The air near Emberfen crackled like a taut wire ready to snap. The trees leaned away from the clearing, leaves trembling without wind. Even the birds had abandoned their morning squabbles, leaving the forest eerily quiet.
Rose stood before the shimmer in reality, the key from the Department gripped in her hand. It pulsed faintly, a quiet heartbeat of power. The tear in the Veil was wider now—no longer a crack, but a yawning wound where the laws of nature faltered. It pulsed with colorless light, and something inside it whispered in a voice that didn't use words.
Behind her, the others waited.
Mortain watched with his arms crossed, his storm-glow dimmed in caution. Nimbus floated above them, nervous crackles of static flickering along their edges. Basil had brought snacks. And a shovel. "You know, just in case one of us gets buried in reality," he offered cheerfully.
Gregory the Goat chewed meditatively on a dandelion. "I once closed a rift like this using three druids, a cursed kazoo, and sheer stubbornness. Ah, those were the days."
Rose stared into the wound. It stared back.
She stepped forward.
"Wait," Mortain said. "This feels like one of those 'hero does something reckless and vanishes for three chapters' moments."
"Noted," she replied. "But this key only works if it's used by the one who caused the fracture's echo resonance."
"…Which is you."
"Which is me," she confirmed with a shrug.
She pressed the key into the shimmering light. It slid in like a blade through fog. The Veil screamed—a high, empty sound like glass crying. The key twisted itself, shifting forms, until it locked into place.
Magic exploded outward.
Colors bled into each other. The world bent. Trees folded into impossible shapes. For a moment, Rose saw herself—not in a mirror, but in a thousand versions: old, young, cruel, kind. One was a queen. One was a dragon. One simply wept.
Then it all collapsed inward with a single, snapping sound.
The tear sealed.
The air cleared.
Rose stood there, smoking faintly, her coat now embroidered with strange silver runes that hadn't been there before.
"Well," she said hoarsely, "that was dramatic."
Mortain caught her before she fell. "Are you alright?"
"I've got glitter in my soul, but I think so."
Nimbus swooped low, scanning her. "You are radiating Type C metaphysical feedback. That's the spicy kind."
Gregory trotted over. "You sealed it. The Veil is whole again. Mostly."
Rose looked up at the sky—clear, blue, alive.
"One rift down," she muttered. "Infinite potential disasters to go."
Basil raised a thermos. "To magical emotional instability!"
Mortain smirked and pulled Rose close. "To surviving it together."
She smiled into his chest, letting herself breathe. Just for a moment.
The next step could wait.
For now, they had each other—and a world in need of chaotic guardians.
And somewhere, far away, something else woke up... sensing the ripple.