Chapter 2

The north tower stood at the westernmost edge of the inner palace, built from black stone. They said every block had been soaked in ancient mages' blood.

By the time I arrived, the Mystic Arcanists' Association had already cordoned off the square. A dozen grey-robed mages stood at the perimeter, silver staves in hand — none daring to approach the tower door.

Chief Astrologer Griffin stood at the front.

He was thinner than in the memories — face sharp as a blade, silver hair combed neatly. His eyes swept over my robe, then my sleeves, and finally settled on my empty belt.

"Archmage Vane," he said. "Where's your staff?"

"Broken."

"Again?"

"This time it broke itself."

Griffin let out a cold laugh.

"Seems your artifacts have more self-awareness than the rumors suggest."

Someone snickered nearby.

I ignored him and looked up at the tower.

The spirit-summoning bell hung at the peak, its surface webbed with silver cracks. With each ring, a thread of black light bled through the fissures.

Beneath the bell stood the faceless figure.

It wore old-style royal guard armor, arms hanging at its sides. Where a face should be was a smooth, pale blankness — no eyes, no nose, no mouth.

Thomas stood behind me, voice shaking.

"Archmage, it's been standing there for half an hour."

"Has anyone gone up?"

"The first guard squad went up. They all passed out on the third floor."

"And now?"

"The bell keeps ringing."

Griffin stepped forward.

"His Majesty orders you to deal with it immediately."

"Then open the door."

"It could be a high-level revenant."

"That's exactly why I need to open it."

Griffin's eyes darkened.

"If you can't handle it, the Association will strip you of your Archmage title immediately."

"You've said that many times."

"This time it will be recorded in the royal archives."

I glanced at him.

"Then make the handwriting pretty."

Griffin's face hardened.

I walked up to the tower door.

The royal seal was carved into it — three layers of silver lines overlapping. On the outermost layer, a small break was visible.

Not broken from the outside by a revenant.

Someone had opened it from the inside.

I pressed the black iron artifact against the lock core.

The silver spell-runes lit up.

The seal parted — as if pushed aside by an invisible hand.

The tower door groaned open.

A blast of cold air rushed out.

Thomas stepped back half a pace.

I walked in.

The first floor held the royal ancestral spirit-lamps — they should have burned blue. Now they were all extinguished. Black damp stains covered the murals, and the crowned figures in the paintings had all lost their faces.

Dong.

The bell sounded from the top.

Dust sifted down from the stone joints.

I climbed the spiral stairs.

Every ten steps, I heard a whisper.

"Archmage..."

"Open the door..."

"Let me back in..."

Voices layered together — men, women, old, young.

I didn't answer.

Revenants excel at creating illusions with sound.

On the third floor, three guards lay on the ground. Still alive, but their souls had been pressed deep into their bodies by the cold — breathing shallow.

I took silver powder from my sleeve and drew a triangular soul-waking seal on the floor.

"Thomas, drag them to the wall."

Thomas gritted his teeth and did it.

I wedged the black iron artifact into a stone crack.

"Wake."

All three guards gasped sharply and sat up.

One of them cried out: "The face! There's no face at the top!"

"I know."

"It's under the bell! It said the prince has returned!"

I paused.

"Which prince?"

The guard shook his head blankly.

The bell rang again.

This time the whole tower trembled.

Black light from the top flowed down the walls like an inverted net.

I looked up.

"It's not summoning a spirit."

Thomas asked: "Then what is it doing?"

"Waiting for someone to answer it."

"Who?"

"The one who drew the seal."

I kept climbing.

The door on the fourth floor was already cracked. The sound of metal dragging came from within.

The faceless one stood beneath the bell, head bowed.

Old royal crests were etched into its armor. A broken sword was embedded in its chest.

I didn't pull the sword. I looked at its feet.

The black seal on the stone floor was now complete. Unlike the spirit-summoning seal I'd seen in my quarters, this was a recall seal — not calling the dead, but forcibly dragging an already-departed soul back into its original shell.

The faceless one lifted its head.

A black fissure split the blank space where a face should be.

"You came."

Voices pressed in from all directions.

"You know me?"

"You are not him."

I gripped the black iron artifact.

"Who is 'him'?"

The faceless one raised its hand and pointed to the bell behind me.

"The one who stole the crown."

The bell stopped ringing.

The next moment, the King's voice came from outside the tower.

"Archmage Vane! Come out immediately!"

I glanced back.

Griffin stood at the tower door, holding a golden royal seal in his hand.

Six royal guards flanked him.

"By His Majesty's order," Griffin said, "you are not to approach the tower's spirit entity without authorization."

When I turned back, the faceless one was gone.

But the black seal on the stone floor was beginning to seep blood.