My brows pull together. Did she have too much of that green muck and start having hallucinations? She couldn’t possibly think I was with all these men, right? Then again, it was Mirin, my crazy, sex-obsessed, fiery witch. Of course her mind would go there.

I make my way over to Isaac, his face deep in thought as he stares toward the barrier, his eyebrows pulled down and a crease in his forehead before suddenly widening with some realization.

“The Prismaloct!” Isaac exclaims.

My brows pinch together until the strange name suddenly dawns on me.

“The old artifact Isaiah bought at that illegal auction five years ago?”

I wince. “Pretty to look at, but it's broken, Isaac. It never properly worked from day one.”

“No, not broken, just missing a couple of pieces.” Shaking his head, he walks over to the reception desk.

“And if I remember correctly, Barius sent the last piece to us a year ago.” He pulls out some old letters placed in a spelled storage box under the desk. Flicking through them, he finds a letter.

“He sent it in November of last year and said to give it to Isaiah when he returned.” Isaac pauses before looking at me. “But, well, Isaiah…”

I nod slowly. Our mood visibly turning somber.

The Council gave up helping us look for Isaiah, saying that he was probably taking a late vacation after passing on his position, but he had never been gone this long and without a word. Isaac and I continued to search for clues on where he was, Barius sending us any information he could gather on his end as well. It just wasn’t in us to give up on our family.

I pull myself from my gloomy thoughts. “So you’re saying you know how to get it to work?” I ask, walking to the front of the large desk.

“With a bit of tinkering, maybe?” answers Isaac, placing the files away.

“What exactly is the Prismact?” asks Jace, placing himself beside me.

“I believe they called it the Prismaloct,” answers Ilyric. “I’d also like an explanation.” The Fae’s eyes flitter between Isaac and me, his brows pinched together, an eagerness gleaming in them with the mention of a working relic in whatever form.

Lucien is the first to answer, seeming more interested than the others in the artifact itself. “It's an old communication device. Maybe six hundred or seven hundred years old?” he muses.

“So, like an old smartphone or something?” queries Jace, to the appalled looks of everyone else.

I smile.

“More like the humans' Morse code contraptions, except with magic.” Lucien looks to Jace, a playful smirk lacing his lips. He stares at him as if looking at a young pet.

“Yes, it's a communication artifact. But it's old," explains Isaac. "It only sends written messages and works using Medeis script.”

All the men around me grimace, the ancient script too old and difficult for most to speak, let alone decipher. Only used for the oldest of rituals or historic teachings, the ancient dialog now too archaic, becoming obsolete in this time.