For three days, Grimsby Manor was silent. The servants (which they didn't have anyway) would have been terrified. Lyanna and Celeste were just worried.
Ravi hadn't come out of the cellar.
He wasn't sulking. He was testing.
In the damp darkness, illuminated only by a single lantern, Ravi sat cross-legged on the stone floor. In front of him was a line of objects: a stone brick, an iron poker, a crystal goblet.
He picked up the goblet.
"Gentle," he whispered. "Fragile."
He held it. He focused on the sensation of the glass against his skin. He willed his muscles to be soft, compliant. He thought about feathers. Clouds. Kittens.
His finger twitched.
Crack.
The goblet shattered in his hand, slicing his skin—no, waiting, it didn't slice his skin. His skin ground the glass into powder.
He sighed, dropping the dust. "Failure."
He had almost killed Lyanna. The image of her gasping, her feet dangling off the ground, played on a loop in his mind. The fear in her eyes. The flinch.
If Malachai could twitch his fingers, he could snap her neck. If Malachai could nudge his arm, he could punch Celeste through a wall. His invincibility, his super-strength—it wasn't a gift. It was a loaded gun pointing at everyone he cared about.
He picked up the iron poker. He bent it into a pretzel shape with zero effort. Then he unbent it.
"Why?" he asked the darkness. "Why me? Why this world?"
The door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Light flooded down.
"Go away," Ravi called out. "The monster is feeding."
"The monster sounds whiny," Lyanna's voice echoed down.
She walked down the stairs. She wasn't wearing her armor. She wore a simple tunic, exposing her neck. The bruises from his hand were vivid purplish-black marks against her pale skin.
Ravi flinched when he saw them. He turned away. "Don't look at me."
"Stop it," she ordered. She walked right up to him. She sat down on the cold stone floor, crossing her legs, mirroring his position. "Look at me, Ravi."
He slowly turned his head. He couldn't meet her eyes, so he stared at the bruises. "I did that."
"Yes," she said calmly. "You did."
"I could have killed you."
"Yes. You could have."
"Doesn't that terrify you?"
"It did," she admitted. "For a minute. But then I remembered something."
She reached out and took his hand. The hand that had choked her. He tried to pull away, terrified he might crush her fingers, but she held on tight.
"You fought it," she said fiercely. "Malachai was in your head. A Demon Lord who drove armies to madness. And you told him 'No'. You broke his hold to save me. That wasn't weakness, Ravi. That was the strongest thing I've ever seen."
"Next time I might not be fast enough," Ravi whispered. "Next time—"
"Next time we'll be ready," Celeste's voice joined them.
The archmage floated down the stairs, looking less pristine than usual. She had bags under her eyes and ink stains on her face. She held a thick, leather-bound collar in her hands.
"I've been busy," Celeste said, landing beside them. "Based on the resonance data from the attack, I constructed a... dampener."
She held up the collar. It was made of dull gray metal, inscribed with runes that hurt Ravi's eyes just looking at them.
"It's a Neural governor," Celeste explained. "It creates a localized anti-magic field around your brainstem. If an external psychic force—like Malachai—tries to override your motor functions, the collar shuts down the nerve impulses. It will paralyze you instantly."
"Paralyze me?" Ravi looked at the collar. "Like a kill switch?"
"A safety switch," Celeste corrected. "It gives you control. If you feel him slipping in, you trigger the collar. You drop like a rock. Harmless."
Ravi took the collar. It felt heavy. It was a literal leash.
"But," Celeste added, looking uncharacteristically shy, "it also has a secondary function. It acts as a bio-feedback loop. It helps filter fine motor control signals. It might... help you handle fragile things."
Ravi looked at the collar. Then at Lyanna. Then at the pile of glass dust.
"Put it on," he said.
Celeste fastened it around his neck. It clicked shut with a mag-lock sound.
Immediately, a low hum filled his ears, then faded. He felt... clearer. The constant buzzing static he hadn't realized was there—the pressure of the world's weird atmosphere—dampened slightly.
He reached for the iron poker again. He picked it up. He could feel the texture of the rust. He applied pressure. He stopped.
He didn't bend it. He held it firmly, but without crushing it.
He looked at the two women.
"It works," he whispered.
"Of course it works," Celeste preened. "I made it."
Lyanna smiled. She touched the bruises on her neck. "See? Solution. We don't hide in cellars, Ravi. We fix the problem."
"But," Ravi said, standing up. "This only stops the possession. It doesn't stop the threat. Malachai knows where we are. He knows I resisted. He won't send cultists next time. He'll come himself. Or send something worse."
"Then we act," Lyanna stood up too. Her warrior spirit burned brighter than ever. "We stop waiting to be hunted. We hunt him."
"We can't hunt a ghost," Ravi argued. "He's sealed in the Abyss."
"Not completely," Celeste interjected, pulling out a map. "The cultist leader mentioned 'opening the gate wider'. That implies a physical anchor point. A location where the barrier between worlds is thin. If we find that Anchor and destroy it..."
"...We cut off his access," Ravi finished. "We lock the door."
Celeste pointed to a location on the map, far to the North. " The Frostweald. Ancient records speak of a Void Rift there. If they are gathering sacrifices... that's where they'll be."
The North. Where the Crusade was brewing. Where Aurelia was heading.
"It's a long trip," Ravi said. "And it's going to be cold."
"Are you afraid of a little snow?" Lyanna teased, though her hand lingered on her throat.
"I'm afraid of freezing my collar to my neck," Ravi grumbled.
He walked to the stairs. He paused and looked back at them.
"Thank you," he said. Simple. Heavy.
"Don't thank us," Lyanna said, clapping him on the back (he didn't even wobble). "Just don't choke me again."
"Deal."
They walked up to the light. The cellar door closed on his doubt.
Ravi touched the collar at his throat. It was cold metal, a constant reminder of his vulnerability and his danger. But it was also a tether. It kept him human.
He walked out into the main hall of Grimsby Manor. The Widowmaker leaned against the wall, black blade glinting.
He picked it up.
"Packing trip," he announced. "We're going North. I hear the Yetis are friendly this time of year."