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Beads of blood welled on his arms, his hands now glinting like rubies in the bright light. They quivered, as if caught in a breath of unseen wind.

This was where he’d messed up yesterday—he’d pushed too much aether into the forming apparition and sent it exploding outward in a spray of blood.

The core pulsed between his shoulders, a steady pressure just below thought. It wasn’t pain, not exactly, but it set his nerves on edge.

He focused on adjusting the flow. It was like holding his breath just long enough—just enough force, just enough release.

One by one, the shimmering beads stretched outward.

Darkness bled from their edges, the vibrant crimson fading into a misty black.

“The Fey are a literal species,” Cori said, watching over his shoulder as the shadows at his fingertips curled like smoke seeking an escape. “The Gate Watchers are a group of mages that watch Gates. We call our mechanical armies the Mechanica. The Genesis Council is made of Genesis Lords who carry Genesis Shards. There had to be a reason shadow mages are called what they are.”

They weren’t shadows in the ordinary sense—not the absence of light, but a deeper, heavier dark. The tendrils shimmered faintly, their surfaces rippling like the surface of oil disturbed by a breeze.

Pulling at his aether, he redirected the flow. The tendrils resisted at first, sluggish and unwieldy. He nudged the flowhigher, just a hair, feeling the pressure build in his spine. They responded, edges smoothing.

Soon, they moved as one, fluid as silk beneath his control.

With a flick of intent, he shaped the vapor into a blade, holding its form briefly before it unraveled back into smoke.

And it hit him. This was it.Thiswas what real power felt like.

Not brute strength. Not raw force.

It was controlled, deliberate precision threaded with deadly intent.

He stared at the blood shadow, its form coiling around him, waiting to be shaped.

Cori grinned beside him. “Something tells me he likes it.”

The shadow rippled, matching the beat of his heart. “He fucking loves it,” Skye murmured.

Because for the first time, he understood—power wasn’t a weapon he reached for. It was something hewas.

He raised his eyes to hers. “I have another question.”

The journal was a mess, its pages curling at the edges, text running in blurred streaks where water had seeped in. Most of it was useless—fragmented thoughts and missing instructions. But one line stood out, pristine and sharp as if untouched by the years.

“To kill the grimble, you’ll need to meet it where it lives.”

The dream began in darkness.

The kind of black that pressed inward, an almost tangible weight.

Beneath her feet, the surface rippled—a glassy, black sheen that moved like water but reflected nothing.

Taly needed only to think it and light appeared, faintly radiating from her. Heart pounding, she pushed up the sleeve of her coat. The skin underneath was bare, except for a faint smudge of ink, shifting and swirling like a cloud caught beneath the surface. No matter how she turned her arm, the marks refused to focus.

It didn’t take long for the beast to show itself. The ripples beneath her feet stilled, and the air thickened. A hollow hum vibrated through the darkness.

Taly didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, behind her—another ripple.

She turned, and it was already there. The grimble. Its grotesque, bone-white body loomed in the black.

It was even more horrible than she remembered. Wrinkled, sagging skin hung off a bloated frame with too many hands dangling from skeletal, knobby arms. Its mouth twisted into a grin—if that could be called a grin—staring at her with eyes that reflected nothing.