"The thing about impossible defenses," Wyvern said, their shadows testing the mansion's distant barriers, "is that they often hide simple weaknesses. Every fortress needs supplies. Every power needs fuel."

  They perched on a rooftop in Duskreach's merchant district, watching carriages drawn by shadow-steeds deliver goods to Morrow's estate. Each delivery passed through gates that bent reality around their edges, guarded by figures whose armor drank available light.

  Catalyst's measuring crystals hummed with increasing urgency as she tracked energy patterns. "The power consumption is fascinating! Also terrifying. Mostly fascinating." She adjusted devices that shouldn't exist in normal space. "The mansion's drawing more energy than the entire artificers' quarter, but it's not just using it – it's... changing it."

  Solstice studied the flow of traffic through the black gates. His barriers responded to concentrations of power, mapping defenses that normal physics couldn't explain. But beneath the impossible protections, he recognized standard tactical patterns – guard rotations, supply lines, predictable gaps in coverage.

  "There," he pointed to a particularly ornate carriage approaching the gates. "The guards are showing more deference. Different protocol."

  Wyvern's shadows stretched, gathering intelligence without moving from their position. "Invitation courier. They're being delivered all through the higher quarter."

  "For what?" Solstice asked, though something in him already knew. Already recognized the patterns from another life, another world.

  "A masquerade," Catalyst answered, her readings sparking with excitement. "The energy patterns suggest preparations for a major gathering. Multiple layered enchantments focused on concealment and transformation."

  Wyvern produced an invitation from somewhere shadows shouldn't reach. The parchment seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, while script written in impossible ink shifted under direct observation.

  "Lord Morrow requests the honor of your presence," they read, "at a gathering of like-minded individuals interested in transformative opportunities. Masks will be provided. Identity is... negotiable."

  "A recruitment drive," Solstice said, pieces clicking together. "Large enough that strangers won't draw attention."

  Catalyst's measuring crystals chimed in harmony. "The magical resonance suggests significant energy expenditure. Whatever he's planning, he needs more than just power – he needs willing participants."

  "Or unwilling ones who look willing enough," Wyvern added darkly. "The Guild's been tracking disappearances. They spike after these gatherings."

  The mansion's black gates swallowed another carriage, reality bending around its passage. Guards in shadow-touched armor maintained their patrol patterns while darker shapes moved behind windows that shouldn't exist. The entire estate radiated corrupt purpose, yet somehow managed to maintain an air of aristocratic legitimacy.

  "We'll need proper masks," Wyvern mused. "The finest maker in Duskreach supplies all the noble houses. Including, conveniently, Lord Morrow's mansion."

  "The magical signatures would have to be perfect," Catalyst noted, her robes shifting through analytical colors. "The mansion's defenses don't just check physical forms – they scan energy patterns, consciousness resonance, probable existence coefficients..."

  "Can you duplicate them?" Solstice asked.

  Her grin carried too many possibilities. "I can do better than duplicate. I can improve! Though, um, maybe we should experiment somewhere with fewer breakable things nearby. And better insurance coverage."

  Wyvern's shadows curled with familiar concern. "No explosions."

  "No intentional explosions," Catalyst corrected. "I make no promises about spontaneous reality restructuring. Sometimes physics gets excited and needs to express itself."

  "The finest mask maker in Duskreach," Wyvern said, their shadows testing the shop's defenses from their rooftop perch. "Master Varien claims his work can hide more than just faces - he weaves dreams themselves into his creations."

  Solstice watched the elegant storefront below, where enchanted displays caught eternal twilight in ways that made each mask seem to float in its own pocket of reality. His barriers mapped layers of magical protection around the building's perimeter.

  Catalyst squinted through a crystalline monocle that occasionally sparked with rainbow light. "Security is fascinating! Multiple protection matrices woven together like a tapestry of paranoia. Each layer reinforces the others while maintaining distinct magical frequencies..."

  "You mean it's heavily guarded," Wyvern translated dryly, their shadows curling with practiced patience.

  "That too!" Catalyst adjusted her monocle, causing nearby pigeons to temporarily achieve quantum uncertainty. "Breaking through these wards would alert every mage in the upper quarter. Also, possibly turn the building inside out. Spatial geometry gets very opinionated about unauthorized access."

  Wyvern's smile sharpened in the twilight. "Who said anything about breaking in? The noble houses are already commissioning their masks for Morrow's ball. One more aristocratic patron won't draw attention."

  The plan unfolded with elegant simplicity. Catalyst would play the part of a noble lady seeking a custom commission. While she distracted the master craftsman, Wyvern would locate the masks already prepared for Morrow's guests. Solstice would maintain watch, ready to intervene if needed.

  Of course, nothing in Duskreach ever proceeded quite as planned.

  "Welcome, my lady," Master Varien bowed deeply as Catalyst swept into his shop, her robes somehow managing to be both elegant and slightly singed. The air inside tasted of old dreams and expensive enchantment.

  "I require," Catalyst announced in a passable aristocratic accent, "something suitable for making one's rivals spontaneously combust with envy. Metaphorically! Mostly metaphorically. Though if you have any designs that achieve literal combustion, I wouldn't object to reviewing them."

  While she launched into an increasingly elaborate description of her requirements, incorporating theoretical physics and questionable metaphysics, Wyvern slipped into the back room like a shadow divorcing itself from light. Solstice maintained his position by the door, playing the role of lady's guard.

  The complications began almost immediately.

  First came Lady Winterhall, one of Duskreach's genuine nobles, arriving for her final fitting. Catalyst, improvising magnificently, engaged her in a dramatic debate about proper mask etiquette that somehow involved quantum mechanics and the metaphysical implications of proper accessorizing.

  Then one of Catalyst's random enchantments caused all the display masks to start singing. A haunting chorus of impossible harmonies filled the shop as each mask contributed its own interpretation of an opera that hadn't been written yet.

  Fortunately, Master Varien took this impromptu performance as evidence of Catalyst's impressive magical lineage. "Only truly gifted artificers," he observed, "can inspire such spontaneous artistic expression from enchanted items."

  "You should see what happens in my workshop," Catalyst replied airily. "Last week my measuring crystals performed an entire theatrical production about the nature of reality. The existential crisis scene was particularly moving."

  "Got them," Wyvern's voice whispered from nowhere, riding shadows through the air. "But we have complications. Morrow's men are approaching - early collection of their order. Three minutes at most."

  Solstice maintained his guard position, watching through the window as dark-robed figures approached from the direction of the upper quarter. Their movements carried the fluid grace of those who'd forgotten how to be fully human.

  Inside, Catalyst was explaining to an increasingly fascinated Lady Winterhall how mask symmetry related to thaumaturgical resonance patterns. "You see, the geometric progression of enchanted facets creates a cascading effect through probability matrices..."

  "We need a distraction," Wyvern's voice urged. "Something that won't raise suspicion but will delay Morrow's people."

  "No explosions," Solstice muttered, his barriers already mapping potential conflict zones. (12 words)

  "No promises," Catalyst sang under her breath. Then, with perfectly timed innocence: "Oh my! What's that fascinating phenomenon behind you?"

  When everyone turned to look, her elbow "accidentally" caught a rack of partially enchanted masks. The resulting cascade of magical interactions was... impressive.

  Reality hiccuped. Colors inverted themselves across the spectrum of possibility. Feathers sprouted from walls while gravity took a brief holiday. Lady Winterhall's expensive hat transformed into a rather confused pigeon that immediately began lecturing about proper aristocratic behavior.

  Master Varien's beard achieved temporary sentience and decided to explore life as a collection of mathematical butterflies. Display cases rearranged themselves according to aesthetic principles from dimensions that didn't properly exist.

  Through it all, Wyvern's shadows worked with practiced efficiency, returning the stolen masks while replacing them with perfect forgeries that would pass initial inspection. The real prizes vanished into pockets of darkness that ignored normal space.

  "My sincere apologies," Catalyst managed, somehow making chaos look elegant. "Sometimes theoretical enchantment has practical implications that defy normal causality. I'd be happy to compensate you for any temporary violations of physics."

  She left payment that exceeded the actual damage, plus a generous tip that suggested both aristocratic generosity and a polite request to forget certain details. The coins carried traces of chaos magic that made them shimmer like captured starlight.

  Outside, Morrow's men arrived to find a shop still sorting itself out from what appeared to be a typical noble's magical mishap. Inside, Master Varien was already incorporating some of the accident's more interesting effects into new designs.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Did you really need to turn his entire inventory into a quantum physics debate?" Solstice asked as they made their escape through streets that seemed quite eager to be elsewhere.

  "That wasn't actually me," Catalyst admitted, her robes still shifting through colors that didn't properly exist. "Sometimes magic just gets excited about theoretical possibilities. Though I might have contributed to the singing. And possibly the existential pigeon."

  In a shadowed alley safely away from the chaos, Wyvern produced their prizes. Three masks meant for mid-level guests - the kind of people Morrow's inner circle watched for recruitment potential. Each one hummed with latent power, their enchantments already keyed to the mansion's wards.

  "Perfect forgeries will take time," they said, shadows curling protectively around their stolen treasures. "But these will give us patterns to work with. The magical signatures are genuine, even if we alter their ultimate purpose."

  "I can modify them," Catalyst offered, her measuring crystals already spinning with possibility. "Though perhaps somewhere with fewer breakable things nearby. And better metaphysical insurance coverage."

  "Just remember," Wyvern sighed with familiar resignation, "reality is not a suggested guideline."

  "Of course not," Catalyst agreed cheerfully. "It's more of a collaborative art project. With occasional musical numbers."

  Back in the Guild's vault, Catalyst spread her equipment across tables that seemed to spawn new surfaces as needed. Her measuring crystals hummed in complex harmonies with the stolen masks, while devices that shouldn't exist took readings of reality's weaker points.

  "The enchantment layering is extraordinary," she said, adjusting instruments that occasionally tried to achieve consciousness. "Each mask doesn't just hide identity - it suggests belonging. The magic weaves itself into reality's assumptions about who should and shouldn't be present."

  Wyvern's shadows tested the dark energy woven into each mask, tendrils of pure darkness probing for weaknesses. "These are recruitment tools. The enchantments don't just hide faces - they mark potential. Show him who might be... useful."

  "Or expendable," Solstice added, his barriers mapping how the masks' power tried to rewrite perceptions. Something about their magic felt familiar - like tactics he'd seen in another life, another world.

  Catalyst's readings suddenly sparked with rainbow intensity. "The energy conversion matrices are fascinating! Look at these resonance patterns - they're not just scanning for power potential, they're actively reshaping how consciousness interacts with dream-stuff."

  She adjusted another crystal, which promptly tried to declare itself supreme ruler of theoretical mathematics. Three nearby devices immediately formed a parliamentary opposition.

  "The ball itself will have multiple security layers," Wyvern noted, their shadows creating a three-dimensional model of Morrow's mansion in the air. Dark energy flowed through the illusion, marking guard patterns and ward placements.

  Solstice studied the display, his combat instincts recognizing familiar patterns. "The outer guards are obvious - meant to be seen. But these shadows here, and here..." He pointed to movements that shouldn't exist. "Those are the real security."

  "And that's just the physical defenses," Catalyst added, her robes shifting through analytical colors. "The magical barriers operate on at least seven different frequency bands. Each one scans for different kinds of deception or potential threat."

  She held one of the masks up to her monocle, causing both to spark with competitive enchantment. "The authentication process is particularly elegant. The wards don't just check the masks' magic - they test how naturally the wearer inhabits the disguise."

  "Like the mansion itself decides who belongs," Wyvern mused, shadows curling thoughtfully. "The Guild's had three different infiltration attempts fail because the architecture itself rejected them. Spaces that should connect didn't. Rooms that moved when no one was looking."

  Catalyst's measuring crystals spun faster. "The whole estate functions as a single enormous enchantment. Every brick, every shadow, every seemingly decorative element contributes to the overall pattern. It's like someone taught architecture to have trust issues."

  "Can you match the magical signatures?" Solstice asked, watching his barriers interact with the masks' power. Each test revealed new layers of complexity - dreams woven into reality's fabric.

  "Match them? I can improve them!" Catalyst's grin carried too many possibilities. "These recruitment masks are designed to make reality accept their wearers. With some minor adjustments, we can make reality enthusiastically endorse us."

  "Define minor," Wyvern said with practiced caution, their shadows already moving protective equipment to safer distances.

  "Nothing too dramatic! Small probability fluctuations. Temporary reality hiccups. Slight chance of achieving cosmic consciousness." She paused as one of her crystals achieved enlightenment and began teaching meditation to a lockpick.

  They worked through Duskreach's eternal twilight, each bringing their unique expertise to the preparation. Wyvern's shadows mapped guard rotations and blind spots, while Catalyst's chaos magic carefully rewrote the masks' darker purposes. Solstice tested how his barriers interacted with each modification.

  "The ballroom presents the greatest challenge," Wyvern noted, expanding their shadow model. "Three levels, each with different security patterns. The dance floor itself follows ritual arrangements that might be more than just social custom."

  Catalyst's readings pulsed urgently. "The energy flows suggest purpose in the positioning. See these convergence points? The entire room acts like a focusing lens, directing attention and essence toward specific coordinates." Her crystals spun in agitated harmony.

  "These energy patterns," Solstice said, recognition clicking into place. "They're not just security - they're drawing something from the guests themselves. Pulling it downward."

  "Central alignment," Wyvern confirmed. "The Guild's been trying to map the underground levels, but the architecture follows dream-logic rather than physical rules. Spaces overlap in ways that shouldn't be possible."

  Catalyst adjusted another device, which immediately began debating quantum ethics with itself. "Reality gets particularly fluid down there. Like dreams forgetting how to stay solid. Also, I think I just accidentally invented a new branch of theoretical physics."

  "Focus," Wyvern urged as a nearby crystal attempted to spark a scientific revolution. "The masks need to do more than just get us inside. We need to maintain the disguise through multiple levels of scrutiny."

  Each mask underwent careful testing, their enchantments trying to suggest new patterns of thought to each wearer. Wyvern's shadows provided additional concealment while Catalyst's modifications redirected the darker influences. Solstice's barriers worked beneath it all.

  "The upper gallery concerns me," Wyvern said, their shadows highlighting a particular section of their model. "Heavy guard presence, but arranged oddly. Like they're watching their own more than potential intruders."

  Solstice recognized the pattern from combat experience. "Containment formation. They're not just guarding against infiltration - they're making sure something stays where it's supposed to be."

  "The energy readings support that," Catalyst noted, frowning at results that made her instruments nervous. "There's a dampening effect around that whole level. Like someone's trying to keep power from leaking. Or screaming."

  She made another adjustment to the masks, causing one to temporarily achieve self-awareness and begin composing epic poetry about theoretical mathematics. After a brief but intense literary career, it settled back into normal enchantment.

  "Three days isn't much time," Wyvern observed, watching Catalyst negotiate with a measuring crystal that had developed strong opinions about metaphysics. Their shadows curled with growing concern.

  "Time moves strangely in dreams," Solstice reminded them, memories from another world surfacing. "What matters is being ready when the moment arrives."

  Catalyst finally convinced her equipment to pursue philosophy as a hobby rather than a career. "The masks will be ready. Probably. Most likely. The chances of them turning us into abstract concepts are practically negligible now."

  "Define practically," Wyvern and Solstice said together.

  "Down to single digits!" she said proudly. "Usually we're running risks of at least fifteen percent probability collapse. Though there might be some minor side effects."

  "Such as?" Wyvern asked, shadows already preparing to contain potential chaos.

  "Nothing serious! Small local reality fluctuations. Temporary dimensional hiccups. Slight chance of achieving enlightenment. The usual." Catalyst adjusted another crystal, which promptly began teaching advanced mathematics to dust motes.

  Through the vault's enchanted windows, they could see Morrow's mansion looming against eternal twilight. More carriages arrived carrying supplies and guests for preliminary gatherings. The black gates swallowed everything, while shadows that shouldn't exist gathered like patient hunters.

  The final test of their modified masks came at midnight. As eternal twilight deepened to something darker, each member of their unlikely team donned their disguise beneath the vault's enchanted lights.

  "Remember," Wyvern cautioned, their shadows rippling through the air, "these aren't just costumes. The magic will try to make you fit the role. Suggest thoughts and behaviors that match what Morrow expects from potential recruits."

  Solstice felt it immediately - the mask's enchantments whispering suggestions into his consciousness. His barriers flexed beneath the surface, maintaining a thin layer of protection between his true self and the disguise's influence.

  Catalyst adjusted her mask with scientific precision, though her robes still shifted through impossible colors. "The behavioral modifications are fascinating! Like dreams teaching reality how to lie. Also, I think I just accidentally invented a new school of philosophy."

  "Focus," Wyvern reminded her. "The ball begins at twilight tomorrow. Every noble house in Duskreach will be there, along with anyone else Morrow thinks might be... useful." Their shadows curled with disgust at the last word.

  Through the vault's windows, they watched more carriages arrive at the mansion's black gates. Each one carried power-hungry dreamers seeking Morrow's favor, unaware they might be auditioning for roles as fuel rather than followers.

  "The initial security screening is automated," Wyvern explained, their shadows demonstrating how the mansion's wards would scan each guest. "Magical resonance checks, identity verification, assessment of potential. The real scrutiny comes from the inner circle."

  Solstice studied their forged invitations, the impossible ink shifting under his gaze. "We'll be separated once inside. Different social circles, different expectations." His barriers hummed beneath his mask, ready but carefully restrained.

  "I'll monitor the energy patterns," Catalyst said, adjusting devices hidden within her color-shifting robes. "Any significant power fluctuations or unusual soul resonance should show up on my readings. Assuming reality maintains consistent physical laws."

  "Which it won't," Wyvern noted dryly. "Not with you there."

  "Exactly!" Catalyst beamed. "Statistical unpredictability is the perfect cover. No one expects chaos to follow proper infiltration protocols." Her mask sparked slightly as she spoke.

  The final hours before dawn found them refining their roles. Wyvern would circulate among the power brokers and information merchants, their shadows gathering intelligence. Catalyst would attract attention with controlled chaos, providing cover for deeper investigation.

  Solstice's role was perhaps the most dangerous - playing a warrior seeking greater power, the kind of recruit Morrow's inner circle would want to test personally. His barriers would have to work without being detected.

  "Remember," Wyvern said as they made final adjustments, "if anything goes wrong, the Guild has escape routes mapped through the lower quarter. Assuming the mansion's architecture cooperates."

  "And if it doesn't?" Solstice asked.

  "Then I'll create some very enthusiastic distractions," Catalyst offered cheerfully. "I've been working on a new theory about spontaneous reality restructuring that needs practical testing."

  "No explosions," Wyvern and Solstice said together.

  "Of course not! Just localized probability manipulation. With possible side effects including temporary dimensional instability, quantum consciousness expansion, and minor violations of causality."

  Through the vault's enchanted windows, they watched Morrow's mansion loom against eternal twilight. More carriages arrived carrying nobles and dreamers, each one drawn by promises of power and transformation.

  Guards in shadow-touched armor maintained their patrols while darker shapes moved behind windows that shouldn't exist. The entire estate radiated corrupt purpose, yet somehow maintained an air of aristocratic legitimacy.

  Tomorrow they would join that flow of power-hungry guests, each playing their part in an infiltration that could unravel Morrow's plans. Or lead them to something far darker than they imagined.

  "Get some rest," Wyvern advised as their final preparations concluded. "Tomorrow we find out what Morrow's really offering his guests." Their shadows curled with grim purpose. "And what price he's actually charging."

  The real performance was about to begin. And like everything in Duskreach, the cost of failure would be measured in more than just dreams.