CH1449 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1449: Journey Together

When Roland came back to his room after the last of the day’s business, he found Anna sorting clothes beside a large leather suitcase.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t you tell.” She patted a folded shirt flat. “Preparing for a long journey.”

“Then Neverwinter grinds to a halt.” He made it a joke. “Is it really suitable for the Minister of Industry to disappear without saying a word?”

“Don’t worry. The steam turbines aside, the piston engine improvements are already in the production stage — at most the qualified yield drops slightly. And the Society of Wondrous Crafts members you brought back are all genuinely talented. Letting them take over for a while won’t hurt anything.”

Roland looked more carefully at the case. Every piece she had chosen was plain and durable — nothing for a formal occasion, no silk, not even a skirt. She was not making a point. She was not joking.

“Where are you going?”

“To the floating island. With you.” The look she gave him needed no translation: did you really need to ask? “You’re not planning to wait in Neverwinter for news from the front, are you? I could tell you made your decision after speaking with the Three Chiefs of Taquila. And traveling to the Bottomless Land from the ridge of the continent is far more convenient from the island than from here — which gives you even less reason to come back first.”

“That won’t do—” The denial came before he had thought it through. “Leaving aside how this final battle with the demons resolves — no one knows what’s in the Bottomless Land. And Hackzord mentioned that the Sky-sea Realm has overrun the territory there. The risks are completely unknown, you don’t even—”

“Smack.”

Anna brought both palms lightly against his cheeks, held his face for a moment, and then released. Her hands dropped to his shoulders.

Her voice was quiet. “I know. That’s exactly why I’m going.”

He looked at her eyes. There was no opening there.

In that instant the image from their first encounter pressed itself over her current face — Anna still carrying the rawness of her nascency, nothing at her disposal but her ability and a resolve he had never quite been able to move once it was set. Years had passed. The resolve had not changed.

He made one last attempt. “You’re not who you were. As Queen, leaving Neverwinter for a risk this unnecessary isn’t—”

“If I were truly that mature,” Anna said, pressing gently against his shoulders, “I would never have agreed to let you go to the Bottomless Land knowing nothing about it.” She kept her voice level. “Anything could happen to you there. You could fail. You could disappear. All of it is possible. This attack might be the last time we see each other.” She met his gaze. “Do you think I’m willing to stay in the city? If everyone is taking the same risk, it isn’t so much for me to take it alongside you.”

Roland said nothing. He knew the final attempt had failed — and more than that, knew he had no right to ask. In a reversed situation, he would never have stayed behind either.

“If we don’t return…”

“Then it will be a situation bad enough that nothing worse was possible.” Anna let go of his shoulders and smiled. “Even so, I won’t regret it.”


Nightingale moved through the twisted black and white of the Mist and entered the empty office.

Late at night; most of the palace had gone to sleep. Through the windows, a few candle flames in the courtyard swayed with the breeze — the only light.

She drew the curtains and opened a drawer, placing the glowing magic stone into a light holder. The room filled with a soft, steady glow. The broken teapot and the ruined rug had both been replaced long ago, the incident erased as cleanly as if it had never happened.

Nightingale passed the telephone table and found what she had come for: a wooden case buried under the pile of files at the desk’s head.

In the Mist, she could see without light. That domain, parallel to the world she knew, existed in pure monochrome — black, white, and gray, without exception.

Except for this.

She opened the case. Inside: papers covered in notes, and several small stones, each giving off a distinct dark glow visible only in the Mist. She lifted one piece, placed it in her palm, and attempted to enter the Mist. The moment her magic power took form, it scattered — obstructed, dispersed, as though something had pressed a hand against it from the other side.

“As I expected.” She set the stone back and let out a slow breath.

This was one of the Magic Tower’s specimens. The report was likely from Agatha, Celine, and Isabella — possibly all three. With the Deity of Gods crisis resolved but Red Mist still lingering on the Hermes Plateau, the Taquila witches had been deep in the work of processing demon-derived technology and comparing it against the pure witches’ experimental findings. A report had been imminent for days. Roland would normally have read it the same day it arrived, but not today — North Slope Mountain’s separation and the bomber’s test flight had both fallen on the same day, and the case had not been opened.

Nightingale had noticed the stone from the beginning. In the Mist, only two things remained unaffected: magic power, and the pure dark void created by God’s Stones. Isabella’s research suggested the two phenomena might be connected. The stone in the case produced a black void visible in the Mist — smaller in range than an ordinary God’s Stone, the result of Isabella’s modifications. Nightingale had noted it when Roland received Banach Lothar and dismissed it as a specimen, irrelevant.

Except.

The stone was the reason she had been too slow when the teapot fell. The black void had shielded the falling object, and in the Mist her body had registered the situation as already resolved before she could respond. That alone she might have put down to accident.

But she had seen something else. A line — the kind that represented an object in motion — had emerged from contact with the table, passed through the black void, and struck the teapot, altering its falling trajectory.

Distortions in the Mist were not controllable. Even she had to move with care around unstable lines; the wrong touch could sever anything, including herself. She had never seen anything like what she’d witnessed with the teapot.

She was not sure if it had been coincidence, or if something in her had changed.

She pressed her hand against the edge of the table in the Mist and tried again. And again. Mimicking the situation from before, searching for the same sensation. Nothing came.

I’m overthinking this. She withdrew her hand, feeling slightly foolish. Agatha was right — just because many witches can evolve doesn’t mean it comes easily. At least I didn’t say anything. If Roland knew I almost announced an evolution that didn’t exist, he would never let me live it down.

She returned the magic stone to the drawer and left the office the way she had come.

Behind her, in the room’s silence, a faint sound.

Crack.

Hidden from view, behind the table’s edge: a thin fracture running with the grain of the wood, branching outward, unmistakable.

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