Demons. Long spindly-limbed demons with claws blossoming from every appendage. This was not Azza’s idea of a good time. What’s worse, she’d left her longsword in camp. Her companions rushed into battle, but they had never fought together – it was chaos. Azza scurried across the floor, dodging demons, Rehtul’s ice shards, and several varieties of fiery explosion.

She reached the sword again. Despite who-knows how long underground, it never lost its luster. It gleamed in the light of her allies’ spells. Gaudy, really. Overly ornate, not something she would ever use, but she wasn’t here to criticize its design. The sword was linked to the gate. She was sure of it. If she could tweak it a little, maybe she could save them. It’s just all my friends’ lives at stake. How hard can it be?

A bolt of ice streaked past her head, sweeping her air in a wake of air. A shadowy shape careened overhead followed by a blast of fire. Elsewhere in the room, Felicity’s yells echoed after the otherworldly screech of the creatures. Grabbing the handle of the sword with both hands, threw Azza into complete silence. The world around her slowed, a blooming explosion unfurling like a flower.

“Well now, this is unexpected,” said a voice, weary but amused. The luminescent figure of an old dark elf in regal clothing stood before her, his own hands resting on the pommel of the sword as she held it.

“Who-”

“Elrohir Fararil.” He smiled. “Just an old spook keeping back some unsavory sorts. Now, as much as I’d like to indulge you with whatever questions you may have, you should know that you holding my weapon is weakening me.”

After a moment’s shock at the revelation, she nodded. She should have known her powers would have this effect. “Then you can answer quickly. The seal was out of place. What do I need to do to correct it?”

Elrohir chuckled and took his hands away from the sword. “Simply turn in the direction counter of any clock. The blade must align with the Spring equinox alignment of Brinziah’s Anchor.”

“I know that constellation!” Swallowing her creeping apprehension, she took a deep breath. The word came back into focus. The figure of Elrohir dissipated. Chaos resumed. The gate shimmered in pink light – spindly, inky limbs clawed their way through.

“I can close it!” Azza cried, searching for Elijah in the bedlam. She gripped the handle hard and began to turn with all her might. The floor clicked once, but the shimmer remained. She twisted harder. A toothy maw shoved its way through the shimmer, splattering its ichor on her face.