Mountains are set back way in the distance, their outline barely visible. Closer to where we stand—but honestly, I’m struggling to process the distance with how alien and…wrongeverything feels—is what’s clearly a hub for civilisation.
It doesn’t, however, look like a city, let alone a queendom with a castle or palace. That is, unless I’m greatly overestimating the scale with my expectations.
And if it’s not the centre of the queendom….
Fuck it all to hell.
“What is that?” I ask, despite my mouth drying out, pretty damn sure I know what it is.
“The royal training ground.”
I twist my lips and gnaw on the flesh, only stopping when I realise Solan is peering at me, his eyes zeroed in on what I’m doing. His golden eyes flash in what I’m sure as shit is awareness, turning distinctly darker. I release my lip and dart my tongue out, struggling to catch my breath.
The fuck is happening?
Several heartbeats pass, and a trickle of sweat rolls down my neck. It’s only then that Solan looks away and I remember how to function.
I gulp in air and will it to clear my brain and the battering of emotions in reaction to getting caught up in Solan’s gaze. That shit just isn’t right. In all honesty, I’m close to freaking out.
But that’s the last thing I have time for.
“So, the training ground,” I finally manage to say. “If it’s there, that means everything is okay, right?” I don’t dull down the hope in my voice. “The royal heir and whoever else won’t have been sucked in, and the royal guard won’t be on the warpath… right?”
My lungs freeze as I wait for his response. From the tensing of his jaw, whatever he’s considering doesn’t seem like it’s something I’m going to want to hear.
“Maybe.”
My breath saws out of me. “And that means…?”
“The training grounds span a large section of this area. It’s rare that I travel out this far, so I am not completely sure.”
I wait as he pauses, his focus still intent before he brings out what looks to be a spyglass. It appears to be made out of some kind of dark metal polished to a dull shine, with intricately carved markings running the length of it. The craftsmanship is incredible—simple yet elegant. I’m almost mesmerised by the way his fingers—broad, strange yet oddly graceful—wrap around it as he raises the device to his eye.
The quiet stretches between us, broken only by the distant chirping of a creature and the rustling of plants that look suspiciously carnivorous. Solan’s still as a statue, eye pressed to the spyglass as he observes the horizon.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally lowers the device, his jaw tightening. Unease stirs in my gut. Sure, Solan saved my bacon yesterday, but he’s been so positive—heck, jovial, even—since we met that the shift threatens to take my breath away.
“There is movement near the structure,” he says, his voice low and clipped. “Guards, I think. Perhaps checking for disturbances from the rift.”
I swallow hard, the hope I’d been clinging to shrinking. “Does that mean they know something’s off?” At his quizzical look, I clarify, “That something is wrong?”
“Possibly,” he says, meeting my eyes. “But it’s also common for the royal guard to conduct training exercises here. The area is secured so they can patrol and practice without interruption. It’s best if we don’t assume the worst just yet.”
There’s something unspoken behind his words that makes me shiver. He knows I’m terrified that I left Jamie on his own, but he also understands what we’re risking by going any closer without a plan. And how the fuck is it when he’s talking about something so bloody ominous, his diction sounds so damn perfect? What’s up with that?
“Okay,” I say, nodding, even though my nerves are twisted up like barbed wire. “But they’re not going to miss the appearance of a sliver of my world right next to their facility, right?”
Solan grimaces, but it’s more a quiet acknowledgment than outright fear. “No, they won’t miss it,” he says. “If they haven’t fully checked the area yet, they will soon.”
We continue our slow, careful trek along the edge of the familiar fence line until we pass it and are once more away from the merge point. A new fence line of sorts comes into view. There’s a strange, iridescent shimmer, almost like an oil slick, coating the metal.
As we edge closer to the base, we come across a cluster of boulders. They’re blank and shimmer as though granite. I dismount, asking, “Should we leave Geralt here?” I’m already feeling exposed, but on horseback, it’s definitely going to be more difficult to keep cover.
“Yes, here.”
When Solan presses his hand over the rock, I’m baffled at first, caught between confusion and curiosity. It’s a rough stone, pockmarked and dull, nothing about it standing out from the dozens of other rocks and boulders littering the area. But the moment his hand makes contact, something remarkable happens. A faint shimmer rises in the air around his palm, warping the rock’s surface. It’s like the mirage that dances on the horizon in the outback heat, only here it’s coming directly fromhim.
I gape, barely able to process what I’m seeing. The rock under Solan’s hand softens, almost as if it’s becoming clay. The surface shifts, its gritty texture melting ever so slightly until it twists upwards, forming a looped shape. The entire process takes seconds, but it feels like watching hours of erosion condensed into a moment. My brain stumbles to catch up—rocks don’t bend or shape themselves. Not like this. Not with just a touch.
