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Skye was ten years old when he fell into the hole of destiny.

To this day, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t pushed. By Fate, or maybe a certain time mage. He wasn’t making any accusations, but he also wasn’t denying the possibility.

He was sent to live on Tempris after an assassin got too close. One night, Skye woke up alone in his room. Alone save for the man in black standing over him.

It wasn’t the first time he had ever killed.

He’d been handed a knife as soon as he could grip one properly.

Hunting trips were lessons in survival, so he would know what it felt like to sink steel into flesh.

So he wouldn’t be surprised by the spray of blood, how hot it would feel bubbling around his hand as he pressed the blade in deeper.

So he wouldn’t loosen his grip, even when the hilt grew slick, and the thing on the other end of it thrashed to get free.

It was, however, the first time that the thing he killed could look him in the eye, speak his name, and curse it with a final, rattling breath.

His mother had already been in contact with Ivain, who told her in no uncertain terms that he was officially retired .

After the incident, however, she redoubled her efforts, escalating from writing letters that he could too easily turn down to stalking him across the countryside on a rare vacation to the mainland.

Living on Tempris was different than Skye expected. First, they had running water. And even though aircars wouldn’t work in the low-aether environment, he didn’t mind the horses so much. They were fun to ride.

There were no guards at Harbor Manor. And no nannies.

Instead, Sarina took care of him. A noblewoman.

He’d barely seen his mother at home, at breakfast sometimes and maybe once in the evenings as she dressed for supper.

He’d always assumed that ladies with households to run didn’t have time for their children.

And it wasn’t just Sarina. Ivain confused him too. For one, he knew everything. There was no need for any other teachers. And he never became angry or impatient when Skye asked too many questions.

Instead of a stuffy classroom, most of their lessons were conducted outside during long walks of the property.

Sometimes, they got caught up in what they were doing and talked straight through dinner.

On those nights, Sarina would track them to whatever corner of the estate they’d settled into, scold them—always gently—and usher them inside.

It was the most settled he’d ever felt in his life.

And it made it hard not to get attached.

Even in the backwaters of Tempris, it was only a matter of time before his family’s rivals found them.

He couldn’t protect the Castaros from the inevitable, kind as they were.

The loneliness that had followed him ever since Orin’s death ached more and more with each passing day.

He wanted a friend. Just one. And he prayed—not to the Shards; they’d been little help so far—but to the Universe to send him someone strong enough for him to love.

Then Vale happened. For three days, Skye watched the smoke pluming from his window. The fire of the century, they called it. Ivain went to oversee the cleanup.

And that’s how Skye found himself wandering down to the end of a scorched dirt road on the day his life changed forever.

Curiosity led him to the center of the large mound of blackened debris at the end of it.

He still remembered the sudden crack of wood right before the ruined cottage floor gave out beneath him.

He landed in a heap, picking himself up quickly.

Coughing at the ash his fall had kicked up.

It was a basement. The walls—now charred and blackened—bore the scars of the fire’s relentless fury.

The ceiling was a web of exposed beams, some still smoldering in places, their strength compromised by the intense heat.

There was a bed in the corner. Oddly untouched by the fire. He heard… sniffling?

“Hello?” he called tentatively.

The sniffling stopped.

Carefully, he picked his way across the room, knelt beside the bed, and looked under.

And there she was.

Taly.

Covered in ash from head to toe, tears stained her face.

He’d asked the Universe, and it had delivered.

As he would soon find out, the Universe had a twisted sense of humor.

The air had a coppery scent.

Skye blinked open his eyes, vision blurry.

Cold metal beneath him. A bright light above. He tried to move his arms, his legs, but they were banded close to his body by arcs of steel.

He heaved, twisted —metal groaned but refused to give.

Skye’s head fell back against the table. He was having the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Another human phrase he knew on account of Taly.

The restraint, the disorientation, the creeping panic clawing at the edges of his mind—this was exactly like the kidnapping drills he’d been forced to undergo as a child.

Yes, his parents had performed drills where he woke up strapped to an operating table—because if he was taken, it wouldn’t be for ransom. It would be for power, for leverage. A prince was more valuable in pieces, in secrets, in whatever knowledge could be cut out of him.

He slowed his breathing and steadied his heart, just as he’d practiced, reaching far back into his memory. There was a protocol to follow.

First, don’t panic. Evaluate the situation.

The room was circular, the walls consumed by bookshelves stretching to a high-domed ceiling, where long tangles of wiring dripped from the rafters.

That same wiring sprawled across every surface, threading through stone, mortar, and shelves like a network of capillaries.

Long worktables sat scattered throughout the space, cluttered with moldy scrolls, ancient books, and crumbling notes—some lost beneath the ever-creeping web of wiring.

To one side, a bank of consoles blinked, screens flickering. Mechanical switches and arcane touchpads jutted from its surface, some worn smooth from use, others flickering with the remnants of half-faded enchantments.

A low, churning sound filled the air, coming from below him.

Skye craned his head to look—difficult with the way it was banded to the table—but he could see… it looked like blood. Like giant vats of it stirring beneath the cracked marble flooring. Four of them. That would explain the smell.

So, by all professional metrics, what they had here was a pretty standard lair for a mad bloodmage who nearly ripped apart space and time. Perfect.

Second, seek vulnerabilities.

Whoever had tied him up had done a great job—no notes.

Cori was also frozen in the doorway, stuck forever in that first moment of initial shock. She wouldn’t be coming to anyone’s rescue.

Oh, and this tower was tucked away in a weird prison dimension no one could access. Yeah, he was fucked.

Third, identify the captor and try to build a rapport—create sympathy.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Skye offered, hearing footsteps at his back. “It has a real, uh, creative energy .” He got a noncommittal grunt. He was trying his best.

His eyes shifted to Cori. She’d mentioned she and the keeper had a… complicated relationship. Maybe he could work with that.

“For the record, I don’t know that crazy woman. She tricked me into coming here.”

For some reason, that made the keeper laugh. “Lie noted. As for the trickery—yes, that sounds like her.”

Skye blinked. He knew that voice. Or thought he did. There was something about the way it shaped the words—too close to place, too strange to ignore.

“Let me guess,” the keeper went on in that voice skating on the edge of recognition, “she told you just enough to get you through the door but left out the important details? Little things like who I am… who you are… and why this was an objectively stupid thing for her to agree to?”

Skye hesitated. “Actually… yeah. That’s exactly what happened.”

“She just makes her own plans and expects you to follow along.”

“Because she knows better,” Skye shot back before he could help himself.

“Oh, always. And then you’re somehow the bad guy for pointing out when her stupid, half-baked plans sound likely to get somebody killed. And by somebody, usually her.”

Wow, this guy got it. It really was too bad they were on opposite sides of this hostage situation. Otherwise, Skye felt they could’ve been friends.

He knew this wasn’t the best time, but his curiosity got the better of him as he watched Cori’s frozen scowl. “How did you do it—freeze her, I mean?” He’d been trying to sneak up on his Taly for days now. It never worked.

“You like that, do you? It’s actually quite simple.

Because the trap was built from her own aether, it didn’t register as foreign.

It matched her frequency. She’s been coming to visit me for years now.

And every time she stepped into the room, I pulled a single drop of aether free—just enough to leave the surface undisturbed.

That’s how you beat a time mage, by the way.

Patience. They’re not omniscient, no matter what they want you to believe.

It’s simply a matter of working beneath their notice. ”

“I’m… I’m impressed,” Skye murmured. He even meant it.

“It’s really nothing,” the keeper replied, sounding flattered. “But I’m glad this is going so smoothly. I was worried things would be awkward, hence the restraints...”

Footsteps echoed as he stepped around the table.

Metal creaked. The light shifted overhead flickered as a shadow passed through it.

Then a man leaned over him.

Twin gazes locked.

What. The. Fuck.

Skye blinked, but—yeah. That was still his face staring back at him.

Correction: his face with a goatee, which was an… interesting choice. He’d always wanted to give it a try, but he didn’t have the jawline for it. Or the manic frazzle of hair. Or the natural ambiance of this… mad bloodmage’s laboratory?