They landed hard.
A rush of air pressed past them, or perhaps they pressed through air.
There was no wind. No sky. No stars.
Just a dim, sourceless light and a crushing sense of distance, as if they had been flung impossibly far from where they had been only a heartbeat before.
Feet, claws, and fins struck the ground, guests from a dozen lands and races, all stunned.
Most stood frozen, panting, wide-eyed, taking in the space around them.
The floor was made of dark wood, polished smooth, unremarkable except for the sheer distance it spanned.
The towering walls were lined with shelves that stretched out of sight, each one stuffed with scrolls and tomes; books written in every language, some of them not meant to be spoken aloud.
A breath later, Vell emerged through an unseen threshold. His cloak smoked at the edges. He was gasping for air.
Patches of skin on his arms had blistered raw. One leg of his trousers was gone entirely, the exposed flesh beneath red and torn.
His eyes burned, brighter than usual, glowing faintly with a feverish red. He was upright only by force of will.
A few people stepped toward him. More took cautious steps back.
"You're safe," Vell rasped. "For now."
He scanned them: nobles and guards, scholars, merchants, acolytes, servants—kings and commoners alike. One of them, a young human, still clutched a half-burnt scroll, as if it offered protection.
"I could only take about three hundred," he said. "There were over a thousand in the valley. I couldn't get to the rest."
No one asked what that meant. They already knew.
A murmur ran through the crowd, and a few people slumped down where they stood.
Vell raised a hand.
"Do not touch anything. Do not wander. Do not whisper to the shelves. Do not follow any voices if you hear them. If you see a door, do not open it. If something in glass seems to be moving, do not get closer."
The air grew colder as he spoke.
"This place isn't meant for you. It was never meant for anyone but me. It is mine. It is dangerous. And it is alive—in ways you aren't prepared to understand."
A servant hesitantly raised a hand. "W-what is this place?"
Vell turned. "My home."
Then he swept his gaze across them all, his voice sharpening.
"And if you want to keep breathing, show it respect. Because if you don't, and the things in here don't kill you first—"
He pointed to himself.
"—then the Dread Mage who owns it will."
The silence that followed was absolute.