Tolliver Grell liked the quiet of early hours. It softened the shape of the world and made the stone of Sanctum Erendrel feel older than it was. The front room held that quiet best. Morning light entered through the high windows and fell across the bare tables, catching the grain in the wooden benches and the faint shimmer of chalk lines left from the day before. The small sanctum was only a few decades old, its walls still sharp-edged from the chisel-work, but it felt strong to him. Solid. A place meant for focused work far from the watchful eyes of Aeloria.

  He sat with a cup of tea warming his hands. Talis always brewed it strong, claiming it kept the mind from sliding sideways during long hours of study. Tolliver found it pleasant enough. He took a slow sip and let the heat fill his chest.

  The room was orderly. Every text had its proper place on the shelving wall. Every tool lay where it belonged. Tolliver had arrived after Talis built the sanctum, but he had been the one to bring a little structure to the storage, a little discipline to the way their work was arranged. He found comfort in clean spaces. Clutter made thought harder, and he and Talis could not afford that when they worked so close to the buried ruins beneath the mountain.

  He stood at last, tea in hand, and stepped into the hallway that led to Talis’s workspace. His footsteps fell soft against the stone. The corridor smelled of chalk dust and lamp oil, a scent he had grown to associate with progress.

  Talis was bent over a wide slate board when Tolliver entered. He had tied his hair back, though a few strands had escaped and brushed his cheek while he worked. A lamp burned beside him. Its flame stood straight and steady, casting warm light over the intricate markings on the slate.

  “You’re already correcting the sequence,” Tolliver said, lifting his cup toward him.

  Talis looked up with the faintest crease of tired amusement. “It decided to misbehave again. The rise should be smooth. Instead, it folds inward and ruins the rhythm.”

  “Inverted pattern mechanics will do that,” Tolliver said.

  “Inverted radiance,” Talis corrected, rubbing chalk dust off his fingers. “Mechanics makes it sound like gears and levers.”

  “It makes it sound accurate,” Tolliver said, then softened the edge with a half smile. He offered Talis the cup. “Drink. You’ve been at this since dawn.”

  Talis accepted it, took a sip, and handed it back. “There’s a point in the sequence that refuses to align. I thought I saw why an hour ago, but it slipped away from me.”

  He tapped the slate once with the chalk, then paused, as a thought brushed close enough to catch. Tolliver recognized that look well. Talis often froze like that when his mind circled something just out of reach.

  “You want me to check the readings from yesterday?” Tolliver asked.

  “Only the marks you took near the southwest ridge,” Talis said. “A simple review. I want to make sure I didn’t base my notes on a poor assumption.”

  “I’ll be back shortly,” Tolliver said.

  Talis nodded, already turning back to the slate. The chalk scraped once, quick and sure.

  Tolliver took his tea and stepped out through the southwest entrance. Morning air moved against his face, cool and clear. The ridge dropped away toward a sweep of forest below, and the sky held a washed-blue clarity that promised a calm day. He set his cup on a flat stone near the doorway, where it wouldn’t spill, and pulled from his robe a sheaf of notes he had used the night before. His notes were written in neat lines across each page, tallies and distances gathered during a long walk along the ridge.

  Stolen story; please report.

  A deep sound rose from somewhere far down the slope.

  It was not loud at first, only a rumble that seemed to press up through the ground. Tolliver frowned, listening. The mountains had their own voices, and landslides were not unheard of, though this felt different. Lower. Heavier.

  The ground jerked under his feet.

  The sudden motion nearly twisted his ankle. Gravel leapt and skittered across the pathway. Tolliver started, and looked over his shoulder toward the sanctum.

  The rumble deepened. The earth shivered a second time, harder than before.

  Then a sharp crack split the morning.

  Smoke and dust blasted out of the southwest entrance. The force struck Tolliver full in the chest and threw him backward. His shoulder hit the ground. His book flipped from his hand and slid across the stone.

  Heat washed over him. He coughed as grit filled his lungs, and blinked rapidly to clear the dust clinging to his lashes.

  “Talis!” His voice came out ragged.

  He pushed himself upright with shaking arms. The entrance he had just stepped through roared with fire. Smoke boiled out in thick waves, curling upward against the stone arch. The doorway glowed with a fierce orange light. He could hear crashing from within, heavy and violent.

  He took two steps toward it before the heat forced him to stop. The air rolling out was too intense, the smoke too thick. His breath seized in his throat.

  He had to reach Talis.

  Tolliver turned and ran across the courtyard toward the southeast entrance. The ground shifted again under his feet as if the mountain itself struggled to stay upright. A spray of small stones rolled across the path, and he stumbled, caught his balance, and pressed on.

  The entrance came into view, and hope flared enough to push him faster.

  At his approach, smoke poured out of this opening as well. A moment later a wave of flame swept through the doorway in a bright roar. Tolliver recoiled, flinging an arm across his face. The heat drove him back several paces.

  “Talis!” he shouted, voice cracking. The only reply was another rumbling collapse somewhere deep within the sanctum.

  Above the entrance, the roof began to sag. A long line opened in the stone. Dust sifted from it as the crack widened. A section of the upper wall shifted, then folded inward with a harsh, grinding roar. Stones tore free and tumbled down in a heavy cascade.

  Tolliver staggered back as the collapse spread. Sparks shot up in bursts. Smoke rolled over the ridge in thick curls. The sanctum he and Talis had tended so carefully was falling in on itself, room by room.

  He stopped running. There was nowhere left to run.

  He stood at a distance where the falling debris could not reach him. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths as he watched the building crumble. The corridor where he and Talis had walked every morning disappeared in a cloud of ash. The front room where he had taken tea only minutes ago folded like soft clay under the weight of falling stone.

  He whispered Talis’s name. It broke in the middle.

  The sanctum shuddered once more. Then the main hall dropped inward in a single sweeping collapse. A gray wave of dust rolled outward across the ridge, soft and slow. The roar faded, replaced by the settling grind of stone and a deep, ringing quiet.

  Tolliver rubbed a trembling hand across his face. Ash clung to his skin. His clothes were coated in pale grit. The ridge around him was still, save for the soft patter of falling dust. He slowly dropped to his knees and stared.

  Sanctum Erendrel was gone.

  Talis was gone.

  The work they had shared, the safety they had built, the care they had taken to guard the sealed chambers below, it all lay buried beneath broken stone.

  He drew a long, unsteady breath. The air tasted of smoke and cold morning wind.

  The shape of his life had changed in an instant. He felt the truth settle inside him with the weight of the falling sanctum.

  Dust drifted down like quiet snow.

  He turned toward the ruin, and wept.

  If you’re enjoying the story, hit Follow and drop a Review. That’s what pushes it in front of new readers and keeps this whole thing moving.

  Want to stay ahead of the release? Patreon has 2 or 6 chapters waiting.

  You can also grab The Shifting Veil — Complete Book One there if you’d rather read the whole novel now.

  I appreciate you being here.

  – Bill