what it would turn into once Ithara got her hands on it. The general idea was to create a weapon capable of containing a mix of fire magic and plasma energy boosted by NOVA. A crystal would serve as the containment and release unit. They had to blend quantum mechanics formulas with runic symbols to come up with something that might actually work.

  Or maybe it would just blow up in his hand the first time he tried it.

  Best not to dwell on that too much.

  It had been a long time since he had done any real hands-on tinkering, and he had missed it. For years he had left the small stuff, welding, mounting processors, fine adjustments, to the bots. But watching something take shape under his own hands carried a satisfaction no machine could touch.

  The cluttered tables, the scattered parts, even the faint smell of scorched metal stirred something inside him. It wasn’t a proper laboratory, not by a long shot, but for the first time in ages it almost felt like one.

  Even if he hadn’t missed it, he still would have needed to get to work.

  Without NOVA he lacked weapons, defenses, sensors… basically everything. He should have addressed that long ago. Depending too much on his power armor was the kind of mistake that got people killed.

  There was no way to recreate NOVA’s full capabilities, much less the enhanced, magic-fueled version of it. But at least he could stop walking around like easy prey in a world where people tossed lightning bolts and fireballs as casually as stones.

  Ithara strode into the workshop and, with a grunt, heaved a wooden crate onto the stone worktable.

  It landed squarely on two delicate instruments. Crystal cracked. Metal shrieked as it twisted.

  Derek’s shoulders tightened. He set the welder aside and shot her a glare. “Ithara, your level of chaos isn’t normal. Leave things around like that and you’ll either trip over them or smash them. Like you just did.”

  She blinked, innocence laid on thick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her hair, barely contained in a sloppy braid, spilled over her shoulders. A faint blue shimmer flickered in her gray eyes, restless and electric. “It’s a shame your friends aren’t here,” she added.

  Derek raised an eyebrow as he rubbed at his beard. “You think so?” A short snort escaped him. “They’d do nothing but ramble about how I’m going to get myself killed. Risks. Precautions. End-of-the-world speeches.” His fingers paused against his chin. An image surfaced uninvited: Isabelle watching him with that tight, measuring look, as if disaster were already inevitable. He shoved it aside. “I’m not in the mood for that kind of lecture. It’s better they’re not here.”

  Ithara nodded briskly. “That’s exactly why I wish they were. Especially Isabelle.”

  His frown deepened. “And why would that be?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because I’d like someone to stop you from doing something this stupid.” She rested a hand on the crate she had dropped, her voice losing its earlier levity. “Even if you bring those tools with you, you’ll be walking straight into danger without your armor. The ancients who built the Citadels didn’t leave their knowledge lying around. They guarded it. Ruthlessly.”

  Derek gave her a flat look. “And you people aren’t the same? I had to agree to play Messiah just to get into this place.”

  “What I mean is that there will be traps, detection wards, creatures… all kinds of defenses,” she pressed. “And they’ll be thickest around the altar you intend to reach.”

  Derek pursed his lips. “Erasmus says most of that junk should be dead by now. And anyway, what you call an altar is probably a Wardilai access terminal. And I need it.”

  She nodded slowly. “I understand. Well… not really. I don’t even know what a terminal is. But I understand it matters to you. It matters to me too. That’s why I don’t want you going alone. If you die, I doubt your precious terminal will be of much use.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been piecing together a bunch of salvaged and improvised sensors. It won’t be anywhere near NOVA’s Tactical Intel Relay, but with these I should spot most threats before they’re on top of me, and with a little luck, avoid them.” He waved a bracelet with blinking red LEDs and flashed a grin.

  Ithara arched an eyebrow. “Does that thing detect magical fields or auric distortions?”

  His grin faltered. He glanced at the bracelet. “…Not exactly. It’s more of a motion detector, magnetic fields, thermal fluctuations, that sort of thing.”

  “Then it’s useless.” She stepped closer and fixed him with a hard stare. “That place is a maze steeped in magic. You’ll need someone who can read the inscriptions, recognize the runes and their effects, someone who knows how the Citadels were built. You’ll need—”

  “Morchant,” Derek cut in.

  She blinked. “E-excuse me?”

  He nodded eagerly. “Erasmus Morchant, that’s who could help me. I’ve seen him reading manuscripts thousands of years old. He knows the layouts of the Citadels. He’s… perfect.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide. “Derek, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  Ithara rubbed her forehead. “Erasmus is a scholar. As far as I know, he’s never stepped outside this Citadel. And he’s not exactly what you’d call a man of action.”

  Derek folded his arms. “On a planet crawling with murderous magical beasts, heretics, undead, and cultists, I’d bet even good old Erasmus has had his fair share of adventures.”

  She shook her head. “Hardly. The greatest adventure Morchant’s ever had was when the Central Library was hit by a fire-worm infestation twelve years ago.”

  “Fire-worms?”

  “Yes. Small, insidious creatures that burrow through wood and paper. Their droppings stay inside the books and are highly unstable. Get a candle too close to a page and boom!” She spread her hands in a mock explosion. “Very dangerous. Father Rudolf lost his eyebrows.”

  “Eyebrows?” Derek blinked. Not exactly lethal. “And what about Erasmus?”

  Ithara let out a heavy sigh. “He ran off terrified. They had to send a squad of the Sacred Guard to drag him back from the jungle.”

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  Derek gave her a wavering smile. “You’re kidding, right? He didn’t bolt just because of a few firecrackers in the library.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “He doesn’t like loud noises. Or sudden noises. Or flames. Or smoke. Or sharp weapons. Or—”

  “Okay, okay, damn it, I get it!” Derek threw his hands up, then dragged them through his hair.

  Shit.

  If Ithara was right, he’d never manage to convince Erasmus to go down there with him. But going in blind and alone wasn’t an option either. He still knew far too little about, well, everything in this world. Maybe he should’ve signed up for Novice school with Alyra after all.

  Erasmus was the only one who knew about his plan to descend into the Citadel in search of the Wardilai terminal, and he was more than qualified to read inscriptions and identify ancient structures. For all his flaws, he’d be an invaluable guide.

  The problem was, how the hell was Derek supposed to convince a coward like that to tag along?

  “So,” Ithara asked with a sigh, “what do you intend to do?”

  Derek scratched his beard. “Still figuring that out. In the meantime”—he laid a hand on the wooden crate and smirked—“show me your toys. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  Ithara shook her head and grabbed one side of the crate. “Alright. Come on, help me.”

  Derek caught the other side, and together they flipped it over.

  Glass and metal clattered across the stone table, a jumble of colors spilling out in every direction.

  One large, round red crystal rolled toward the edge. Derek snatched it just in time and held it up to his face.

  Inside, a storm seemed to churn, fire caught in an endless whirl.

  He narrowed his eyes. “And this is… what, exactly?”

  Ithara tapped her chin, thoughtful. “I made it myself. It doesn’t have a name yet. But there’s a word I heard you use once for objects that do something similar. I just can’t remember… Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “Yes! You called it a frog.”

  Derek studied the crystal he’d just saved from shattering on the floor. Frog? What the hell was this lunatic talking about? Why on earth would he ever call that a—

  His heart skipped a beat, ice flooding his veins. “Ithara?”

  “Yes, Derek?”

  “Any chance the word wasn’t actually ‘frog’… but ‘frag’?”

  She shrugged. “Frog, frag, what difference does it make?”

  With a trembling hand, Derek set the crystal gently back on the table and stepped away. “Ithara, are you telling me the thing that almost hit the floor was a goddamn frag grenade?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “That’s such a long name. I like ‘frog’ better.”

  Derek dragged a hand down his face. His palm came away slick with sweat. One day, this woman was going to kill him. He was sure of it.

  “So, just to be clear,” Derek said. “If I throw that crystal at something, it explodes?”

  She nodded. “Of course. You just have to throw it hard enough to crack the outer shell and release the fire magic I trapped inside. Otherwise it won’t trigger.”

  He nodded. “I see. And how fragile is it? Safe to carry around?”

  She waved a hand as if swatting a fly. “Oh, it’s fine. I must’ve dropped it a hundred times already. It’s not nearly as fragile as it looks.”

  Derek’s jaw went slack. A hundred times? How the hell was she still alive? Statistically, that shouldn’t even be possible.

  Maybe Orbisar did exist after all, working overtime just to keep her breathing.

  That woman was a force of nature. Precise and flawless in her magical projects, a walking disaster in… pretty much everything else.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not thinking of taking me down there, are you?”

  Derek jolted. “No! Why would you even—” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I mean… no. I need you here, working on NOVA’s repairs. At least the magical side of it. Just, uh… don’t touch anything else. Like, anything.”

  She sighed. “Very well, as you wish.” She plucked a brownish sheet of parchment from the table and handed it to him.

  It was blank. A couple of faint stains, nothing more. Derek turned it over, frowned, then held it up to the light. Still nothing. “And this is supposed to be…?”

  “That will be your map,” the scholar said.

  Derek turned it over in his hands.

  Nothing.

  “You know maps usually have things written on them, right? Otherwise they’re pretty hard to use.”

  She shot him a flat look. “It’s an Illusion tracing scroll.”

  “Okay, thanks. That makes way more sense. Because right now, calling this greasy scrap of paper a map sounds exactly like an illusion.” At least it didn’t look like something that could blow up in his face any second.

  She shook her head. “No. Once activated, it automatically records the places you visit. Each time you enter a room, its boundaries, entrances, and exits will appear. When you move, the image shifts, always keeping you at the center.”

  He frowned. “How is that even possible? How does it work?”

  “It’s illusion magic. The map doesn’t truly exist, but you’ll perceive it as if it does.” She waved her hands in the air. “An image painted over reality.”

  Derek nodded slowly. “Got it… kind of.” He reached for a long black staff with a square shaft, topped by a glowing yellow crystal. Inside, a tiny bolt of lightning seemed frozen in time. “And this?”

  Ithara took it from his hands. “This staff has two functions. The first, and simplest, is light.”

  He raised an eyebrow. The glow was barely brighter than a candle.

  “In a lit room,” she said, “that may not seem impressive. But deep underground, you’ll find it invaluable.”

  Derek scratched his beard. “Thanks, but I’ll probably just rig a torch. And the second function?”

  Ithara lifted it and pointed it straight at him, smiling. “It shoots lightning.”

  Derek stiffened and stepped in, fingers closing around the shaft as he eased it out of her hands. “You’re great with magical screwdrivers. When it comes to weapons, though, you should really leave those to me.”

  She shrugged and let go. “Fair warning: it only fires once before discharging. After that, no lightning, no light. But if you bring it close to a lightning crystal or a lightning sphere, you can recharge it.”

  “So I get one shot,” Derek said.

  She nodded. “Try not to waste it.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The moment Ithara turned away, the staff slipped from his grip and touched the stone floor without a sound. Too heavy. Too bulky. One charge, entirely magical, and worthless once spent. For light, the bots’ torches would do just fine. He wasn’t dragging dead weight through tunnels just to feel safer.

  His gaze swept the cluttered table instead. “Got anything else for me?”

  “Yes. But not here. Follow me.”

  Ithara glided toward a shadowed corner of the workshop and stopped before a tall wooden cabinet that rose all the way to the ceiling.

  Derek blinked. The thing looked big enough to hold NOVA. “What the hell do you keep in there? I can’t take anything that won’t fit in a travel bag.”

  “You won’t have to carry it.” She smiled. “It’ll walk on its own. It’s a golem.”

  Derek shook his head. “Can’t take anything that bulky. From what I saw on Erasmus’s maps, it’s all tunnels and narrow passages down there. If I could drag something that size around, I’d just wait until NOVA’s fixed and march in with that.”

  She reached into the deep pocket of her robe and pulled out a dark yellow metal key, stained with something Derek decided he did not want to identify. She slid it into the cabinet’s lock.

  The key turned halfway, then jammed. Ithara frowned and twisted harder, her face tightening with effort until her cheeks flushed red.

  Derek watched with arms crossed.

  With a huff, she stepped back. “Damn thing won’t open.”

  Good. Derek let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh well! You tried. Guess it’ll have to wait for another time.” He turned toward the table.

  A heavy thud shook the workshop.

  Derek spun around.

  Ithara was pounding her fist against the cabinet door.

  He rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure it’ll take more than that to bust it open. You’d need at least a lumberjack’s axe.”

  She stared at him, mouth slightly open. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.” She drew a deep breath and shouted, “Chuck! Chuck, come out!”

  Derek frowned and glanced around. “And who the hell is Chuck supposed to be?”

  The cabinet rattled violently.

  Derek’s eyes widened, and he took a step back.

  Ithara just beamed.

  Two thunderous bangs and a guttural roar shook the frame, vibrations rolling through the stone floor beneath Derek’s boots. What the hell had this lunatic unleashed?

  Another boom slammed against the door, like someone battering it with a ram.

  Ithara stepped back to stand beside him, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

  Derek gawked. “What the hell’s happening? I told you I can’t take some monster with me!”

  “Of course you can.”

  He rolled his eyes. Figures. Whatever was in there had to weigh six hundred kilos at least. “Ithara, we are sure this thing isn’t going to try to kill us once it’s out, right?”

  She waved a hand as if swatting away a fly. “Don’t be ridiculous. Chuck’s gentle as a lamb.”

  The pounding grew louder, faster, rattling the entire workshop. It sounded like a raging beast straining to tear its way free.

  Derek swallowed hard. One day this woman would get him killed. He just hadn’t expected it to be today.

  With a final boom, the cabinet door burst free and slammed to the floor. A cloud of dust billowed out, choking the air.

  Derek raised an arm to shield his eyes.

  Heavy, lumbering footsteps shook the ground.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Even if death didn’t scare him like it used to, the thought of being crushed flat by whatever that was didn’t exactly appeal. “Shit. Ithara, it’s coming closer. You see it?” He squinted through the haze, but nothing massive loomed in the dust.

  “Yes,” she said calmly. “Right here.”

  For some reason, Ithara was looking down.

  Derek followed her gaze. And saw him.

  Chuck.

  Barely over a meter tall and just as wide. His body was a lump of compacted dirt and rock. His head was little more than a misshapen brown ball with two dark pits for eyes and a crooked slit for a mouth. No teeth, no lips, no detail at all.

  The torso was a squat cylinder, matched by stubby arms and legs. The whole thing looked like a kid had slapped it together in a hurry.

  “You built this?” Derek asked.

  Ithara beamed. “Yes. An earth golem. I’m rather proud of it. My so-called ‘colleagues’ here in the Citadel are always criticizing my magical skills. And yet here he is. I’m very proud of what I achieved.”

  “I thought all your creations were just toys.”

  She rolled her eyes. “This has nothing to do with my inventions. It’s pure Stone magic.” She shook her head. “You really don’t know anything about how golems work, do you?”

  “That’s right.” Derek let out a sigh. “And to think, back home I was a famous scientist. Here, I’m a complete idiot.” His brow furrowed. “Guess this is how people felt at parties when I talked about quantum mechanics applied to neural interfaces. I must’ve made a lot of people feel like perfect idiots.” He shrugged. “Oh well…”

  She gave him a flat look.

  Derek nodded toward Chuck and grimaced. “He’s… short.”

  The creature didn’t so much as twitch.

  Ithara huffed. “A minute ago, you were complaining he’d be too big. You’re never satisfied.”

  “Satisfied?” Derek blinked. “What exactly am I supposed to be satisfied about? What the hell am I supposed to do with a garden gnome?”

  Ithara stiffened. “He is not a gnome… whatever that is. He’s short for greater stability. The entire principle of Stone magic is resistance and stability.”

  Derek raised both hands. “Great. Good for Chuck. But I’m not hauling this paperweight around.”

  Ithara gasped. “How dare you?”

  Why was she taking this so personally? Derek lifted his hands. “Listen, Ithara, I—”

  “I challenge you!” she cut him off, her cheeks flushed red.

  Derek frowned. “You… challenge me? A garden gnome beauty contest? Because if that’s the case, you’re definitely losing.”

  She folded her arms. “Your Bots against Chuck. In the simulator.”

  Derek opened his mouth to object, then shut it again.

  He had no real idea how the Repair Bots 2.0 would handle plasma cannons in a fight. Running a field test before the mission wasn’t the worst idea.

  And poor Chuck looked like the perfect test dummy.

  Derek’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “Alright. I’m in. Let’s do this.”