The first thing to break was the bed.

The Astral Threshold opened above a small bedroom in Wexford. White geometry burned across empty air, and three women dropped through in a tangle of robes and interrupted spellwork. The cheap frame beneath them gave one splintering crack and folded toward the floor.

The light vanished. Only a tilted mattress, scattered bedding, a fallen nightstand and three archmages very far from Ardelune remained.

Celeste rose first. She was full-figured and fair-skinned, with freckles across a round face, an upturned nose and large green eyes. Two small braids held back her shoulder-length dirty-blonde waves. She drew a warding figure above the broken frame. Rose-gold embroidery caught the fading light along her cream quilted capelet; the flame pendant over her dusty-orange dress did not.

Nothing answered.

Tessaria pushed her copper-framed glasses into place. Willowy, narrow-shouldered and light-golden, she wore layered charcoal and indigo robes. Her straight dark-teal hair reached her waist in a centered low ponytail, blunt bangs framing hooded violet eyes. She pressed two elegant fingers together and spoke an activation phrase. No rune appeared.

“No ambient mana,” she said. “Not weakened. Absent.”

Rumina stood in one controlled movement. Tall and athletic, she had deep-umber skin, a long oval face, high cheekbones and steady amber eyes. Her long dark-auburn hair was worn half-up in a gold clasp, with long side locks beside her moss-green dress. She tested a command that had once made hostile spirits stop and listen. The room remained stubbornly ordinary.

“So we cannot return,” she said.

“We cannot return that way,” Celeste corrected, her brightness turning deliberate. “Until we understand where we are, we reduce the harm we have caused.”

Rumina regarded the collapsed bed. “The harm appears concentrated.”

“That is not comforting.”

“It was not intended to be.”

They examined the room as carefully as any hostile ruin.

Celeste checked the window latch, the doorway and the narrow path between them. No hearth warmed the room, yet it was not cold. A lamp stood without oil or candle. Bedding, clothes and small necessities marked an occupied home. She gathered the displaced objects, placing each in clear view rather than guessing where it belonged.

Tessaria crouched beside the frame. Uniform pieces were joined by bent brackets and threaded fasteners finer than most mundane Ardelune craftsmen could produce. A cord ran from the lamp into two narrow slots in the wall. Nearby, glowing numerals changed without spellwork. She adjusted her glasses but touched neither device.

“This civilization channels power through its walls,” she said. “Apparently into clocks.”

Rumina considered the dark glass screen on a nearby table, the repeating switches and the sealed containers. Their purposes mattered less than their placement.

“This is private territory,” she said. “A sleeping chamber. We entered its innermost space and destroyed its principal furnishing.”

“Then we ask before investigating further,” Celeste said.

“Agreed,” Tessaria replied, still watching the wall outlet. “Reluctantly.”

Rumina took position at the bedroom entrance. Beyond it waited a cramped apartment: narrow hall, small kitchen, unfamiliar machines and no mana anywhere. The morning sounds of Linden Court traveled through walls too thin to be defensive.

A key turned in the front lock.

All three women went still.

The apartment’s resident entered carrying takeout food and reached the bedroom doorway. Inside waited three strangers, one ruined bed and a room that had not looked like this when its resident left.

Celeste set down the last object and inclined her head. “We will explain.”

“Completely,” Tessaria added, rising from the frame.

Rumina remained at the entrance, hands visible. She stepped no closer.

“We arrived without permission, our magic is gone, and we broke your bed. Which problem would you like answered first?”