Author's note:  

Have you ever had one of those nights where everything feels on edge, like the universe is holding its breath? That’s where we find Anthony in this chapter, stuck between a cursed artifact with a mind of its own and a city teetering on the brink of magical chaos.

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to juggle impossible decisions while trying (and failing) not to let guilt eat you alive, well… Anthony can probably relate.  

I hope you enjoy!

***

Anthony

I leaned against the window frame, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the glass. Outside, the wards surrounding the Rochefort estate shimmered, casting a luminous outline of the grounds. Most nights, their hum formed a familiar backdrop, but tonight it grated—an unsettling dissonance that set my teeth on edge.

A pulse of energy flared across the estate’s ward network—brief, jagged, and unnatural. Starbridge’s ley lines were often temperamental, but this was no ordinary fluctuation. It felt like a fracture, as if a crack were running through the foundations of the city’s magic itself.

I exhaled, tension knotting tightly in my chest. The Mirror of Veils, sealed in the Dreamvault below, stirred whenever the ley lines roared—like a predator scenting blood. I let the curtain fall and turned away.

The corridor stretched in silence, the protective sigils etched into the stone walls glowing faintly. The estate’s servants had fled to safer corners, leaving the halls empty. Ahead, the spiral staircase descended—a dark coil of marble winding into the heart of what we had tried and failed to contain.

As I descended, the air thickened. The hum of the wards intensified, rising to a taut thrum. At the bottom, vibrations pulsed in my bones. The Dreamvault’s doors loomed at the corridor’s end—monolithic black stone carved with intricate runes.

Julian leaned against the wall beside them, looking depleted. He seemed drawn, as if the Mirror siphoned more than just his strength. His skin had taken on a pale translucence, veins a network of cursed silver. His eyes—rimmed with that same spectral glow—met mine, but the sharp intelligence I once envied had dimmed, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.

“Anthony,” he said, his voice strained. He pushed off the wall, but the effort was evident.

“What’s happening?” I asked, stopping just short of him. The wards buzzed around us.

Julian dragged his fingers to his temples. “It started small. A tremor, then it escalated. The Mirror felt it. I felt it.”

His words settled like a stone in my stomach. I had sensed the shift earlier but hadn’t realized its magnitude. I glanced at the doors behind him. The runes flared, struggling to contain the power writhing within.

“And the wards?” My voice remained even.

“They’re holding.” The strain in his tone made the words ring false. His eyes darted to the sealed doors, something dark flickering within them. “For now.”

I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “Julian, you shouldn’t be down here. Let me handle this.”

He laughed, a brittle, hollow sound. “You think I can just walk away? It’s not that simple, Anthony. The Mirror…” He faltered, his hand dropping to his side, fingers twitching. “It’s pulling at me. Harder than it ever has. Like it’s…” His breath hitched.

“Like it’s what?” I prompted, a sense of dread coiling in my gut.

“Hungry. It wants to consume whatever’s out there.”

“That surge—it’s not just magic. It’s something bigger. Something stronger.”

My fists clenched. The Dreamscape Breach had shown us the chaos that ensued when magic spiraled out of control. If the Mirror, one of Starbridge’s ancient Seals, failed, the aftermath would make the Breach feel like a mere walk in the park.

“It won’t come to that,” I said, more to reassure myself than him. “The wards will hold.”

Julian's eyes locked onto mine—hollow yet piercing. “You don’t know that.” His quiet certainty cut deeper than any shout.

Silence stretched between us. I reached out, my hand hovering near his shoulder but stopping short. “You need to rest. If the Mirror is pulling at you this hard, you need to conserve your strength.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “It’s hard to do when it feels like I’m being torn apart from the inside.”

“Julian—”

He half-stepped back, pressing his hands to his face. “Don’t tell me to rest, Anthony. You don’t get to do that. Not after—” He stopped, his shoulders heaving.

Unspoken words hung between us. Not after you left. Not after you gave this to me.

I swallowed hard. “I’m trying to help.”

“I know.”

I turned toward the doors, letting my gaze settle on the runes. Their fractured glow cast uneven patterns across the floor. The force radiating from the Mirror was stronger than it had been in years. I glanced back at Julian. He had slumped against the wall again, head tilted back, breaths shallow. “Go upstairs. Stay safe.”

Julian’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “There’s no ‘safe’ anymore, Anthony. Not with this thing.”

I had no answer. Instead, I pressed my palm to the stone of the doors. The wards buzzed under my hand, their vibrations erratic. Whatever had caused that surge wasn’t over.

His weary gaze flicked to mine. Guilt settled like a cold weight on my spine. He looked thinner, gaunt. His skin stretched taut over his bones, twisting something deep and ugly inside me.

“The priority is keeping the Mirror contained.” I forced my voice to remain steady. I needed him to believe I had control—even if I didn’t. “If the wards fail—”

“They won’t.” Julian pressed one hand against the doorframe, as if it could hold him upright. “Starbridge can’t survive another Dreamscape Breach. If the Seals destabilize…”

He didn’t finish, but the weight of his words pressed heavily between us.

“I understand.” The words burned on my tongue. He always worried about the city, the Seals, the Rochefort name. I couldn’t stop worrying about him.

Julian exhaled, his knuckles white around the runes carved in the wood. “The surge—it’s not random. The Mirror’s reacting to something.”

I clenched my fists, trying not to reach for him. “I’ll figure out what’s causing this.”

For a moment, his head dipped, and the boy he once was flickered through—the one who had followed me through these halls, trusting me to protect him. I had fractured that trust in ways I couldn’t mend.

He swallowed hard. “If someone’s tampering with the ley lines—pulling this much power—you need to find them. Before the Mirror does.”

There it was again—fear. Not for himself, but for the city. “I will. I’ll track every whisper in the Undercity. But right now, you need to rest.”

His lips parted in protest, but I cut him off. “Come on.” My tone allowed for no argument as I guided him away from the door.

The wards hissed louder, sensing Julian’s retreat, then settled into a low hum. I kept a hand on his arm as we climbed the stairs, his steps dragging. Each shallow breath reminded me of how little time he had left.

On the main floor, I led him down a side passage to his chambers. Portraits of Rochefort ancestors—draped in splendor—watched us with frozen disdain. Their painted gazes seemed accusatory: Why wasn’t it you? It should have been you.

Julian paused at his door, his hand trembling on the handle. The dim light made his skin look translucent, and his movements were sluggish. “If you find who’s behind this… you have to stop them, Anthony. No matter what it takes.”

My jaw tightened. “Let me worry about that.”

He studied me, his eyes heavy with unspoken doubts. Finally, he nodded. “Good night, brother.”

The door clicked shut. I stood in the quiet hallway, his words echoing in my mind: No matter what it takes.

The wards’ hum dulled to a faint vibration beneath my feet, but the tension in my chest only tightened. Whatever was causing this disruption wouldn’t stop on its own. I pivoted and strode toward the estate’s exit. The city outside was a labyrinth of shadows and whispers, and I would drag every secret into the light.

I set off at a brisk pace, heading toward the glittering haze that marked the edges of the Market of Whims. The scent of jasmine and burnt sugar hung thick in the air, almost masking the underlying scent of fear.

I pushed through the throng, ignoring the hawkers and their wares. A stray spark from a nearby stall singed my sleeve, the smell of burnt fabric momentarily cutting through the sweet perfume. A child, no older than seven, tugged at my coat, wide-eyed and pleading as they held out a tarnished trinket. I shook my head and quickened my pace. I couldn’t afford distractions—not tonight.

Jax’s usual haunt was tucked away off the Market. I found him hunched on a broken crate, his wiry frame swallowed by a threadbare cloak.

“Lord Rochefort,” he said, stretching the title. “Didn’t think you’d show up alone. Brave or just foolish?”

“If you expected an entourage, I’m sorry to disappoint.” My voice remained even, though I let an edge creep in. Jax preyed on weakness, and I didn’t plan to offer any. “Are we doing this, or are you wasting my time?”

His laugh was sharp, slicing through the din of the Market. “Easy, my lord. Can’t blame a guy for being cautious. The Council's been sniffing around. It complicates business.”

I let my gaze scan the crowd, pretending to be uninterested. Teenagers bickered over a crate of shattered runestones. Beyond them, shadows flickered, but no one seemed to notice us. Still, the weight of unseen eyes pressed against my neck. Privacy was an illusion here.

“There’s been a surge in the ley lines. I’m sure you’ve felt it.”

His brow furrowed. “I didn’t think it was big enough to reach the Spires.”

I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “I need to know what's causing it. If this is deliberate, I want names, motives—everything.”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “If someone’s manipulating the ley lines this aggressively, they’re either reckless or insane. If the Council finds out…”

“I’ll handle the Council. Just focus on the source. I need answers.”

He nodded, glancing at the shadows. “Fine. But if this goes sideways—”

“It won’t. Just get me the information.”

With a curt nod, he slipped into the darkness, leaving me alone.

I turned toward the estate, each step weighed down by the memory of the boy I once was—sixteen and fragile, walking this same path with dread tightening around my throat. Closer to the Mirror of Veils, closer to the inevitable.

Some nights, I could still feel it, the way its power had sunk into my bones, draining me day by day—a slow, steady siphoning of life. But I hadn’t walked to my death like a good little martyr. No, I had pried my way out of the jaws of tradition and duty. Desperation had made a monster of me, and I’d shoved the curse onto Julian.

In a shop window’s warped reflection, I caught sight of myself—hair disheveled, eyes haunted; a face carved by sleepless nights and too many failures.

I told myself I had to survive, that I would break the Mirror’s hold—not just over him, but over all of us. It was a comforting lie—one I clung to like a lifeline over the years.

If I wanted to keep the Mirror from pushing Julian toward an early grave, I had to find answers before the next surge hit. And I suspected I didn’t have much time left.

***

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