Aldric's gaze shifted, staring back toward the inn for several long seconds. His eyes went distant.

  Then he looked at Leon. "You didn't mention the ruin."

  Leon blinked. "I—"

  "Under the inn." Aldric's tone was flat. "Recently opened."

  "We were going to—" Leon started.

  He didn't get to finish.

  Magic wrapped around John like invisible rope. Not painful, but absolute. His feet left the ground. Beside him, Lia let out a startled yelp as she rose into the air. Leon's hand went to his sword hilt, but he was already lifting too.

  "We're wasting time," Aldric said simply.

  The world blurred.

  Wind screamed past John's ears. The ground fell away so fast his stomach tried to climb out through his throat. Trees became streaks of green. The sky wheeled overhead. He caught a glimpse of Lia's wide eyes, Leon's set jaw, and then they were moving. Faster than the griffins, faster than anything had a right to move.

  The ravine appeared below in an instant. Aldric descended like a controlled meteor, and the three of them came down with him. Not gently, but not hard enough to break anything. John's knees buckled when his feet hit stone.

  Both griffins shrieked and scattered, wings flaring, talons gouging earth as they scrambled away from the Grand Magister.

  Marcus had been slouched against a boulder, working through an apple. He scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly tripped over his own hammer. The apple flew from his hand and hit the stone with a wet splat.

  "Grand Magister," he managed, snapping to attention.

  Aldric didn't respond. He was already at the dungeon entrance, one hand raised.

  The magic that poured from his fingertips was unlike anything John had seen. Not destructive like Leon's lightning or crystalline like Erin's ice. This was alive. Reaching, searching, tasting the dungeon entrance with invisible tongues. A presence so heavy the air itself seemed to thicken.

  Marcus took a step backward. Even the griffins, brave as they were, huddled together at the ravine's edge.

  "Beautiful..." Aldric whispered.

  His eyes narrowed. "Show me this ritual. Now."

  Leon nodded. "Marcus, you're with us."

  They descended into the dungeon, Aldric leading despite never having been here before. His staff's crystal illuminated everything, casting sharp shadows that moved wrong.

  The dungeon fought him.

  Stone shrieked in protest. The walls buckled and flexed like muscle under skin, trying to push them back. Cracks spread across the ceiling, raining dust. The ambient mana that John had learned to sense roiled and churned, lashing out in wild bursts before Aldric's presence crushed it flat. The corruption coating the walls writhed, black tendrils reaching toward them before withering and dying in waves.

  It was like watching a living thing struggle against an inevitable execution.

  Aldric's expression never changed. He simply walked forward, and the dungeon died around him.

  When they reached the Brood's chamber the Grand Magister stopped.

  His head turned, slowly, toward a section of rubble. To the hidden passage. The one that had led to the healing pool.

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  Aldric moved closer, magic intensifying until John could taste copper on his tongue. The Grand Magister's fingers traced patterns in the air, pulling at threads of mana John couldn't see.

  His head turned sharply. "Who found this?"

  John raised his hand nervously.

  Aldric's eyes locked onto him. That presence pressed against John's mind again. Not invasive this time, but examining. Clinical. The sensation crawled across his skin like ants.

  The Grand Magister's expression shifted. Surprise flickered across his face.

  "You have damaged meridians," Aldric said quietly. "Corrupted. As if you were poisoned your whole life." His eyes narrowed. "How?"

  John opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I... don't know what that means?"

  Leon and Lia exchanged glances. John tried to keep his face neutral, which was getting harder by the second.

  "Later." Aldric waved a hand dismissively. His eyes lingered on the wall for a moment. Then he turned and continued down.

  They reached the ritual chamber to find Erin humming absently, her back to them. She was examining one of the sigils, head tilted, ice crystals forming and dissipating around her fingers in an idle pattern.

  She sensed them and turned. Saw Aldric. Froze.

  "Grand Magister," she said, bowing quickly.

  Aldric ignored her, his attention locked on the ritual. He moved forward slowly, staff tapping against stone, and the air seemed to contract around him.

  He said nothing at first. Just studied the spiraling sigils, the careful positioning of the corpse, the black wax and dried blood.

  Then his expression changed.

  "Everyone out," he said quietly. "Now."

  "What—" Lia started.

  "OUT!"

  The word cracked like a whip. Magic flared, and John found himself shoved backward by an invisible hand. The others stumbled with him, driven from the chamber by pure force.

  Aldric remained inside, alone with the ritual.

  Light built behind him. Not the warm gold of Leon's healing magic or the silver-blue of Erin's ice. This was white. Pure, searing white that hurt to look at.

  The Grand Magister raised his staff.

  Something pressed hard against John's mind. Not a thought, not words, but a presence. Invasive. Searching. Trying to worm its way through his skull and into whatever lay beneath.

  Then it hit. A wave of force that felt like having his brain scrubbed with steel wool. John gasped, staggered, caught himself against the wall.

  Around him, the others went rigid. Leon's eyes glazed. Lia swayed and fell. Even Marcus grunted, hand flying to his temple. Erin's humming cut off mid-note.

  The pressure intensified. John felt it trying to find purchase, trying to dig hooks into his thoughts.

  It was like fingers prying at the edges of his mind, searching for a crack, a weakness, anywhere to slip inside. The sensation wasn't painful, but wrong. Like someone rifling through his memories, trying to plant something that didn't belong.

  Then it hit a wall.

  Not his spell resistance, that was new and weak. This was different. Deeper. A defense he hadn't known he had.

  A lifetime of drowning in endless information. Designed to enrage, frighten, manipulate or sell. Years of trolling and being trolled. Watching ideas mutate and spread like viruses, developing an immune system against memetic infection without ever putting a name to it.

  The wave passed over him and found nothing to grip.

  It faded. The white light died.

  Aldric emerged from the chamber, his expression grim. He looked at each of them in turn, eyes lingering on John for just a fraction longer than the others.

  He knew. John saw it in that momentary pause. The Grand Magister knew John had resisted whatever he'd just done.

  But Aldric said nothing about it.

  Around him, the others were still recovering. Leon shook his head like he was trying to clear water from his ears. Lia staggered to her feet, one hand pressed to her temple, face pale. Marcus looked sick. Erin had gone very quiet, staring at nothing.

  Instead, he turned to Leon. "You were right to call for me."

  "What was that?" Lia asked, voice shaking. "What did you do?"

  "Purged you." Aldric's tone was flat. "The ritual carries corruption. Not just in the mana, but in the information. Anyone who looks upon it becomes infected. Carries the seeds of it forward, spreading without knowing."

  Erin's hand flew to her throat, eyes wide.

  He turned back toward the chamber, expression dark. "This is old magic. Forbidden magic. The kind that was supposed to have died with the Veil." His grip tightened on his staff. "This must be sealed. Properly. Then we must hunt down all others who learned this dark art. Burn them. Burn their books. Burn it all."

  His eyes swept the group. "The gods alone know how many more could be concealed across the kingdoms."

  Nobody answered. What was there to say? The world had just gotten smaller and more dangerous, and they were standing at the very center of it.