“It will take time to learn how to destroy this Wand,” Vogel says, low and firm. “Until then, it is best to say it was obliterated.”

Alaric nods shakily. Of course, they should keep it secret, this Wand that is supposedly impossible to destroy. And, of course, Vogel should be the one to take hold of it and work out how to obliterate it, as no Mage is as pure as him.

For a moment, Vogel studies Alaric and Alaric can feel that silvered gaze straight down his spine. Then Vogel slides the Wand under his cloak, raises his hands, and calmly performs the Exorcism of the Demonic. Alaric forces himself to echo the prayer’s words, but he finds that his gaze is pulled, relentlessly, toward where the Shadow Wand is now concealed.

As they sail away from the continent, color returns to their world.

The Mage crew begins to compose ballads about their journey. They sing of Vogel’s defeat of the Death Fae. How he destroyed the Wand of Shadow power before the Evil Ones could take possession of it. And how they have only to find the Ancient One’s Blessed Wand of Myth to complete their sacred quest.

Alaric’s hands clutch the stern’s railing as he looks west, his brow knotted.

The horizon stares back in an unbroken line, a brilliant, multihued sunset hanging above it. There was a sunset like this one when they set out, Alaric recalls, spilling over every color imaginable. Alaric’s light magery frenzied and he struggled to beat back his reflexive joy in seeing sacred and profane hues so confusingly blended. Just like everything seems disturbingly mixed up in him right now. He watches the unsettlingly beautiful sunset, unable to shake the dread fixed in him like a stone wedged deep in his core.

“A blessed evening to you, Mage.”

Alaric startles at the resonant voice as Vogel joins him, his expression serene. Excitements sparks in Alaric over finding himself alone in his mentor’s charismatic, trusted presence, but is quickly dampened. He can’t help it. His eyes flick warily toward the outline of the Wand sheathed under Vogel’s cloak.

Struggling to suppress his unease, Alaric gives the expected, polite response. “May you be blessed by the Ancient One’s Holy Light.” He glances again toward the Wand, and can see, by the flick of Vogel’s own gaze, that his mentor has noticed him noticing.

“What’s troubling you, Mage?” Vogel asks, his pale green eyes penetrating.

“I’m concerned...” Alaric starts, striving to assemble his thoughts as Vogel patiently waits. “I’m concerned that—” his gaze flicks yet again to the Wand “—that we’re making a mistake. Bringing that to the Continent of the Realms.”

Vogel nods placidly, as if he was expecting this. “You heard the demon,” he reasons. “The Wand was sending out lures to be found and taken up by heathens. It was by the Ancient One’s grace that the Death Fae mistook us for Dryad demons.”

Alaric nods. A huge stroke of luck, indeed. He scans the Wand’s outline, unable to keep the seditious thoughts from rising. Was it truly luck? Or should we run from this thing?

“How do we know the Wand won’t use us for evil?” The words rush out of Alaric, the Fae’s warning something he can’t shake, even though it came from an Evil One.

Vogel’s lip lifts. “Because we are Mages. Filled with the Ancient One’s own grace. Any Tool of Power in our hands will be transformed.”

Alarm knifes through Alaric. “But...you said you were going to destroy it.” His gaze darts west, and he notices that the sunset is now a dim imprint, blasts of color receded.

Swallowed by darkness.

“‘Unholy is the Mage who doubts the Will of the Ancient One,’” Vogel murmurs.

Alaric’s brow tenses over Vogel’s ominous choice to recite this passage from the Book. He turns just as Vogel gently reaches for the Wand and murmurs the penitent’s spell—the earth spell used to discipline priest-apprentices who stray. The spell that stings the apprentice with a small lash of power, a prod to stay on the Path of the Holy.

But Vogel is using the Shadow Wand to cast it.

Protest rises in Alaric’s throat as Vogel angles the Wand at him. “Wait—”

Bolts of Shadow blast from the Wand’s tip and roar around him, cinching Alaric tight, the breath forced from his lungs as he’s hurled into the air and thrown overboard in a stomach-lurching arc.

A wall of dark ocean flies toward his face and he collides with the waves, the cold ocean rushing over him as the Shadow power drives him down into the water’s depths. Panic floods Alaric, a horrific clarity descending.

I’m being drowned. As the Shadow Wand speeds toward Gardneria.

The Shadow power recedes, and Alaric’s limbs are suddenly freed. He throws his arms back and kicks toward the surface, choking on salty water.

Translucent images of silvery-white birds suddenly waver into view all around, their glowing forms illuminating the dark waters, wings outstretched as they watch him ascend. Alaric’s panic turns to sheer terror as he breathes in more water and devolves into flailing instead of swimming, dark splotches forming in his vision, the surface too high to reach in time.

A large, silver seal appears in the waters before him, its blurred form rapidly morphing into a silver-haired, naked blue woman with gills on her neck.

A Selkie, Alaric registers with panicked shock. One of the monstrous seal women.

He’s too far gone to stop her as the Selkie grabs hold of his arm, dragging him upward much faster than he could swim on his own. She glances at the luminous, suspended birds, then back at Alaric with otherworldly silver eyes, her blue lips parting to reveal pointed teeth. But the astonished look on her face...

It’s human.

Not demonic or cursed at all.

Just like the Death Fae.

He desperately points upward with his last ounce of strength, his lungs screaming for air as the Selkie bolts him toward the water’s surface and the world goes dark.