The Homunculus Knight

Better Left Buried (Part Two)

“That’s not strictly accurate. The Grey Beyond isn’t just the domain of faerie, they are simply its most encountered inhabitants. Other nations and… entities live deeper in the Grey; but they are far, far, far more alien than even the strangest fae. What few ones we’ve documented can barely interact with our reality and only under special circumstances. But even those few encounters have had… drastic effects. Actually, that reminds me. Do you know why we swear by the fixed stars? No? Well, it’s connected to this topic. See, some of those special circumstances relate to celestial bodies, particularly their formations and movements. For long long years our people have prayed for fixed stars, hoping to ward off the times when those special stars align…” - Hierophant Hugihard of the Ninth Temple.

Pole-axe over one shoulder, Cole followed the two magi, his mind a storm of thoughts. It was almost funny how often the core aspect of his god became overshadowed, even though it was in deity's very name. As a Paladin, Cole had spent the past two years dealing with practically every form of undead curse or crisis; but he lacked practically any understanding of threats related to time itself. Not even his extensive education at the Thoas Citadel offered insight into that most primordial concept and the forbidden magic connected to it.

This deficit in mind, Cole couldn’t understand why he’d been guided to Mycio Island and whatever was happening here. Surely, Master Time had other servants better prepared to handle chronomantic calamities? The only answer Cole could come up with was either Magi Rellim was wrong, or the Paladins… other capabilities might prove useful. Clambering down the rocky slope, he hoped it was the former.

Glancing back at the rift behind them, Cole asked. “Why do you think this is a time related phenomena?”

Rellim paused in his descent and replied. “It's just a working hypothesis, but nothing else makes sense… or well, makes less sense. Once we’re back at the camp, I’ll go over all the details,”

Disliking this evasion, Cole was about to push on why Rellim was so set on fleeing when the Magi’s companion, Niello, spoke. “Respectfully, Preceptor Rellim, how much aid will he be? He’s just a rest-bringer after all and we know these things aren’t normal undead.”

Cocking an eyebrow at that, Cole found himself annoyed by the student’s attitude, even if he agreed with her. Instead of rebuking the younger Magi, Rellim looked at Cole and smiled. “He’s not a rest-bringer, no matter what he says. Fixed-stars, he’s not even a proper priest; but that's not a problem.”

Both Cole and Niello spat a shocked “What?!” but for very different reasons.

Adjusting his slightly crooked glasses, Rellim waved off his companion’s surprise. “Let’s stop wasting time. I’ll answer as many questions as I can at camp. We really don’t want to be stuck out here if one of them starts to accelerate”

That got Niello to speed up but Cole stood still, shaking his head in annoyance. “I’m sorry, but you know too much and I know too little for me to be comfortable. Those ghouls, or corpses, do they become aggressive? Is that why the main camp is abandoned?”

Rellim’s expression became pained and his gaze lingered on the bluff they’d descended. “Not quite. They are just a symptom of the larger issue, but still dangerous. It was extraordinary good fortune on your part to arrive when you did and not interfere with the refracted too severely.”

Seeing Cole’s confused look, Rellim elaborated. “It’s what we’ve been calling the bodies since they aren’t ghouls.”

“That wasn’t my question.” replied Cole. “I wanted to know what qualified as interference since I tried to destroy one of these ‘refracted.”

Both magi stared at Cole in shock. Scrambling towards him, Rellim ignored the unspoken warning of Cole’s pole-axe as he squinted up at the Paladin. “What did you do to it?”

Eyeing the Preceptor, Cole explained. “Decapitated one and took the leg off another. They both regenerated in less than a minute.”

Niello yelled, her voice gaining a shrill quality. “Then how are you still alive?!!?”

Cole recoiled slightly, his mind racing as thoughts of the larder gnawed at him. Feeling a knot of terror grow in his gut, Cole wondered if he’d just exposed himself without even knowing how. But Rellim’s words put a quick end to the Homunculus’s panic. “Because he’s a paladin, Niello. The Tenth God protects his own, even from madness such as this.”

As the magi retreated from Cole, returning to his path, the Paladin asked. “How do you know?”

Rellim didn’t answer at first, only responding once Cole followed him. “My father was a rest-bringer; I’ve known servants of Master Time my whole life. Your presence in the Aether is distinctly different from any priest I’ve encountered and besides, I expected at least a Hierophant to answer my plea. Now, let's hurry, we’ve wasted enough time”

Content with finally getting a few basic answers, Cole lengthened his pole-axe to use as a walking stick and let himself be led farther down the island's slope towards a cypress grove. Walking between the thin trees, the group trekked through the forest, heading south. Ironically, Cole needed to slow his pace to match the others; his long strides and long experience traversing difficult terrain kept putting him ahead of Rellim. Taking one of these pauses, Cole drank in his surroundings, looking for any oddities, and he found one. Pointing with his halberd’s point, he whispered to Rellim. “What’s that?”

Ten meters away, barely visible among the foliage, was a badly damaged tree. Something had carved away part of its trunk, leaving a roughly two-meter tall hollow along one side. Leaning precariously on its neighbors, the wounded tree looked ready to topple over once the storm hit. Taking some steps forward to find what Cole was pointing to, Rellim paused mid-stride, foot dangling a few centimeters above the ground. “Jagged edges… That is what we’re trying to avoid.”

Gesturing for his companions to follow, the magi changed directions and started to run. Deciding now wasn’t the time for more questions, Cole easily kept pace with the pair of academics. Dashing through the forest, Cole caught sight of other damaged trees, some toppled, others mauled like the first. Now looking for other abnormalities, he found mutilated bushes and other disturbed plant life. All of them looked as if some extraordinarily sharp blade had cut pieces off at random. Or at least, somewhat randomly; with every new example of this strangeness, it became clear the damage was always lower on the tree, starting at Cole’s eye level and going down to the ground.

As the trio pushed into a clearing, Cole paused right as he was about to step into something strange. A yellowish powder lay smeared across the ground in a three meter long mark. Tracing the powder's origin, Cole found another of the destroyed trees, this one completely missing its bottom quarter. As he was about to point this out, Cole heard something odd, a humming buzz that grew louder with every second. Operating more on instinct than anything else, Cole grabbed Rellim and Niello, dragging them to the ground just as a nearby tree exploded in a shower of splinters. As the last of the wooden barrage settled, Cole looked up and found one of the refracted standing nearby, a brutalized tree collapsing behind it. The corpse was covered in more of the powder, while a faint cloud of the stuff hung in the air.

Getting to one knee, halberd at the ready; Cole realized the buzzing noise was coming from the refracted. As the two magi scrambled to their feet, the Paladin reached down and touched some of the powder on the ground. “Sawdust?”

No sooner had the words left Cole’s mouth than the refracted moved, or at least he assumed it did. With a thunderous crack it disappeared and somewhere else in the forest a tree died, its snapping groan echoing through the grove. A stream of honestly impressive curses flowed from Rellim’s mouth as he pulled a wand from one pocket; without missing a beat, his oaths became words of power and Cole saw the air shimmer around him and the others. Gesturing with his free hand, Rellim shouted. “This will stop the splinters but little else, we need to keep moving!”

Looking once at the destroyed trees and inferring what such force would do to mere flesh, Cole grunted and started running. Footsteps pounding over rocky soil and patches of sawdust, the trio bolted through the forest, the sound of trees dying violent deaths in the distance. Escaping the clearing, they kept heading south, Cole’s trained eyes catching sight of more and more ruined vegetation. Huffing, Rellim said. “They are becoming more active, but at least that one is headed away from us.”

After a few more minutes of frantic flight, Cole caught sight of what had to be the camp. Barely visible between the cypress trees was a wall of solid stone. As they got closer, Cole got a better view of the structure. Surrounded by uprooted trees was a palisade of rock standing over two meters tall. Some nearby trees were splintered, and close to them, Cole noticed odd rippling grooves marring sections of the stone. Wand raised high, Rellim spat more arcane phrases and when they were within ten meters of the wall a section of it slid forward, offering passage inside. Never slowing down, the trio entered the new camp and the stone ground shut behind them.

Now within the small fortress’s square walls, Cole drank in its contents and occupants. Large tarpaulins stretched down from the walls in makeshift sunshades and a few crates were scattered about, testifying to how little had been scavenged from the original camp. In this refuge were three dozen men and women; just enough to make things feel slightly cramped. Suntanned laborers sat beside nervous tower staff while knots of scholars and magi muttered among themselves. What little activity within the fort came to a stop as its occupants realized Rellim had brought a stranger among them.

A female dwarf with long blond hair and a series of golden piercings stood up from what Cole thought might be a well under construction. Dusting off her tattooed hands, she gestured at the Paladin. “Well, is this who the Temple sent?”

Nodding, Rellim said. “Yes, meet Paladin Cole. Niello found him heading up towards the Triskelion.”

The dwarf sucked on her teeth. “A paladin? Well, we might actually survive this then.”

Speaking quickly, Niello said. “He hurt one of the refracted and survived, Magus Alvia.”

That got a stir of mutters from the small crowd. Walking over to one corner of the fort, the dwarf magi stomped her bare foot onto the stone and a collection of stools slid up out of the rock. Taking one, Cole found the others occupied by Rellim, Alvia, and two other magi. The space between the stools quickly became a low table that Alvia danced her fingers across, conjuring what Cole quickly realized was a simple map of the island.

Nodding in appreciation at the magical skill, Cole asked. “I take it you’re a savant?”

Alvia grunted a confirmation as she marked their location on the map. They were on the southern side of the island, with the central heights between them and the north shore where the original camp lay. Gesturing first to the dwarf, Rellim started introductions. “Our geomancer and geology scholar, Magus Alvia.” Then he pointed to a twitching older man with a wispy beard and nervous eyes. “Magus Torim, token seer and historian.” Next the Preceptor gestured to perhaps the most incongruous member of the group; a lean woman wearing a sword at one side with a partially shaved head and a burn covering much of one cheek. “Proctor Olasis from the Seirena Ivory tower.”

Not letting go of his halberd, Cole nodded to each of them before eyeing Rellim. “Well, we made it here intact. Could you now please tell me what’s going on?”

Lighting an ornate pipe shaped like a dragon’s mouth, Alvia said. “We dug up something we shouldn’t have and now we don’t know how to bury it.”

Nodding, Rellim elaborated. “Well, to be more specific, we didn’t dig it up, an earthquake uncovered it earlier this spring and the Ivory Tower of Vindabon put together this expedition by midsummer.”

Examining the stone map, Cole asked. “How did anyone know about the ruins? You can’t see it from the sea and this island is uninhabited.”

In a very dry, very tired voice, Magus Torim answered. “We didn’t come here looking for the Triskelion’s entrance. We came here looking for this” The Magi pointed to a spot on the map’s south-east shore. “That… thing up at the rift is just part of the ruin. It stretches beneath the entire island, sticking out at different parts.”

Letting a smoke ring float up and away, Alvia corrected the older Magus. “Not sticking out, pushing through. Whatever’s down there is pressing up from beneath the surface and shifting the entire island around it.”

Leaning forward, Cole spoke softly. “Could this be a faerie relic? Something from their attempts to drown the world in magic?”

Shaking his head, Rellim said. “We don’t think so; the animals aren’t mutated, and it doesn’t match anything found in the White Isles. For a while we thought the structure might be Jotunn in origin but… well once we started to excavate the timeline didn’t add up”

Staring at the map, Cole asked. “What do you mean?”

Rellim and Alvia exchanged glances and the dwarf spoke. “You saw the Triskelion, how it's stuck in the rock-face, right? At first, we thought whoever built the ruin carved it into the island’s guts, but that’s not the case. See, the Triskelion came first, and the surrounding rock, second.”

For all of Cole’s extensive knowledge, he knew little about geology and Alvia must have guessed that from the look on his face. Dumping out some ash from her pipe she explained. “Stone grows, that’s a truth my people have known for a very long time. But it grows slowly over the epochs. So whatever is under this island has been here for a very long time, long enough for a castle’s worth of rock to grow over it.”

Thinking about this, Cole said. “But the Jotunn have been here since the First Epoch, that’s tens of thousands of-”

Alvia shook her head. “You are thinking too small.” Gesturing in the vague direction of the Triskelion, she said. “Rock like that doesn’t grow in ten thousand years, slag… it might not get that big in ten million! Whatever we dug up has been sitting nice and snug before our shared ancestors climbed out of trees.”

Cole was silent for a moment, that truth sinking into him. with every passing moment, his pile of questions grew larger and what little answers he’d collected were more ominous than anything else. Privately, the Paladin thought he was well and truly out of his depth, but if Master Time guided him here, then he’d try to play his part. Meeting Rellim’s eyes, the Paladin said, “Well, if I’m going to help with this, I’ll need to know all I can.”

Fidgeting with his glasses, the Magi said. “Well, it all started with an accident.”

: Two Weeks Previous :

“Preceptor…. uh something’s happened up at the central dig.” Those words pulled Rellim from the text on Jotunn metallurgy he’d been reading and made his heart sink. Sentences like that rarely meant anything good; especially if a Magi, even an apprentice like Carnic, wasn’t being specific. Magic, especially the type practiced by the Towers, was a thing of exact certitude and methodical understanding. Students freshly raised in that tradition were rarely so imprecise; obsession with their class standing made sure of that. So, for one of Rellim’s more promising adepts to be standing at the entrance of his tent, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes and unwilling to meet his eyes, things must be… difficult.

Collecting his wand and a few other trinkets, Rellim stood up. “What’s going on?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Carnic elaborated. “It's one of the workers, sir. He’s inside… well, I think it's better if you just see.”

Frowning, Rellim let himself be led from his tent and the camp. Glancing about the few scholars and magi among the flapping canvas, Rellim did his best to seem unperturbed. While no great leader of men, Rellim understood fear and how it worked; it wouldn’t do for the expedition to see its nominal leader panicking. Not that he was panicking, that is, for now, Rellim was merely concerned. But after events of the past month, it would be easy for the Preceptor to pass that threshold.

Trotting after the skittish apprentice, Rellim waited till they were free of the camp. “Well, what happened?”

Carnic licked his sun-chapped lips. “I didn’t see sir, I was in the atrium at the time. But four of the workers were moving equipment down the shaft when the crane broke. One of the workers, Abel, I don’t know if you know him… was on the hook.”

A muttered oath escaped the Preceptor. “Fire-and iron! They should know better. Is he injured? How badly?”

Swallowing as they hiked up one of the marked trails, Carnic said. “That’s the thing sir, he fell from the near top and then when he hit the bottom he… he went through it.”

That got Rellim to hesitate. “How!!! We’ve been unable to get as much as a scraping of the material for analysis! A man and a crate falling a few stories should barely dent the floor!”

Now Carnic looked a little sick. “He didn’t break through the floor, he went through it like a mirror and now… and now he’s trapped.”

As those words sunk in, Rellim wiggled his toes in an intricate pattern and shot off twice as fast as before. The enchantment he’d woven into his boots wasn’t perfect, but now wasn’t the time to worry about Aetheric bleed from iffy runes. Leaving Carnic literally in his dust, the Preceptor’s mind raced even faster than his body. Ever since they’d arrived on Mycio Island, the dig had been beset by unexpected challenges at every turn. The south-east section of the ruin they’d originally intended to explore was right at tide level and practically impossible to investigate. Most of the other exposed bits of the structure were impenetrable, appearing as just masses of strange metal bursting from the rock. Only the entrance near the island’s peak had been accessible and, even then, with some difficulty.

Eons of sediment and sedimentary rocks had filled much of the tunnel and what lay beyond it; requiring efforts more akin to a quarry work than an archaeological dig to excavate. Repeated accidents and equipment failures slowed efforts; with only Alvia the Geomancer’s efforts keeping them anywhere close to on schedule. After the fourth inexplicable act of misfortune, Rellim had started privately looking for signs of a poltergeist. He’d expected to find the long-diffused remnants of some poor shipwrecked soul causing the problems, but even using every trick learned from his father and a lifetime of magical study, Rellim uncovered nothing of the sort.

These accidents, along with the strange dreams some of the more sensitive among the magi were experiencing, kept everyone on edge. Nowhere to be found was the usual excitement such a large and mysterious find as the Triskelion should engender among the archaeological staff. The discovery of a massive complex belonging to an unidentified precursor culture was the sort of thing people in Rellim’s profession dreamed of. Now, on this isolated island, plagued by enigmas, those dreams were souring like sun-baked goat-milk. While this wasn’t the first unsettling dig Rellim had been part of; it was perhaps the first where the senior staff were just as skittish as the students and workers.

The collection of magi and scholars Rellim oversaw were some of the best in their fields. Experienced and educated masters of the myriad crafts that the Vindabon Ivory Tower labeled archaeology. So for them to be at a collective loss about the Triskelion ruin’s origin… well, ignorance fed fear like rain does crops. On more than one occasion, Rellim or a colleague would throw up their hands, wishing for a sign as to which precursor culture or species the ruin belonged to. But now, after hearing Carnic’s tale, Rellim had his sign, and it filled him with dread. Mirror magic was fae magic. They now knew the Triskelion’s origin, just in time for it to swallow up someone under Rellim’s protection.

Finally reaching the rift, the Preceptor found nervous students and workers milling about. Upon seeing him, Magus Urbain approached, the corpulent telekinetic practically skipping to meet him. “We’ve evacuated the ruin and started working on wards and counter-charms. But there's been no other activity after what happened to that poor worker.”

Nodding his approval, Rellim headed towards the Triskelions entrance. Urbain had been in the running for the preceptorship and excellent crisis manager; he’d clearly come to the same conclusion as Rellim and acted accordingly. Looking around the gathered staff, the Preceptor called out. “Torim, Lomi, and Wilkith, come with me. Everyone else, Urbain, is in charge, follow his orders and maintain the perimeter here. If we don’t return in one hour, evacuate to the main camp and call the Seirena tower for aid.”

Rellim climbed the small ramp into the ruin as his selected cadre assembled. It was standard practice to never enter a dangerous site without a seer, and Torim’s skill with psychometry might come in handy. Lomi was a practiced battlemage specializing in combat wards and healing. If Abel was alive, she’d keep him that way, and if he wasn’t, she’d protect the rest of them. Wilkith was one of Urbain’s favored students and a telekinetic prodigy. It would fall to him to get this little group into and out of the ruin’s deeps.

Standing at the ruin’s entrance; Rellim considered things for a moment and then collected some climbing rope from a nearby crate. Working quickly, he bound his team together in a mountaineer’s fashion. While he didn’t know if it would help if any of them ‘fell’ through the floor, Rellim wouldn’t spurn the possibility. That set, the four magi entered the Triskelion ruin, stepping onto the unnaturally reflective floor with trepidation. Staring down at the mirror-polished metal; Rellim chewed on one cheek. The fae weren’t known for such elaborate metallurgy, but that didn’t mean one of the kaleidoscope kingdoms wasn’t an outlier.

Walking forward, Rellim tried to ignore the tri-part reflection surrounding his group and every story he’d heard of faeries pulling unsuspecting victims into mirrors. Moving deeper into the ruin, the walls and floor were slowly rotated, giving the tunnel the feeling of some titanic screw. Using the wooden planks left for this purpose, the cadre scrambled over sections of the ruin where the floor's slant was treacherous. The farther they went, the ‘tighter’ the tunnel's rotation became, and the cadre’s reflections became more numerous and distorted. Despite Rellim calling up only a speck of magelight, the ruin was almost painfully bright; arcane light bouncing between polished metal over and over.

“Jagged edges!” came a loud curse from behind Rellim along with a rattling thunk. Spinning about he and the rest of the cadre found Thorim splayed against one wall, hands out, magical sparks flowing between his fingers. Eyes locked on his opposite reflection, the token-seer spoke slowly. “Something moved.”

Staring at the distorted mirroring of his colleague, Rellim reached out with his arcane senses. “I don’t feel anything, does anyone else?”

Negative grunts and murmurs filled the hallway, and Rellim took a calming breath. “It's possible this place is playing tricks on us; either literally or figuratively. Stay on guard and keep your sixth sight close at hand. Thorim, if something like that happens again, try to catch sight of it in the Aether.”

With that, they journeyed deeper, soon reaching the grand chamber they’d named the atrium. Twenty-one meters from one end to the other, it was composed of three slightly flattened spheres that overlapped, creating odd arch-like structures where they met; giving the place an almost organic, shell-like appearance. Three tunnels stretched out from where the lobes met and at the center of the structure was a six-sided shaft that descended close to fifty meters down below. They’d been excavating the other two tunnels, bridging off the atrium, having some success but recent focus had turned to the shaft, which Rellim wondered might have been a mistake.

Built over the shaft’s opening was a simple crane, constructed using good rope, good wood and good magic. Approaching the equipment, Rellim gingerly inspected it, finding no overt signs of tampering. Lomi got to work cranking up the line and soon where the crane broke became visible. The former battlemage held the sturdy rope in her hands and said. “I’d estimate this was roughly twenty meters from the top. Very tricky to cut from up here, even with telekinesis and a good knife.”

Rellim stared at the perfectly severed rope and nodded. There was no fraying, no strain signs, just the clean split of a sharp edge. Noting how the cut end hadn’t split apart, the Preceptor took the rope from Lomi and tapped it with his wand’s golden tip. Whispering a sensory spell, Rellim blinked his eyes rapidly as information flowed into his brain. The magic he’d just used was originally meant for measuring the smoothness of material, but with a little adjustment, Rellim used it to check the cut’s precision.

Letting the rope flop to the ground, the Preceptor said. “I don’t think a blade did this; or at least not one of mortal make.”

Nodding slowly as he peered over the pit’s lip, Rellim made his decision. “We need to find out if he’s alive, dead, or worse. Lomi and Thorim, can you ward us while Wilkith and I carry us down?”

The young telekinetic adept looked back and forth from Rellim and the pit. “Uh sir… I don’t know if I can-”

Rellim riffled through his pockets and pulled out a small disk. Causally, the Preceptor tossed the palm-sized object onto the ground where it landed with a solid thunk. Making an arcane gesture and whispering some words, Rellim commanded the disc to grow. The outer gold band of the disc stretched and thinned as the trinket swelled to two meters in diameter. Stepping onto the now paper-thin but sturdy disc, the Preceptor asked. “Have you worked with one of these before?”

Staring at the artifact, Wilkith slowly nodded. “Yes, but only a recreation, not an actual skith disc.”

At Rellim’s prompting, the telekinetic adept joined him on the disc; the pair kneeling down and touching its waxy surface. After a few tentative moments both magi were linked to the artifact. Once all four members of the group were on board, Rellim guided the disc towards the shaft's edge. Lomi offered whispered prayers under her breath as they slipped into open air. Instead of plummeting to a messy end or joining Abel’s fate the magi floated slowly downwards.

Around them, the six-sided shaft seemed to spin; its corkscrew design offering surreal reflections to the disc’s passengers. Cloaked in protective wards, the magi were cautious in their descent. Rellim half expected some cutting edge to slip free from the surrounding mirrors or for his trinket to buckle under some unseen assault. But even as they passed the twenty meter mark, things were still going smoothly. Mind focused on the artifact beneath him, Rellim guided the magi towards the bottom, steering the strange vessel, while Wilkith provided most of the magical power.

Eventually, the tense descent ended, and the disc alighted upon smooth metal. The shaft’s bottom was vaguely bulb-shaped, made of interlocking hexagons only interrupted by three tunnels branching off of it. Stone filled the offshoots with only a meter or so of the tunnels accessible. Abandoned digging tools were scattered about the space, signs of where the expedition had labored to excavate one of the passages. Buckets of broken rock lay next to rune-marked picks, and a knocked over tremor-teller tripod. The faceted walls of the shaft’s bottom reflected Rellim’s magelight over and over, giving the place a candle-haunted look.

As Rellim stepped to the disc's edge a frantic knocking reached his ears. With a thought, Rellim brightened the golden sphere hovering near his head and found the sound’s source. All around them were reflections and reflections of reflections; each depicting a kneeling man. Wild-eyed and naked, Abel beat his fist against the shining metal, the sound the only way Rellim could identify the original.

One hand on his wand, the other on the guiding line tying him to his fellows, Rellim slowly stepped onto the shaft's vaguely concave floor. It didn’t buckle beneath him and he didn’t fall into his reflection. Letting out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding, Rellim approached the trapped man. Beneath the Preceptor’s feet was his own reflection, unbothered by its panicked companion on that side of the mirror. Abel looked ‘up’ towards Rellim’s reflection and reached out towards it. His fingers passed through the image and a string of silent oaths escaped Abel’s mouth.

Kneeling down, Rellim started to trace characters in the air with his wand, leaving golden lines that formed words. After a moment’s consideration, the Preceptor flipped the hovering message and let it sink onto the floor. Abel’s eyes locked onto the words and he calmed slightly.

‘Help is here, we won’t leave you.’

Gingerly, all but Wilkith left the disc and clustered around Rellim, staring down at the nervous Abel and his reflections. Lomi spoke first. “Any idea why he’s naked?”

In response, Thorim plucked something from the ground and held it up. Pinched between two fingers was a long thread. As the seer tugged at the strange string, Lomi cursed and leapt to her feet, having been kneeling on its continuation. Thorim whispered a word and purple light extended out along the thread, revealing its shocking size. Scattered all across the shaft’s bottom was a single incredibly long string, coiling and overlapping like some prehistoric worm. Letting the magic fade, the seer said. “I’ve heard of things like this; side effects of spatial magic. Abel is lucky; his clothes were merely regurgitated, not fused with him.”

Hand going to the shortsword at her belt, Lomi asked. “So that settles it? This is faerie business?”

Thorim exhaled slowly and shut his eyes. Rellim could almost taste the magic the seer was working and waited patiently. Dropping the thread, Thorim hissed in annoyance. “That… that doesn’t make sense.”

Staring down at the string, the token-seer elaborated. “I read the materials history and it was Abel's clothes, but it was also… it’s also always been this thread. It has two pasts.”

Sucking a breath in through her teeth, Lomi said. “That sounds strange enough to be Fae. Any ideas on how to free our friend here?”

Abel was currently curled up, trying to keep a modicum of modesty as the magi above/below him discussed his fate. Meeting the trapped worker’s nervous eyes, Rellim said. “Let's start with the best sensor wards we know; whatever magic is at work here has to leave signs. If we can find them, we can start pulling apart what exactly happened.”

Nodding his agreement, Thorim held onto the string, staring at the curiosity. “I’m still curious about this. If it's all his clothes woven together, then perhaps by cutting the thread I might get a better reading.”

With a quick jerk of his hand, Thorim snapped the thread and prepared his magic. For a single moment Thorim’s eyes went wide, pupils dilating and then becoming pinpricks. A gurgling grunt escaped the token-seer, and he wobbled precariously. The other two magi caught their colleague before he could fall over. Cursing, Lomi placed a hand on Thorim’s forehead. “He’s having a seizure.”

Eyes rolled back into his head, the token-seer started to shake and groan, spit dribbling into his beard.

The magi worked quickly, trying to help their colleague through the episode. Such ailments weren’t uncommon among seers and similar spellweavers. Even a magi’s brain could only handle so much information without side-effects. As Thorim lay on his side, spasming Rellim noticed something strange, one of the token-seer’s sleeves was frayed. Staring at that oddity, the Preceptor’s eyes drifted towards the string Thorim snapped, it was intact.

Sucking in a deep breath, Rellim nodded. “Let’s get him onto the disc. He needs a proper healer, and we need more information before something else happens.”

Lightning quick, Thorim grabbed onto Rellim with surprising strength. Pupils expanding and contracting in mad pulses, the token-seer managed to form a few words. “It-it-ti-it-iti no-not-noti”

Meeting his colleague's alien gaze, the Preceptor asked. “It’s not what?”

Thorim twitched in what might have been a shake of the head. “Notice! NOTICE US!”

Somewhere near Rellim a frantic drumbeat sounded, turning to look he found Abel pounding frantically on the mirror, shouting something. While no proper lip-reader, the Preceptor could still decipher what Abel was saying. ‘Something’s in here with me!’

The trapped man’s blows became faster as he looked over his shoulder, panic gripping him. Then, hand raised mid-strike he stopped and then went limp, standing there like some abandoned child’s doll. Rellim raised his wand as Abel started to twitch… no, not twitch, vibrate. His body becoming blurred around the edges like a bee’s wings. Mouth open in shock, Rellim watched as the trapped worker became first an indistinct mass than a skin-colored smear of motion stretched between each mirrored hexagon.

Clambering onto the disk, the Preceptor found his wits. “We need to leave!”

With Lomi’s help Rellim got Thorim onto the artifact as Wilkith poured magic into it. Slowly, horribly slowly, the disk floated up off the tunnel floor, guided upwards and away from whatever madness they’d found. Kneeling at his trinket’s edge, Rellim piloted the disc while watching the mirrors. The vibrations were slowing down and soon enough Abel became more than a tan blur. For a moment, Rellim thought the worst was over; Abel was gesturing with one hand, lips flapping in unheard words. Then Rellim noticed the trapped man’s eyes and saw the truth. Son of a rest-bringer and student of the arcane, Rellim knew when he was looking into a corpse's eyes. There was nothing behind Abel’s gaze, no pain, no thought, no life; not that his body cared.

As this sunk in, Rellim noticed two other things simultaneously about Abel. First was how the body was moving. It flapped its arms and lips for two seconds, then stopped and repeated the gestures perfectly. The bizarre sight reminded the Preceptor of both an actor practicing a pivotal moment and some malfunctioning clockwork device. Yet Rellim only paid this a second’s notice, what was happening in all the other mirrors was more important. As Abel’s corpse did its sickening pantomime, so did his reflections, except they were poorer actors. It was subtle at first, but each reflection, each copy was moving uniquely, changing its patterns and actions ever so slightly with each iteration.

By the time the disk was three meters in the air the only commonality between all the copies was how they stared up at the retreating magi. Dozens of empty corpse eyes watched Rellim, boring into him like a dull auger. A gurgling grunt from Thorim pulled Rellim’s attention from the grotesque sight. The token-seer was also peering over the edge as he recovered from his seizure. “It’s learning.”

“What?” asked a startled Rellim.

Swallowing down bile, Thorim shut his eyes. “We were wrong, this isn’t fae, it's older than that; far, far older. Something has been sleeping in here, Rellim, something so ancient it doesn’t know how our world works.”

A rattling noise that might have been a sob escaped Thorim. “We woke it up, Rellim, we woke it up, and we gave it a manual.”

Peering down at the twisted copies of Abel, seeing them slowly learning how to move and act, Rellim swore. “Fixed stars preserve us…”