The Fortress of the Broken Guard was a monument to failure—a jagged silhouette of broken stone towers nestled in a high plateau, overlooking the sprawling coastal plains. Its ruin was perfect cover. Kaelen and Elara arrived just before dusk, hiding their approach in the shadows of the crumbling barracks wall.
Following Elara's detailed knowledge, Kaelen moved immediately to the dry well—a massive, gaping hole in the fortress courtyard, rumored to be bottomless. He placed the three heavy, transfigured crates of fake Thunder Ore directly next to the well lip, arranging them carelessly, as if a heist had been interrupted.
"The location is set," Kaelen stated, his voice barely audible. He took up position on a crumbling rampart, the Obsidian Staff resting across his shoulders, waiting.
The tension was suffocating. Elara, huddled beneath the rough woolen cloak, kept her eyes on the pass below, where the narrow dirt path of the detour snaked.
"He is exactly twenty minutes late," Kaelen observed, his tone razor sharp. "Explain this deviation."
Elara racked her brain, rifling through the novel's minutiae. "Borin stops at a small inn, The Rusty Flagon, about an hour back. In the original plot, Lyra bumps into him there and causes a delay. Since Lyra isn't here, he probably just had one drink too many and lost track of time. It reinforces his overconfidence."
Just then, the sound of carriage wheels and horses broke the silence. The convoy appeared: the heavy, tarpaulin-covered carriage in the middle, surrounded by the twelve mounted guards, with the stout, red-faced Captain Borin leading the way.
Borin pulled his horse to a halt in the fortress courtyard, dismounting with a grunt. "Set up camp! We rest here for the hour before the final leg to the port. And bring my personal box—I want to admire my prize."
The guards began setting up small fires, while one attendant rushed to retrieve a small, intricately carved wooden chest from Borin's carriage. This was the false "Crown Jewel Fragment" chest.
Kaelen gave Elara a terse command: "When Borin opens the box, that is the moment of maximum distraction and vanity. The second he is absorbed in his delusion, I move."
As Borin received the chest and began fussing with the lock, Kaelen moved. He flowed down the rampart like a shadow, his Blue Rank magic silent and devastatingly quick.
He went directly to the heavy transport carriage. The guards near it, distracted by the fires, didn't notice the faint ripple of Aether surrounding the sacks. Kaelen didn't need to open the sacks; he merely pressed his hand against the tarpaulin, channeling the Transfiguration spell into the material within.
The change was instantaneous and internal. The volatile elemental composition of the Thunder Ore dissolved, replaced by inert silicon and dust. The sacks still looked and weighed the same, but they were now filled with useless sand.
While Kaelen was focused, Borin finally clicked open the small chest. He let out a loud, drunken laugh of satisfaction, holding up a cheap piece of glass that glinted faintly in the firelight.
"Look at that beauty!" he shouted to a passing guard. "A true fragment of the Sunstone Scepter!"
Now.
Kaelen finished his spell and moved to the dry well. With a silent wave of his hand, he used a simple telekinetic spell to yank the heavy, genuine canvas sacks (which still contained the original, worthless grain) from the transport wagon. He cast them down the deep dry well with a muffled thud. The real Thunder Ore—now inert sand—remained safely disguised as grain in the sacks on the carriage.
Kaelen faded back into the shadows of the ruined wall, returning to Elara's side within seconds, the only sign of exertion being a slight haze of Aether evaporating from his skin.
"It is done," he breathed. "The real ore is worthless. The grain is gone."
Moments later, a guard—the attendant who had brought Borin the gem chest—let out a shout. He had spotted the three transfigured crates of fake Thunder Ore sitting carelessly next to the well.
"Captain! Look! Thieves! They dropped the shipment!"
Borin, enraged, stumbled over, abandoning his fake jewel. He saw the three massive crates and the huge hole of the dry well. He immediately jumped to the only logical, greedy conclusion: the thieves had found the real treasure—the mythical contents of the well—and panicked, dropping the ore in their haste to escape with a greater prize.
"Fools! They dropped the ore! Did they find the legendary vault? Search the perimeter! Find the fools who dared to leave a greater treasure for a lesser one!" Borin roared, completely missing the significance of the missing grain.
The courtyard erupted in chaos as guards scattered into the darkness.
Kaelen watched the scene unfold, his expression one of grim satisfaction. "The plan succeeded. Valerius gets inert sand, and the Crown will blame superstitious thieves seeking fictional gold."
Elara felt a rush of pure triumph. They had changed the future. But as she watched the chaos, she noticed something Kaelen did not.
One of the guards, a young, dark-haired man who had been quiet throughout, didn't chase after the perceived thieves. Instead, he walked slowly to the heavy transport carriage, lifting the tarpaulin slightly. He didn't look at the sacks. He looked at the faint, residual glimmer of Blue Rank Transfiguration Aether still clinging to the metal.
He then looked directly up at the rampart where Elara and Kaelen were hiding.
"Kaelen," Elara whispered, grabbing his arm, her triumph turning to ice. "That guard—the one by the wagon, his name is Seraph. He wasn't supposed to be introduced until Lyra's second chapter. He is Valerius's chief magic enforcer later in the book."
Kaelen's eyes locked onto the guard, his face stone cold.
"He is not reacting to Borin's chaos. He is tracking the residual magic," Kaelen stated, the realization hitting him. "Our destiny is fighting back. We didn't buy time, Elara. We just announced our return to the most dangerous enemy."