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The Nexis.

Her pulse quickened, part terror, part awe. She had crossed. The realisation landed a heartbeat later. There was no guarantee she'd cross back.

But the plane was empty. Too empty, the silence was worse than any roar. Then they crawled out of the cracks, and she stood her ground and waited.

She turned, her boots scraping across brittle stone. The void pulsed in response to her movement, and her stomach knotted. Eyes, not one pair, dozens, hundreds, watching.

The first claw broke the surface. Then another.

Scaled limbs, hooked talons, thick ridged hides heaved themselves from the cracks in the ground. They emerged in silence, only the scratch of claw on stone, their eyes glowing faint amber. Reptilian daemons, each different, each monstrous, each too close. Their breath washed hot against her skin, smelling of ash and rot.

Idonea stood perfectly still, heart hammering, forcing her hands not to tremble. Hundreds of eyes watched her, and none blinked at the same time. If she showed fear, if she moved wrong, she would become prey.

They encircled her, shoulders and horns and wings blotting out the wasteland. The closest leaned in enough that she saw the flick of a forked tongue between its fangs. Its breath smelled wrong.

And then, darting between their hulking frames, came what she sought.

It slipped free of the crowd with jerking, angular movements, its leathery skin pale against the scaled hides around it. Its ears flopped, tusks crooked out of its lower jaw, and its ribs jutted sharp beneath taut skin. Its claws flexed, its horns catching obscure light.

Idonea’s lips curved despite herself. She had found her guide.

“Imp,” she said aloud, her voice steady though her throat burned.

It froze, eyes too large in its gaunt face, and then turned its head towards her.

“I wish for you to accompany me back up,” she said, sweat streaking her temples. “There is something I would've you do. A reward, of course.”

It scuttled towards her, low and quick, until it stood at her hip. Its grin stretched wide.

“Would you do this for me?” she asked, her voice soft but firm.

“Agreed,” the imp rasped. Its voice was smoke and gravel. “This lot has bored me enough.”

She blinked. No haggling. No bartering. No test. That was too easy. Nothing in her experience had ever been easy.

“You wouldn’t ask the price?” she said.

Its shrug was grotesque, boneless. “Go now with me. Or leave.”

She glanced at the circle of daemons closing tighter around them, their breaths burning her cheeks. There was no time to linger. No witch could walk out of the daemon plane alone.

“Very well.”

“Wonderful.” Its grin split wider, and it extended a clawed hand.

Her stomach turned. To touch a daemon was to invite corruption, but she'd no choice. She pressed her palm to its, before her courage shattered.

The world ripped.

Her body spun, her skull splitting with pressure, blood blooming hot from her nose. She choked on a cry as the wasteland dissolved.

Snow bit her skin again. Her vision doubled. The fjord tilted. For a moment she wasn't sure which world she stood in.

Her knees hit the ground, palms raw against the ice. A faint ache throbbed at the base of her skull, a promise of what price she might yet pay.

The imp stood beside her, solid in the snow, its grin sharper than before.

Lance shot upward with a hiss, wings flaring. He spiralled above the daemon, hissing and spitting.