CHAPTER TWO: The Descent
The Gate didn't look like much.
It sat at the edge of the sky-realm, nestled between two jagged peaks that jutted up like broken teeth. No gold. No glowing runes. Just a stone archway, half-covered in ivy, humming quietly in a language no one had spoken in an age.
Idyll frowned. "That's it?"
"What were you expecting?" Thessa asked.
"I don't know. Fire. Lightning. Something dramatic."
She smirked. "It's a gate, not a stage play."
Idyll circled it like he didn't trust it not to bite. "Still. Bit underwhelming for something that leads to an entirely different world."
"Oh, you want impressive?" Thessa pulled a scroll from her sleeve. "Wait till you see what's on the other side. Mortals love their drama."
He grinned. "Finally. My kind of people."
"Let's hope they're also your kind of alive."
She stepped forward, lifting the scroll to whisper the key-phrase.
Then—
"Halt."
A voice like cracking stone echoed across the ridge.
A massive figure stepped out from the shadows behind the pillars. Eight feet tall, silver-plated armor etched with constellations, face hidden behind a smooth, expressionless helm. A golden spear rested across his shoulders.
Gatewarden.
"Thessa of the Ink Order," the guardian said. "You are not scheduled for transit. The Gate opens in three nights."
Thessa lowered the scroll with a sigh. "Yes, I know. We're early."
"Return then. With sanction."
She hesitated.
Idyll cracked his knuckles. "We could fight him."
Thessa shot him a look. "We absolutely could not."
"I'm just saying—"
"You thinking about fighting him is already a bad idea."
The Gatewarden tilted its head. "Who is the boy?"
"A student," Thessa said calmly. "Scribe-in-training. We're on assignment."
"There is no record of that."
"Well, it wouldn't be a secret mission if there was," she replied, smoothly pulling another scroll from her satchel. This one was blank, but she waved it as if it had the weight of divine law. "If you'd like to stall official scribal business, I can escalate this up to the Ninth Library. But you know how they feel about delays."
The Gatewarden paused.
Thessa smiled politely. "Have you ever been audited by the Ninth Library?"
Silence.
Then, with a low groan, the Gate hummed to life.
A hole tore open in its center—black and gold and endless. Wind burst from it, warm and heavy with the scent of fire, salt, and damp earth. Mortal air.
The guardian stepped aside.
Thessa tugged Idyll's arm. "Move."
As they passed, Idyll whispered, "You just tricked a thousand-year-old gate guardian with a blank scroll."
"I didn't trick him," Thessa said, voice low. "I gave him a choice between risking paperwork and letting us go."
"Remind me never to argue with you in a library."
"Smartest thing you've said all day."
They stepped through.
Falling was the first part.
The Gate pulled them down like a dream ending too fast—sky flashing by in streaks of color, light bending around them. Thessa clenched her teeth, holding tight to her satchel. Idyll whooped like a wild thing, arms wide.
Then came the crash.
They hit earth hard—dirt, not stone—and tumbled into tall grass that smelled like crushed leaves and old rain.
Thessa sat up, brushing her hair back, eyes wide. "We made it."
Idyll flopped beside her, grinning. "Let's do that again."
"No."
She stood, knees muddy, and looked around.
They were in a valley. Hills rose around them in dark green waves, dotted with crooked trees. Smoke curled from somewhere far off. The sun was setting, painting the sky blood-orange and deep purple. In the distance, what looked like a small village clung to a hillside, its rooftops dull and sun-baked.
The air was heavier here. Wilder.
Idyll took a deep breath and let it out slow. "This place feels real."
Thessa pulled a tiny map scroll from her sleeve and began adjusting it. "We're near the edges of the Sarnati provinces. Bronze Age. Warlord territory."
"Good," Idyll said. "Let's find some trouble."
"You mean glory."
"I mean both."
She sighed. "You really want your first deed to be 'punching a warlord'?"
"If it gets me on a wall, yes."
Thessa didn't answer. She scanned the hills again. Something about this place made her teeth itch. The wind here whispered in ways that reminded her of old magic—bitter and watching.
Idyll stood, brushing dirt off his knees. "So what now, scribe?"
She folded the scroll and tucked it away. "Now we walk. And hope no one kills us before we find something heroic."
As they started down the slope, a shadow moved far behind them—too still to be wind, too tall to be a tree.
But neither of them looked back.