Chapter 155. Magi

Forty-five minutes.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the chamber had been marking time with the same methodical precision since before Adom was born. Maybe since before his grandfather was born. The thing was old enough that it probably remembered when this room had been built.

Adom could feel the stares.

The moment he'd turn to catch one of them looking, they'd suddenly find something fascinating about the tapestries hanging on the walls or the intricate carvings on the table's edge. It was like being watched by a pack of wolves pretending to be sheep.

The chamber itself was designed to intimidate. Massive tapestries depicted scenes from the empire's greatest magical achievements—the Binding of the Storm Lords, the Great Summoning that had created the floating gardens of the capital, the War of Shadows where the 34th archmage had driven back the orc incursions. Ancient artifacts sat in glass cases along the walls, glowing softly with residual magic that had been contained for centuries.

But it was the portraits that really drove the point home. Generations of archmages stared down from gilded frames, their painted eyes following visitors around the room. Some looked stern, others wise, a few appeared mildly amused by the proceedings below them. The most recent addition was Gaius himself, painted 30 years ago when he'd taken the position. He looked happier in the portrait, less tired.

The round table dominated the center of the room. Twelve chairs, nine currently occupied. The symbolism wasn't subtle—this was where the empire's magical elite made decisions that affected millions of lives. Every chair was ornately carved from different types of wood, each representing one of the founding magical traditions.

It was a shame Merlin wasn't here yet.

This was the monthly assignment meeting, where the ten magi received their missions from the archmage and reported on their progress from the previous month. Adom had been attending these meetings for over a year now, and he still hated every minute of them.

He let his gaze drift around the table, taking inventory.

Magus Xerion sat directly across from him, fingers steepled and dark eyes fixed on the empty chair at the head of the table where Gaius would eventually sit. Xerion specialized in war—battle formations, siege spells, the kind of magic that turned individual soldiers into armies and armies into forces of nature. He'd been vocal about his opinion that Adom was too young for real responsibility, preferably where other people could hear him say it.

To Xerion's left sat Magus Beth, the diviner. She was the only one among them who specialized in probability magic, which made her simultaneously the most valuable and most unsettling member of the council. Beth had never openly opposed Adom, but she had a way of looking at him like she was seeing something he couldn't. Something she didn't particularly like.

Magus Thorne occupied the chair beside her, his massive frame making the ornate furniture look delicate. He was an elementalist, capable of calling forth a thousand spirits at the same time. Thorne had been polite but distant during Adom's first few meetings, until someone had apparently convinced him that Adom's rapid advancement was a personal insult to everyone who'd worked their way up through proper channels.

The pattern continued around the table. Magus Kyrian, master ofalchemy, who'd spent the last six months making subtle comments about nepotism whenever Adom was in earshot. Magus Corvus, whose mastery of healing magic was matched only by his talent for making other people uncomfortable.

Then there were the ones who were simply waiting for an excuse. Magus Nox, who also specialized in battle magic and had been looking for an opportunity to challenge Adom since day one. Magus Keltis, whose expertise in runes and protective wards had apparently given him strong opinions about who deserved protection and who didn't.

And finally, Magus Draven, who sat closest to the archmage's chair and had made it clear that he considered himself Gaius's most trusted advisor. Draven also practiced elemental magic, but his real talent was politics. He'd been circling Adom like a vulture, waiting for a mistake big enough to justify calling for his removal.

Two empty chairs remained. One for the archmage, who had a well-established habit of being late to everything. The other for Merlin, who was usually punctual but had apparently been delayed.

The chair to Adom's immediate left and right were both empty as well. Not because those magi weren't present, but because no one wanted to sit next to him. The isolation was deliberate and obvious, and everyone in the room knew it.

The clock continued its steady ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The great doors at the far end of the chamber swung open with a soft grinding of hinges that had probably been oiled more times than anyone could count.

Everyone looked up, expecting to see Gaius finally making his entrance.

Instead, Merlin hurried through the doorway, his robes slightly disheveled and his usually perfect composure showing minor cracks.

"My apologies," he said, nodding to the room in general as he made his way around the table. "Unexpected delay."

He took the seat to Adom's right—the one that had been conspicuously empty—and settled himself with the kind of calm efficiency that suggested this hadn't been an accident.

Adom appreciated the gesture more than he could easily express.

The silence that followed Merlin's arrival lasted exactly three seconds.

"What kept you, Merlin?" Nox's voice cut through the quiet. The battle mage leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the polished wood. He was older than most of the others, with silver threading through his dark hair and lines around his eyes that spoke of decades spent looking for trouble. "We've been waiting nearly an hour."

Merlin adjusted his robes unhurriedly. "There was an incident at the southern docks. A merchant vessel carrying unstable alchemical components. I sent word ahead that I might be delayed."

"Ah yes, the message." Nox's smile was thin. "Very considerate of you to let us know you'd be gracing us with your presence eventually."

Adom could feel the shift in the room's energy.

The other magi were perking up like hounds catching a scent. Beth was watching with those unsettling pale eyes, her fingers tracing patterns on the table that probably meant something to someone who understood divination. Corvus had straightened in his chair, and despite his reputation for healing magic, there was something predatory in his expression.

"Punctuality," Nox continued, warming to his theme, "is a virtue that speaks to character. When we commit to being somewhere at a specific time, we're making a promise to our colleagues. Breaking that promise, even for good reasons, shows a certain... casualness about our responsibilities."

Kyrian, who looked young enough to be someone's apprentice despite being closer to ninety, made a soft sound that might have been agreement. Draven was nodding thoughtfully, as if Nox was delivering profound wisdom instead of dressed-up criticism.

"Of course," Merlin said mildly, "one could argue that responding to magical emergencies takes precedence over social punctuality. But I suppose that's a matter of perspective."

The words were perfectly polite. The tone was perfectly respectful. And somehow they managed to make Nox's lecture sound petty.

"Social punctuality?" Nox's eyebrows rose. "Is that what you'd call a formal council meeting? Social?"

"I'd call it what it is," Merlin replied. "A monthly administrative gathering. Important, certainly, but hardly urgent enough to justify abandoning civilians in danger."

Keltis leaned forward, his beard rustling against his robes. "Still, setting an example matters. The younger members of our order look to us for guidance."

His eyes flicked toward Adom for just a moment. Long enough to make the point clear.

Tch.

"Indeed they do," Merlin agreed. "I hope they see that we prioritize actual emergencies over meeting schedules."

Adom bit back a smile.

"Emergencies," Nox repeated. "How convenient that they always seem to arise just when you're expected somewhere."

"Actually," Beth spoke up, her voice carrying that odd, distant quality it always had, "the odds suggest that magical emergencies cluster around council meetings quite frequently. Something about the convergence of so many powerful practitioners in one location tends to destabilize local magical fields."

She said it with perfect sincerity, but Adom caught the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. Beth was enjoying this.

Thorne shifted his massive frame, the chair creaking under his weight. "Perhaps we could focus on why we're here instead of debating the merits of timeliness."

"Oh, but this is educational," Draven interjected smoothly. "Leadership requires making difficult choices about where to direct our attention. Do we prioritize our commitments to each other, or do we chase after every minor crisis that presents itself?"

The question hung in the air like smoke from an expensive pipe.

"Minor crisis," Merlin repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose exploding alchemical reagents threatening to level a city block could be considered minor. Relatively speaking."

Adom couldn't help it. A small chuckle escaped before he could stop it.

The room went dead quiet.

Nox's attention swiveled toward him like a siege engine targeting a new wall. "Something amusing, young magus?"

The way he said 'young magus' made it sound like an insult.

Adom kept his expression neutral. "Just appreciating the philosophical debate. It's fascinating how perspective shapes our interpretation of events."

"Hmm," Nox said slowly. "Yes, I imagine someone with your... limited experience might find these discussions entertaining rather than instructive."

Ah, there it was.

Xerion was watching now too, his dark eyes calculating. Kyrian had leaned forward, chin resting on her hand, looking like someone settling in to watch a particularly interesting play. Even Corvus seemed more alert, though his expression remained unreadable.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, but there was something else underneath it. Anticipation. These people lived for this kind of verbal sparring. They were political creatures who'd turned conversation into a blood sport.

And despite everything, despite knowing better, Adom found himself drawn into it. There was something intoxicating about the careful dance of words and implications, the way a single phrase could shift the entire dynamic of the room.

He was starting to understand why they all seemed to enjoy it so much.

Much to his regret.

Gaius had warned him about this.

They're from the old school, he'd said during one of their private meetings. They love their debates and their philosophical discussions, but don't mistake that for weakness. These people only respect one thing: power. Political or magical, doesn't matter which.

Adom let his eyes drift around the table again, seeing them differently now. Each of these magi had decades of experience. Each had allies, connections, networks of influence that stretched across the empire. Xerion commanded respect from every military mage in the capital. Beth's divination work made her invaluable to half the noble houses. Thorne's elemental mastery was the stuff of legends.

None of them had ever seen Adom fight. None of them had witnessed what he could actually do with magic. As far as they knew, his only political strength came from nepotism, from being Gaius's pet project. They had no reason whatsoever to respect him.

The problem was, he needed them. Not all of them—some were probably too set in their ways or too invested in the current power structure to ever become allies. But the reasonable ones, the pragmatic ones, could be valuable. He wasn't here to make enemies, even though that would have been easier and infinitely more enjoyable.

So what did one do in a situation like this? How did you earn the respect of people who measured worth in raw capability?

"Say," Adom leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "Would you like to duel, Magus Nox?"

Every conversation stopped.

Every eye turned toward him.

Even Merlin's carefully maintained composure showed a crack of surprise.

It seemed counterintuitive, but as Gaius had explained, one of the best ways to earn a mage's respect was to beat the hell out of them using magic they felt confident in. These people were among the most skilled practitioners in their respective disciplines in the entire empire. They'd fought monsters, ancient beasts, creatures that existed now only in history books.

But none of them had ever fought someone approaching the second circle.

Nox's expression shifted from annoyance to something sharper. His smile was slow and predatory. "What exactly are you thinking, young magus?"

The words carried weight now, like he was genuinely curious rather than simply dismissive.

"I'm thinking," Adom said carefully, "that talk is cheap. You seem to have concerns about my qualifications for this position. Perhaps we should address those concerns directly."

Kyrian made a soft sound of interest. She was leaning forward now, her chin still resting on her hand. "Oh, this is getting interesting."

"Indeed it is," Draven murmured. His instincts were probably screaming at him to intervene, to smooth things over, but his curiosity was winning. "Though I wonder if formal challenge protocols should be observed."

"Protocols," Corvus said with a dry laugh. "How wonderfully bureaucratic of you, Draven."

Beth's fingers had stopped tracing patterns on the table. She was watching Adom with those unsettling eyes, and for the first time since he'd known her, she looked genuinely surprised by what she was seeing.

Thorne rumbled something that might have been approval. "Direct approach. I can respect that."

"A duel," Nox said slowly, still smiling. "How refreshingly direct. But if we're going to do this properly, there should be stakes involved, don't you think?"

Kyrian's eyes lit up. "Oh, now we're talking."

"Stakes?" Adom kept his voice level.

"Indeed." Nox leaned back in his chair. "After all, what's the point of a demonstration without consequences? Without something meaningful on the line?"

The room had gone very quiet. Even Gaius, standing at the head of the table with his usual air of benign authority, seemed content to let this play out.

"What did you have in mind?" Draven asked.

Nox's gaze never left Adom. "Simple. When I win, young Adom renounces his position as magus. He comes under my tutelage for, say, ten years. Learns what it really means to earn a place at this table."

Thorne was grinning openly now, his massive frame shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

"Ten years," Xerion repeated thoughtfully. "That's quite a commitment."

"Training periods used to be longer," Keltis pointed out. "In the old days, apprenticeships lasted decades."

"And if he wins?" Merlin asked quietly.

Nox waved a dismissive hand. "He won't."

"Humor us," Kyrian said. She was practically bouncing in her seat now, despite looking young enough to be someone's daughter rather than a magus approaching her first century.

"Fine." Nox's tone suggested he was indulging a child's fantasy. "If, by some miracle, the boy manages to best me in magical combat, I'll publicly acknowledge his competence and support his continued position on this council."

Adom looked around the table. Nine faces watching him with varying degrees of anticipation, amusement, and calculation. Merlin's expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that might have been approval.

Or warning.

"Interesting proposal," Adom said.

"Is it?" Nox leaned forward. "I thought it was rather generous, personally. Most masters would demand a longer period of service for such presumption."

'Presumption'. That was a strong word.

Corvus made a soft humming sound. "The terms do seem rather one-sided."

"Because the outcome is predictable," Nox replied smoothly. "I'm not in the habit of making bets I might lose."

Adom smiled.

It wasn't a particularly pleasant smile, and he could see several of the magi take note of it. Beth's fingers had started tracing patterns again. Draven was watching him with the intensity of a hawk studying a mouse that might not be quite as helpless as it appeared.

"Accepted," Adom said.

"Just like that?" Kyrian asked, her voice pitched slightly higher with excitement.

"Just like that."

Nox's smile faltered for just a moment. "You understand what you're agreeing to? Ten years of service. No position on this council. No independent authority."

"I understand perfectly."

Thorne was openly laughing now. "Oh, this is going to be good."

"The training grounds," Xerion said. "When?"

"No time like the present," Nox said, though there was something in his voice now that hadn't been there before. A note of uncertainty, perhaps.

Or maybe Adom was imagining it.

"The gardens would provide more space," Keltis suggested. "And better containment circles, in case things get... energetic."

"Planning for collateral damage already?" Merlin observed mildly.

"Always wise to be prepared," Beth said. Her eyes were fixed on Adom now. "The odds are shifting."

"Shifting how?" Draven asked.

Beth's smile was enigmatic. "Interestingly."

*****

A few moments later...

The Academy of Xerkes looked exactly the same as it had less than two years ago when young Adom had graduated at the top of his class. Same imposing stone archways, same meticulously maintained courtyards, same sense of barely contained magical energy humming through every brick and beam.

Kyrian adjusted her position on the raised viewing platform, letting her gaze drift over the gathering crowd below. Students, professors, and academy staff were flooding into the main courtyard like water rushing to fill a basin. Word had spread fast—faster than it should have, really, which meant someone had made sure it would.

She glanced sideways at Draven, who was watching the proceedings with a satisfied expression. This whole spectacle was by design, of course. The public nature of it would make the consequences feel more real, more permanent. Harder to walk back later.

Young Adom stood in the center of the dueling circle, hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world like he was waiting for a lecture to begin rather than facing down one of the most experienced battle mages in the empire.

Kyrian had to admit, he was impressive for someone his age. Quick-witted, politically aware enough to recognize the game being played around him, and certainly more mature than most young men she'd encountered. But maturity and competence weren't the same thing as belonging at their table. The boy had talent, she wouldn't dispute that, but talent without experience was just potential waiting to be wasted.

And accepting a duel with Teodorus Nox? That spoke to exactly the kind of youthful inexperience that made her question Gaius's judgment in elevating him so quickly.

Among all the magi, Nox had the most actual combat experience after the archmage himself. He'd fought in three major conflicts, put down seven separate magical insurgencies, and personally dealt with more rogue practitioners than the rest of them combined. The man collected scars like some people collected books.

"Quite the turnout," Corvus observed, settling into the chair beside her. "I count at least two hundred spectators already."

"Give it another ten minutes," Thorne rumbled from behind them. "Word's still spreading."

Kyrian let her attention drift over the crowd, picking out familiar faces. There was Sammenel Harbinsky, the red-haired boy who'd been in Adom's year and seemed to follow him around like a devoted puppy. And there, near the back, was Eren Raubtier—the archmage's current disciple, who was trying very hard to look like he wasn't personally invested in the outcome.

"Twenty minutes," she murmured. "It'll take twenty minutes for this place to be properly full."

"Eager for the show to begin?" Draven asked, settling gracefully into the chair on her other side.

"Eager for it to be over," she replied. "This whole thing feels unnecessarily dramatic."

"Drama serves a purpose," Beth said quietly. She'd been silent since they'd arrived, her eyes distant in that way that meant she was seeing things the rest of them couldn't. "It makes the lesson more memorable."

Kyrian glanced down at Nox, who was performing some light stretching exercises at his end of the circle. No staff. No visible magical implements at all. The man must be feeling supremely confident about this outcome, which was exactly what she'd expected.

Then she looked at Adom.

He was still standing in that same relaxed posture, still looking like he was waiting for something mildly interesting to happen. There was no tension in his shoulders, no nervous energy, no sign that he was facing down a potentially career-ending confrontation.

"Why isn't he afraid?" she asked, half to herself.

"Maybe he's too young to understand what he's gotten himself into," Xerion suggested. He was leaning forward in his chair, dark eyes fixed on the scene below. "Inexperience can look like confidence sometimes."

"Or maybe he's exactly as idiotic as he appears," Keltis added. "Thinking he actually stands a chance after what Beth said about the odds."

Beth's head turned sharply toward them. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

The conversation stopped.

"What kind of misunderstanding?" Draven asked carefully.

"About the odds," Beth said. "I wasn't talking about them being unfavorable to young Adom."

All the magi were looking at her now.

The crowd below had grown considerably. Students were packed three deep around the dueling circle, professors were claiming vantage points on balconies and staircases, and the general hum of conversation was building toward something that felt almost electric.

In the circle itself, both combatants had begun their final preparations. Nox was rolling his shoulders, settling into the kind of loose, ready stance that spoke of decades of experience.

Adom was... still just standing there.

The mana in the air was starting to charge. Kyrian could feel it prickling against her skin like static before a thunderstorm. Whatever was about to happen, it was going to happen soon.

"Beth," Merlin said quietly. "What exactly did you see?"

Beth smiled.

It wasn't a particularly reassuring expression.

"I looked at dozens of scenarios," she said, her voice carrying clearly despite the growing noise from the crowd. "Variations in timing, in tactics, in environmental factors. Nox lasting longer in some, shorter in others. Different approaches, different strategies."

The two figures in the circle were facing each other now. The crowd was quieting, sensing that the moment was almost here.

"And?" Draven prompted.

Beth's smile widened.

"In all of them," she said decisively, just as Adom and Nox both moved, their forms blurring with speed that made them disappear from normal sight, "Nox didn't win once."