Chapter 189. Official Visit .Part I

Adom looked at his father.

He was expecting something. Anger would have been fine. Shock. Disbelief. Even laughter, though that seemed unlikely given the circumstances. Arthur could laugh at a lot of things, but treason wasn't usually one of them.

Instead, his father just sat there.

Silent.

That look on his face.

Adom hated that look. Ironically, he'd inherited it—taken it straight from Arthur and made it his own without meaning to. He knew exactly what it meant because he wore the same expression himself when someone dropped a complicated problem in his lap and expected an answer. That particular blend of stillness and focus that came when your brain was working through something with too many variables and not enough good solutions.

It was the look of someone sorting through a mental checklist.

First: Is this information accurate? Check the source. Evaluate credibility. Arthur would already be past that step. Adom was his son. If Adom said the Emperor tried to have him killed, then the Emperor tried to have him killed.

Second: What are the immediate implications? Adom could almost see his father running through them. The political fallout. The military considerations. The fact that his son had just admitted to planning what could—depending on how you framed it—be called a coup.

Third: What are my options here? This was where it got harder. Where the variables multiplied and the good solutions became scarce. Arthur would be weighing loyalty to the crown against loyalty to family. Duty against pragmatism. The oath he'd sworn decades ago against the reality sitting across from him drinking cherry blossom tea.

Fourth: Can I find an alternative? Some other path that doesn't lead where this one clearly does?

That was the step Arthur was on now. Adom could tell by the slight furrow between his eyebrows, the way his jaw had set just a fraction tighter. His father was trying to find a way out. Some clever solution that would let everyone walk away from this without blood on their hands or crowns changing heads.

He won't find one.

Because Adom had already looked. He'd spent weeks running through alternatives, mapping out scenarios, war-gaming different approaches with Gaius and Kim. Every path that didn't end with the Emperor removed from power was a path that ended with more stolen research, more attempts on Adom's life or the lives of people he cared about.

The cherry blossoms kept falling around them. One landed in Arthur's abandoned tea cup, floating on the surface like a tiny pink boat.

Arthur had made his decision about three seconds after Adom told him. Maybe less. Adom knew that much. His father wasn't slow. The old commander of the Iron Wolves didn't need five minutes to assess a battlefield and choose his position.

But he was giving himself time anyway. Time to come to terms with what that decision meant. To accept that the world had shifted under his feet and wasn't shifting back.

Adom had been on the receiving end of this enough times to know how it worked. People came to him with impossible situations and he'd give them his answer almost immediately. Not because he was smarter than them, but because he'd usually been thinking about the problem longer. Then he'd watch them sit there, the same way Arthur was sitting now, trying to reconcile what they'd heard with what they'd hoped to hear.

As others did to him, so he would do to his father.

He'd give Arthur the time he needed.

But not forever.

"Father," Adom said.

Arthur's eyes refocused. Snapped back to the present, to the clearing, to his son sitting across from him with an empty tea cup and a declaration of treason still hanging in the air between them.

"How?" Arthur asked.

Just that one word. Quiet and direct.

Adom smiled.

He knew exactly what—or rather, who—the 'how' was inferring to. Morgana. His father had spent years believing Soren's daughter was dead, killed in whatever political purge or accident had removed her from the line of succession. And here Adom was, proposing to put a ghost on the throne.

"Well..."

It took three hours.

Three hours for Adom to lay it all out. How Morgana survived. The curse. Their encounter in the Undertow. Where she went after that, what she did, how she'd stayed hidden all these years while the world believed her dead.

He explained the Emperor's fratricide by extension. The brother no one talked about anymore. The convenient accident that had never been convenient at all.

The High Chancellor came up next. That particular explanation took longer than Adom would have liked because the more he talked about the man, the less he felt he actually knew. The Chancellor seemed to be much more than met the eyes. Layers upon layers, and Adom had only peeled back the first few.

The homunculi problem followed. Sundar's involvement through the Chancellor's machinations. The changelings. The coming mission to retrieve proof of the Emperor's and the Chancellor's treachery.

Arthur asked a few questions from time to time. His voice was even when he did, asking for clarification on a date here, a name there. He grunted at other parts, usually the parts where Adom described something particularly brazen or stupid that someone in power had done. But most of it, he only listened and nodded.

This had been the longest time Adom had talked in a single sitting. Three hours. His throat was getting dry by the second hour. His father noticed before he did and called for more tea.

They took a break. Drank and ate in silence. Cherry blossoms kept falling. The tea was still good even though Adom barely tasted it anymore. He was too focused on making sure he hadn't left anything out, that the threads all connected properly in his father's mind the way they did in his own.

Then they went at it again.

By the time Adom finished, the dungeon's sun had shifted position in the sky. The light coming through the cherry trees had changed color. More golden now. Afternoon sliding toward evening.

Arthur was silent again.

He suddenly got up. Walked a few steps, stopped, walked again. His hands went to his hips. Then one came up to rub at his jaw.

"My son," he murmured. Kept walking. "A coup. The Iron Wolves. Sundar. The Chancellor..."

He turned. Walked back the other way. The grass crunched under his boots.

Adom watched him. Waited.

Arthur stopped. Turned around. Their eyes met.

"This is a lot to take in."

"I know."

Arthur nodded once. Started pacing again. His hand came back up to his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his arm drop.

He came back after another minute. Sat down across from Adom again. The teapot was still between them. Neither of them reached for it.

"So the Emperor tried to kill my son." Arthur's voice was flat. Reciting facts. "Illegally killed my mentor. Failed to kill his daughter. All of that under the suspected aid of the Chancellor. Which means the Emperor clearly transgressed the laws of this nation."

"Yes."

"Which means he needs to be judged."

"Mm-hmm."

"I see." Arthur leaned back slightly. "When can you gather your proof?"

"I'm working on it right now. Things should be done in a few weeks."

"And you say the Magisterium supports you?"

"Yes."

Arthur was quiet for a moment. "Sundar has allies all over the world. Allies who won't sit idly watching as an empire that satisfies their interests changes its leader that way. Have you thought about that?"

Adom had. Many times. "I'm going to talk to the Queen of Silvandros. Soon. This very week, for an alliance. By extension, their allies as well. Plus the Magisterium. And more people the Silvandrosi could convince for us. It would even out the power. Especially with the Magisterium backing us."

"Good." Arthur reached for the teapot. Started packing things onto the tray. The cups. The small plate that had held the sweets. "You do that."

He stood with the tray in his hands. "I'll have to take the sword again. Summon my men. The Iron Wolves."

Adom looked up at him. "Are you sure they'll accept?"

"As long as there is immutable proof, yes." Arthur shifted the tray slightly. "I trust you will provide it?"

Adom wasn't sure what was going on.

Arthur's reaction was very different from what he'd imagined. He was calm. Taking it as such. It felt odd. Wrong, maybe. Or just unexpected.

But Arthur was finally treating him like an adult.

There was the same tone in his voice that Adom had heard him use with his men back when he was Commander. Not a father talking to a son. A soldier talking to another soldier. An equal.

This was good.

This meant he was aboard.

"I'll find the proof," Adom said.

"Good," Arthur turned around. "Let's go now. Don't you have classes to give tomorrow?"

Adom stood as well. Matched his father's casual tone with his own. "I do."

He followed Arthur back through the dungeon.

It was strange. All of it. The way his father had reacted. The way they were walking now, side by side, like they'd just discussed the weather or the state of the forge.

"I wonder what's for dinner tonight," Arthur said as they made their way through the stone passage. "Your mother mentioned something about lamb earlier. Or was it chicken? I wasn't paying attention."

"Probably lamb," Adom said. "She bought some from the market yesterday."

"Good. I could use a proper meal after all this."

They walked in silence for a few more steps. Their footsteps echoed off the walls.

"My pegasus will need new shoes," Arthur added. "I'll have to call the farrier."

"The one you left at the capital?"

"Yes. That one especially."

They reached the stairs leading up and out. Arthur started climbing first.

The Iron Wolves were basically on their side now.

Not that Adom had doubted it for one second.

But it still felt good to have the confirmation.

***

Adom finished writing the last rune on the board. His hand ached. It had been a long morning.

"And that," he said, setting the chalk down, "is why you never, ever attempt a binding sequence without checking the resonance threshold first. Unless you want to lose a hand. Or worse."

A few students in the front row looked appropriately horrified. Good.

"I'll see you all next week," Adom said. "Practice the exercises I assigned. Don't skip the line tracing components, it matters more than you think."

The classroom erupted into motion. Chairs scraped. Bags rustled. The usual chaos of students eager to escape.

Adom gathered his notes, slipping them into his satchel. He was halfway to the door when footsteps caught up behind him.

"Where are you going now?"

Adom glanced back. Eren fell into step beside him, slinging his own bag over his shoulder.

"Meeting with the other magi," Adom said.

Eren's eyebrows shot up. "Can I come?"

Adom paused. Considered it.

There wasn't anything that forbade it, now that he thought about it. Sure, the other magi didn't bring anyone else. But it had never been explicitly stated as forbidden. And Eren was the Archmage's student, so that checked out.

"Yeah," Adom said. "Sure."

Eren stopped walking. "Wait, really?"

"Why not?"

Eren had clearly expected a refusal. His mouth hung open for half a second before he recovered, breaking into a grin that was equal parts surprised and delighted. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Were you just planning to ask so you could complain when I said no?"

"Maybe." Eren's grin widened. "But this is better."

They walked down the corridor. Students pressed themselves against the walls as they passed, murmuring greetings.

"Magus Sylla."

"Good morning, Professor."

Adom nodded to each of them. Kept walking.

"How's your studentship with the Archmage going these days?" Adom asked as they descended a spiraling staircase.

"Much better," Eren said. "I'm actually controlling myself now. Not just—reacting. You know how it was before."

"I remember."

Adom had seen it a few times. But Bob had mentioned that Eren was quite powerful, when he'd witnessed what he did during the Crown Prince's arrest operation and Professor Kim's rescue. Which was already six years ago. Whew. Time flew.

This also reminded Adom to check on Bob. He'd hesitated to use the whistle for a while, but it had now been a year since they last saw each other. Perhaps he'd just visit during his expedition in the Fae realm instead.

"We should spar one day," Eren added.

Adom blinked. Stopped walking. Turned to look at him.

Eren laughed. "I'm not expecting to win, mind you. But I still want to measure myself against you. See where I stand."

"Sure," Adom said slowly. "One of these days."

"I'm looking forward to it."

They emerged from Xerkes into the streets of Arkhos. The floating towers loomed behind them, titanic structures suspended in defiance of gravity. Ahead, the Magisterium's own towers rose against the sky.

It wasn't far. Nothing in Arkhos was really far from anything else, not in the administrative district.

A young woman in apprentice robes stopped them at a corner. "Magus Sylla! I wanted to thank you for—"

"It's fine," Adom said. "Just keep up with the work."

"I will!"

Another student waved from across the street. Adom lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

"How's Sam?" Adom asked as they continued walking.

Eren's expression brightened. "Good. Really good, actually. I visited twice already since you last asked."

"Twice?"

"His mother knows about you now," Eren said, grinning. "Because of how much Sam talks about you."

Adom felt something tighten in his chest. "In good, I hope?"

Eren's grin widened. "Oh, absolutely. She thinks you're a wonderful influence. Very responsible. Not at all the kind of person who causes trouble everywhere he goes."

"I don't cause trouble everywhere—"

"The crown prince? The thing with the Undertow? That incident at the—"

"Those weren't my fault."

"Sure."

Adom shook his head. "When all this is done, I wish I had more time for things like this."

Eren glanced at him.

"I should go visit Sam's family soon," Adom continued. "Should have already done it by now, if not for..." He gestured vaguely. "Everything."

"They'll understand."

"Doesn't make it right."

The Magisterium's gates came into view. The towers behind them glittered in the afternoon light, each one dedicated to a different branch of magical management.

Adom slowed.

There was a carriage at the gates. Two pegasuses stood in harness, their white coats gleaming. Knights sat astride griffins nearby, their armor bearing imperial insignia.

Eren whistled low. "That's..."

"Imperial," Adom finished.

They both stared.

Griffins were usually reserved for imperial soldiers and messengers. Carriages with pegasuses went to imperial officials. High-ranking ones.

"Do you know what's going on?" Eren asked. "Since you're a magus. Was an official imperial visit planned for today?"

"Not at all," Adom said. "I'm just as surprised as you are."

They exchanged a glance.

"We should still go," Eren said.

"Yeah."

They approached the gates.

Two knights stepped forward, blocking their path. The one on the left raised a gauntleted hand.

"Halt."

Adom stopped.

Eren stopped beside him.

The knight on the left studied them, his eyes moving from their faces to their clothes to their empty hands in a slow, methodical assessment that felt more thorough than it needed to be. "Who are you?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

Not polite, exactly. But not hostile either. Just... flat.

Adom reached into his coat and pulled out his token. Silver, engraved with the seal of the Magisterium on one side and his own name on the other. He held it up between them.

"Magus Adom Sylla," he said. "I work here. I have a meeting with the other magi and the Archmage. Our usual council."

The knight leaned forward slightly, squinting at the token like he needed to verify every detail of the engraving. His jaw worked for a moment before he spoke again.

"You're Adom Sylla?"

Something shifted in the air. The other guards' attention snapped toward him all at once, and Adom felt the weight of it settle over his shoulders like a physical thing. Four men in imperial armor, hands drifting almost casually to rest on sword hilts, their stances just a fraction too tense to be natural.

Hostility.

A prickling awareness that crawled up the back of Adom's neck and made his heartbeat pick up tempo.

Eren glanced at him, eyebrows raised in confusion, and that more than anything confirmed it. If even Eren could sense something off, then Adom wasn't being paranoid.

He decided, right then, to assume the worst from here on out.

Adom straightened, meeting the knight's eyes with a level stare. His voice was calm when he spoke, or at least as much as it could in this moment. "Why are you here?"

A flicker of something crossed the man's face—not quite disdain, but close enough to it that Adom could taste the difference. The knight didn't look away, though. He was still following protocol, still answering to a superior. The Magisterium operated outside the military's command structure, but the Archmage and the magi held rank that superseded most commanders in the imperial hierarchy, a peculiar arrangement born from centuries of tradition and the simple fact that powerful mages couldn't be governed the way soldiers could.

In theory, this knight should defer to Adom the way he'd defer to a general. In practice, there was something in the way he held himself that suggested he was doing it grudgingly, like he was following orders he didn't quite agree with.

"Official business," the knight said. His tone was perfectly neutral and correct, and somehow all the more insulting for it. "Routine check-in. The Chancellor, Lord Mephtilem, and the Imperial General, Lord Magnus Kane, are inside."

He paused, just long enough for the silence to stretch into something pointed. Then added, "It's their empire. They don't need permission to be here."

Not outright disrespect. Nothing Adom could call him on without looking petty. Just subtext layered underneath the words, a reminder of where the real power lay and who this knight thought he owed his loyalty to.

Adom's mind turned the information over, examining it from different angles. The Chancellor was here. Mephtilem himself, in the Magisterium, with the Imperial General in tow and guards posted at the gates like they were expecting trouble.

The timing seemed very, very timely.

"I see," Adom said, keeping his voice even. "Then I'll go in."

He stepped forward, already anticipating what would happen next.

The knight moved to block him, one armored boot scraping against the stone as he shifted his weight. "We have orders not to let anyone in, Lord Magus."

There it was.

Adom stopped, looking at the man with something approaching patience. He could feel Eren tense beside him. "You're aware of our ranks," Adom said quietly, each word measured. "As a magus, it's not up to you to give me orders."

"I take my orders from the General and the Chancellor, sir." The knight's tone hadn't changed. Still that same flat, just-barely-respectful cadence that managed to convey so much without technically crossing any lines. "Your superiors. Their words were not to let anyone into this specific tower. If you were late, that's unfortunate, but we can't let you in."

Adom felt his heartbeat pick up, but not from fear. From possibility. From the sudden, sharp awareness that whatever was happening here might be the thing they'd been waiting for, the confrontation they'd been trying to orchestrate on their own terms. And now it was happening anyway, on someone else's schedule.

Biggins was in Arkhos. So was Adom himself, standing right here at the gates. He could take Mephtilem on if it came to that. In fact—and his pulse quickened just thinking about it, adrenaline starting to flood his system—he could ditch all the pretense and the clever plans if this was what they'd come here to do. End it all right here, right now, while having the perfect alibi of just trying to attend his scheduled meeting.

If that's what they came for, then so be it.

"I'm going in," Adom said, and walked forward.

The knights moved as one in a coordinated response. Hands went to swords. The others stepped closer, tightening their formation into something that looked less like a guard detail and more like a wall. One of them reached for Adom's shoulder, his gauntleted fingers stretching out to grab—

"Stand down."

The voice came from behind them, from somewhere inside the Magisterium's entrance, and it carried an authority that made the knights freeze mid-motion. The one who'd been reaching for Adom dropped his hand immediately, stepping back into line with the others like he'd been yanked on a string.

They all turned.

A man stood in the doorway, and Adom took him in with a single sweeping glance that tried to catalog everything at once.

Tall and broad-shouldered. His armor was different from the others', darker, more ornate, with engravings that caught the light along the pauldrons and breastplate. A cloak hung from his shoulders, deep red lined with gold, the kind of regalia that announced rank before a single word was spoken.

His face was scarred, one long line running from his left temple down to his jaw in a pale slash that looked old and well-healed. His hair was iron-gray, cropped short in a military style. And his eyes—pale, cold, assessing—were fixed directly on Adom with an intensity that felt like being weighed and measured and found wanting all at once.

Adom had never seen the man before in his life.

But just by what he'd heard about him, just by the way the knights had straightened and the way the air itself seemed to sharpen in his presence, he knew exactly who this was.

General Magnus Kane.