Chapter 1 — The Circle

The world tore open.

One moment I was in my field, the stick still in my hand, Merlin panting at my side. The next, fire coiled beneath me, a circle of runes burning in the stone. Smoke filled my throat, acrid with incense and iron.

Figures surrounded us, cloaked and chanting in a language that twisted the air. Their voices scraped like steel, rising and falling in sharp cadence.

Merlin pressed close, growling low. His eyes tracked the movement of their hands, his body taut with instinct.

One of the robed figures stepped forward, staff raised. The chant ended in a snap, and silence fell. He pointed the staff at me.

"The Warden of Systems. At last."

The words were English. Clear. Cold.

I understood them perfectly—which made no sense. That should have been gibberish. Some otherworldly dialect. But no: the meaning landed undeniable in my mind as though they'd always been speaking English. Whatever this circle had done to me, it hadn't just pulled me across space. It had rewired something in my head.

The Warden of Systems. My name was Sebastian. I was a management consultant from London who threw sticks for his dog on a farm in Hampshire. And these people had torn a hole in the world to find me.

No one looked at Merlin. Not at first.

Then he growled louder, teeth bared. The sound echoed through the chamber, raw and defiant. The figures shifted uneasily. The man with the staff snarled and drove it into the floor. The runes flared, heat washing over me in a rush that made my knees buckle.

Merlin lunged, striking the edge of the circle. Sparks flew where his body hit the barrier, and the ring of fire wavered.

"He's not bound!" someone shouted.

The staff-bearer barked a reply, but his voice cracked with strain. The circle brightened, choking the room with light and heat. My skin prickled, vision blurring.

And then Merlin changed.

His frame swelled, chest blazing white, the glow spilling across the stones like dawn. His eyes burned pale blue, and the chamber shook with the force of his roar. He stood tall as a horse, spectral mist curling around him, his shadow stretching impossibly long across the walls.

The summoners broke. Some fled into the smoke, others fell to their knees, clutching at their symbols. The circle cracked and died in a burst of ash and sparks.

When the haze cleared, Merlin stood over me, glowing chest rising and falling, eyes still lit with cold fire. He pressed against my shoulder, trembling but unbowed.

The chamber was ruined. The summoners gone.

And somewhere in the depths of the stone hall, horns began to sound.