Ace_the_owl

Chapter 172. Exam

The soft scratching of quills on parchment filled the classroom, punctuated by the occasional rustle of paper and the quiet clearing of throats. Adom sat behind his desk, chin propped on his hand, watching twenty-three students bent over their runicology exams with varying degrees of confidence.

It had been a week since the assassination attempt.

A week of constantly looking over his shoulder, of placing ward after ward around his family's home until the house practically hummed with protective magic. A week of making excuses to stay home more often, of personally escorting Bennu and Ada whenever they needed to go anywhere, of making sure they were never alone and always well-hidden when they did venture out.

He couldn't keep this up much longer. The constant vigilance was exhausting, and worse, it was limiting his ability to move freely. He needed to put a face to whoever was orchestrating these attacks and prepare a proper counter-strike before they decided to escalate to targeting his family directly.

At least the meeting with Valiant had gone well. The partnership with Brighleaf was solidifying nicely, and his connections with Silvandrosi royalty were proving more valuable than he'd anticipated. Thanks to Lyralei, Queen Nhyssa herself was planning to secretly visit Arkhos soon to discuss potential treaty negotiations for when things inevitably started heating up. That was unexpectedly good news.

A small glow flickered in his peripheral vision.

[Riddler's Bane] immediately picked up the mana signature. Someone was using magic. During a written runicology exam. Where absolutely no magic was required or permitted.

The little scoundrel.

Adom almost chuckled. In his previous life, he'd have been scandalized by academic dishonesty. Now, after decades of experience, he found student attempts at cheating more amusing than anything else. The creativity some of them displayed was occasionally impressive, even if the execution was usually terrible.

He casually shifted his gaze in the direction of the magical signature, trying to pinpoint the source.

The energy vanished immediately.

Interesting. Either very good timing, or the student had some way of detecting his attention. Adom's eyes swept across the rows of desks, looking for signs of guilt or nervous behavior.

There. Third row, second seat from the left.

Marcus Aldridge. One of the quieter students, usually sat in the back but had moved forward for the exam. Currently staring down at his paper with the sort of intense concentration that suggested he was trying very hard to look like he was thinking about advanced runic theory rather than whatever minor enchantment he'd just been using.

Their eyes met.

Marcus's expression shifted into what could only be described as the academic equivalent of a deer caught in lamplight. For a split second, his face showed pure panic. Then, with admirable speed, he rearranged his features into a mask of scholarly contemplation, furrowing his brow and tapping his quill against his lip as if wrestling with a particularly challenging theoretical problem.

The performance was so earnest, so transparently fake, that Adom had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing.

Marcus held the pose for exactly three seconds, then looked back down at his paper and began writing furiously, as if inspiration had suddenly struck. His handwriting was probably illegible from the speed, but he was certainly committed to the act.

Adom stood up, placing his hands behind his back, and began a slow circuit around the classroom. Just a routine check on his students' progress. Nothing unusual about a professor making the rounds during an exam.

He passed Eren's desk first. Their eyes met briefly, and Eren's expression suggested he found this whole monitoring exercise mildly ridiculous. His eye roll was so subtle it was practically invisible, but Adom caught it anyway. Eren immediately returned his attention to his paper, writing steadily. His answers looked solid, as expected.

Adom continued his leisurely stroll, glancing casually at papers as he walked. Most students were progressing normally through the exam, some more confidently than others.

When he approached Vivian's desk, he noticed her posture change immediately. Her shoulders tensed, and her careful, precise handwriting suddenly became slightly shakier. She was clearly uncomfortable with him reading over her shoulder.

Her answers were flawless, of course. Every theoretical explanation was not only correct but elegantly articulated, showing the kind of deep understanding that came from genuine mastery rather than rote memorization. But her obvious discomfort made him move on quickly. No point in making a brilliant student anxious.

He wandered between more desks, offering the occasional nod of encouragement to students who looked up nervously. The usual exam atmosphere of controlled stress and concentrated effort.

Finally, he made his way to Marcus's area.

The boy was hunched over his paper with exaggerated focus, quill moving in what appeared to be thoughtful, deliberate strokes. But as Adom drew closer, he could see that Marcus was actually writing the same sentence over and over again, just changing a word here and there. Classic stalling behavior.

But that wasn't what made Adom pause.

There was another magical signature. Faint, but definitely present. And it wasn't coming from Marcus.

Adom's gaze shifted slightly to the left.

Thomas Whitmore. Another quiet kid, usually sat in the back as well, decent but not exceptional grades. He was also displaying that same overly intense concentration as Marcus, staring at his paper like it contained the secrets of the universe.

Oh. A conspiracy.

How delightfully enterprising of them.

Adom positioned himself where he could observe both students without being obvious about it. Marcus had definitely noticed his proximity—the boy's writing had become even more frantic, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the comfortable temperature of the room.

Thomas, meanwhile, was doing an admirable job of pretending to be deep in thought, but Adom noticed his lips moving slightly. Just barely, almost imperceptibly, but moving nonetheless.

"Everything alright here, gentlemen?" Adom asked pleasantly, his voice pitched just loud enough for both students to hear.

Marcus looked up with wide, innocent eyes. "Yes, Professor. Just working through the theoretical framework for mana-binding optimization."

"Ah, excellent. And you, Mr. Whitmore?"

Thomas's head snapped up like he'd been startled out of deep contemplation. "Fine, sir. Just... considering the implications of tertiary loop degradation."

Adom nodded thoughtfully.

"I see. You both seem to be having quite intense thoughts about the material."

"It's a challenging exam," Marcus said, his voice perhaps a touch too steady.

"Indeed it is." Adom clasped his hands behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels. "Though I have to say, I'm impressed by how... synchronized your thinking processes appear to be."

The two students exchanged the briefest of glances. It lasted maybe half a second, but it was enough.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Professor," Thomas said carefully.

"Well, it's just interesting how you both seem to be wrestling with the exact same theoretical concepts at the exact same moments. Almost like you're having a conversation about them."

Marcus's grip on his quill tightened. "We're just... focused students."

"Mm." Adom leaned forward slightly, as if examining their papers more closely. "You know, I've noticed that focus tends to manifest in different ways for different people. Some students tap their feet when they think. Others drum their fingers. A few mutter under their breath."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"And then there are the truly creative ones who find innovative ways to share their thought processes with their classmates."

The silence stretched for several seconds. Both students maintained their expressions of innocent confusion, but Adom could practically see them sweating.

"Gentlemen," he said finally, his voice still pleasant but carrying a note of finality. "I think we all know what's happening here. Why don't you save us all some time and show me how you're doing it?"

Another moment of silence. Then Marcus's shoulders sagged slightly.

"Show you what, exactly?" Thomas tried one last time.

Adom simply waited, his expression patient but expectant.

Marcus sighed and reached up to his ear. With reluctance, he tugged out what appeared to be a tiny piece of copper wire, so fine it was almost invisible. Following the wire led Adom's gaze to a small device tucked discretely under the edge of Marcus's pocket.

"A communication crystal," Adom observed, genuinely impressed as he picked up the device. "But modified. This is... actually quite sophisticated work."

The crystal had been altered to interface with what appeared to be a network of incredibly fine copper threading. The wire Marcus had pulled from his ear was part of an elegant little system that would allow whispered communication between the two students while appearing completely natural.

"Did you two design this yourselves?"

Marcus and Thomas exchanged another glance, then nodded reluctantly.

"We had some help," Thomas admitted quietly. "With the theoretical framework."

"Oh? From whom?"

"Vivi helped us understand how to modify the resonance frequency," Marcus said, then immediately looked stricken. "But she didn't know we were going to use it for this! She thought we were just working on a communication project for practical applications."

Adom glanced over at Vivian's desk. The girl had gone very pale and was staring at them with horror, clearly realizing her innocent academic assistance had been repurposed for academic dishonesty.

"I see." Adom turned the device over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. "This is remarkably well-executed, actually. The frequency modulation alone would have required some serious theoretical work."

He looked back at the two students, who were watching him with expressions of resigned dread.

"This is your first and only warning," he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "But I have to say, the ingenuity you've displayed here suggests you're both considerably more capable than your exam performance would indicate."

Marcus blinked. "Sir?"

"You designed a functional communication system using modified crystalline resonance and micro-threading. That requires understanding of advanced magical theory, materials engineering, and practical application principles." Adom placed the device on Marcus's desk. "If you can do that, you certainly don't need to cheat on a runicology exam."

"But it's hard," Thomas said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"Then pay a little more attention in class," Adom replied dryly. "I promise the material will make much more sense if you're actually listening instead of planning your next technological innovation."

Both students looked appropriately chastened.

"Now then," Adom continued, "I suggest you finish your exam using the considerable knowledge you clearly possess. And next time you want to work on communication systems, perhaps consider making it an official project rather than a covert operation."

He walked back to his desk, leaving the two would-be conspirators to stare at their papers and contemplate how they'd just been simultaneously scolded and complimented.

As Adom settled back into his chair, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The future did look bright with students this clever running around. Not quite principled yet, perhaps, but brilliance was brilliance. In his experience, ethics could be taught. Raw intelligence was something you either had or didn't.

This was exactly what he wanted to preserve. Young minds pushing boundaries, finding creative solutions, refusing to accept limitations. If he didn't move forward with enough resolve, if he didn't handle the threats coming his way properly, most of these kids wouldn't make it to twenty-five. Wouldn't reach their full potential. Just like what had happened in his previous life.

He glanced over at Marcus, who was now genuinely working on his exam. Their eyes met across the room.

Adom winked.

Marcus's face flushed slightly, but he managed a small, sheepish smile before ducking his head back to his paper. Adom chuckled quietly to himself.

An hour later, the scratching of quills had finally stopped.

"Time," Adom announced.

Students began standing and stretching, the tension of exam concentration slowly bleeding out of the room. They formed a loose line to turn in their papers, some looking confident, others wearing expressions of resigned uncertainty.

Eren was among the first to approach the desk.

"That was so easy," he said, dropping his paper onto the pile with confidence.

Adom laughed. "I'll make it harder next time."

"Give it your all then," Eren replied with a grin before heading for the door.

The rest of the students followed in their usual patterns. One practically bounced up to the desk, chattering about how much she'd enjoyed the theoretical questions. Another slouched forward looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, mumbling something about runes being unnecessarily complicated. And another asked three different questions about whether his handwriting was legible enough, despite Adom's repeated assurances that it was fine.

Marcus and Thomas approached together, both still looking slightly shell-shocked from their earlier encounter. They placed their papers down without making eye contact and hurried toward the exit.

"Gentlemen," Adom called after them.

They froze.

"Good work on the exam. Both of you." He paused, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Though I should mention, since I only caught you cheating on question four, I'll be giving you zero points for that particular answer. For fairness's sake."

Marcus winced visibly.

"The rest of your work appears to be your own, so you'll be graded normally on everything else."

Their relief was visible as they practically fled the classroom.

Vivian was the last to approach his desk. She'd taken extra time organizing her materials with typical precision, but Adom suspected she was also working up the courage for something.

She placed her paper on the pile with careful deliberation, then immediately launched into what sounded like a rehearsed speech.

"Professor, I want to apologize profusely for my involvement in what happened today. I had no idea Marcus and Thomas intended to use the communication system for academic dishonesty. I thought it was purely for practical applications and research purposes. I would never knowingly assist in cheating, and I understand if this affects your opinion of my character, but I wanted you to know that it was completely unintentional and—"

"Vivian," Adom interrupted gently. "It's nothing. Don't sweat it."

She blinked, looking surprised by his calm response.

"You helped two classmates with a legitimate academic project. What they chose to do with that knowledge afterward isn't your responsibility." He smiled. "Besides, the theoretical work you did was actually quite impressive. Modified resonance frequencies aren't exactly introductory material."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she still looked worried.

"My mother would like to meet with you again soon," she said, the words coming out in a rush like she was afraid she'd lose her nerve.

"Ah." Adom leaned back in his chair, pleased. "When?"

"Next Tuesday afternoon, if you're available. Around two o'clock?"

"I'll be in my office. She can come by anytime."

Vivian nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you, Professor. For everything."

She gathered her bag and headed for the door, pausing briefly at the threshold.

"The exam really was well-designed," she added quietly. "The questions made you think about practical applications, not just theory."

Then she was gone, leaving Adom alone with a stack of papers and the lingering satisfaction of a day well spent.

Adom gathered the exam papers and slipped them into his [Inventory]. The classroom felt oddly quiet now, the lingering energy of student concentration finally dissipating.

He locked the door behind him and headed home through the familiar streets of Arkhos. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows between the buildings, and the usual bustle of the city was beginning to wind down into evening rhythms.

On his way, he stopped at Meren's bakery first. The bell above the door chimed as he entered, and the warm smell of fresh bread and sugar immediately surrounded him.

"Something special today?" Meren asked, noting his thoughtful expression as he studied the display cases.

"Chocolate pastries for Ada," Adom said, pointing to an assortment of cream-filled delights. "Those ones with the white cream, and maybe one with that citrus zing she tried last week."

Meren packed them carefully in a small box, adding an extra chocolate tart without being asked.

From there, he walked a few blocks to Old Mary's. The familiar smell of savory pies and roasted meat greeted him as he approached the counter. It wasn't Mary herself today, but one of her newer employees—a young woman with flour-dusted apron who looked up as he entered.

A gust of wind from the open door nearly knocked his pointed hat clean off his head. He caught it just in time, but not before the employee got a clear look at his face.

Her eyes widened. "Oh! You're—" She glanced around quickly, then leaned forward. "Half a dozen meat pies, right? The ones with extra seasoning?"

"That's right," Adom said, settling his hat back properly.

She bustled around behind the counter, selecting the best pies from the warming rack. When she brought them to the counter, she waved away his coin purse.

"No charge."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's Old Mary's new policy," the woman said firmly. "The Ghost of Xerkes doesn't pay here. She was very specific about that."

Adom blinked, surprised. "She has a policy about me specifically?"

"As of last week, yes sir. Said anyone who's keeping the city safe deserves a hot meal when they want one."

For a moment, Adom didn't know what to say. Then he smiled, accepting the wrapped pies with a small nod. "Please give her my thanks."

"Will do, magus."

He made his way home with the warm packages, anticipating the chaos that would undoubtedly greet him. The house came into view, looking peaceful and ordinary despite the layers of protective wards humming invisibly around it.

He opened the front door.

"I'm home!"

Immediately, he heard muffled giggles and what sounded like frantic whispering coming from somewhere deeper in the house. The sounds of people trying very hard to be quiet and failing spectacularly at it.

Adom paused in the entryway, smiling. Ada and Bennu were clearly up to something.

"Shh! Shh!" came Ada's voice. "He'll notice if you keep making noise!"

"I am being quiet," Bennu's voice replied, though it carried easily through the house. "You are the one talking."

"I'm whispering!"

"That is not whispering."

Adom cleared his throat. "I can hear you both, you know."

A moment of absolute silence. Then Ada's voice again, filled with barely contained excitement: "It's a surprise! An amazing surprise!"

"A surprise?" Adom called back, setting the bakery packages on the hall table.

"Yes!" Ada practically shouted. "But we're playing hide and seek too, so you have to find us first!"

Before Adom could respond, Zuni emerged from the sitting room.

They are in the kitchen, beneath the table, Zuni's voice spoke directly into Adom's mind. They have a surprise for you.

"What kind of surprise?" Adom asked aloud, amused by the whole production.

The most wonderful kind, Zuni replied mentally. They have been practicing for some time now. The house has been rather... energetic today.

Adom chuckled. "Well, there's no need to even go looking for them. I brought chocolate pastries and meat pies."

Even Zuni perked up at that, his small ears twitching with interest.

The effect on the hidden pair was immediate. Adom heard the unmistakable sound of rapid footsteps—Ada's light pattering mixed with something heavier and more uncertain.

Ada appeared first, bursting around the corner at full speed with her arms spread wide.

"Brother!"

She launched herself at him and Adom swept her up and immediately weaved [Levitation], sending her floating gently through the air in lazy circles.

Ada shrieked with delight, her laughter filling the hallway as she spun slowly near the ceiling. "Higher! Higher!"

"In a moment," Adom said, still listening for Bennu's approach. The footsteps had continued but were strangely uneven, accompanied by what sounded like someone having difficulty with their balance.

Then came the unmistakable thud of someone falling.

Adom gently lowered Ada back to the ground. "Bennu? Are you alright? Why did you fall?"

"Walking with only two legs is much harder than it appears," came Bennu's voice from the kitchen, slightly muffled and distinctly embarrassed. "Humans make it look so simple, but the balance is completely different."

Two legs? Adom blinked in confusion.

A moment later, Bennu appeared around the corner, and Adom's breath caught.

It was definitely Bennu, he could sense that familiar magical signature. But instead of the magnificent phoenix Adom was used to, a small boy stood before him. Maybe 12 or 13 years old in appearance, with caramel-colored skin that almost exactly matched Adom's own, the same bright blue eyes, and a cascade of dark curly hair that fell to his shoulders. He was wearing one of Adom's old tunics, which was slightly too big for his new form.

"SURPRISE!" Ada shouted, throwing her arms up in the air and bouncing on her toes. "Bennu learned how to be a people!"

Chapter 171. Tea Time

The bells above the door chimed a cheerful cascade as Adom stepped inside, still maintaining his grip on the unconscious assassin's arm.

"Welcome to the Weird Stuff Stor—oh, hello there, Mage."

"Good day, Thessarian. How are you doing?"

She looked up from her clipboard, blonde hair falling across one shoulder in a way that probably wasn't accidental. "Fine, thanks." Her gaze shifted to the man floating beside Adom. "Friend of yours?"

"Is Biggins here?"

"Making tea in the back." She returned to her inventory, pencil tapping against the clipboard. "We got a shipment of those singing teacups yesterday. Half of them only hum, and three won't stop screaming. It's been a day."

"Thank you. You're looking good today."

"Thanks." A slight smile played at the corner of her mouth. "Working here is much less stressful than what I did before. No one tries to kill me for existing, and the worst thing that happens is a candy cane tries to bite a customer."

The shop bustled with organized chaos around them. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with a large variety of items. A collection of snow globes on the counter contained miniature thunderstorms instead of snow. Candy jars held sweets that changed colors as you watched, and one contained what appeared to be tiny fireworks that exploded into sugar crystals.

Toy soldiers marched in formation across a display table, occasionally breaking ranks to engage in elaborate battles with wooden dragons that breathed actual smoke. A music box played a waltz while tiny dancers spun inside, but the dancers were made of water and the music came from somewhere else entirely.

Thessarian moved between the displays, checking items off her list and occasionally redirecting a wandering toy back to its proper place. A mechanical bird tried to steal her pencil, and she shooed it away without looking up.

"Inventory day?" Adom asked, adjusting his grip on his floating companion.

"Every day is inventory day here. Things have a habit of rearranging themselves when no one's looking." She gestured toward a shelf where books were apparently reshuffling their own order. "Yesterday I found the enchanted mirrors in the candy section. They were trying to convince the chocolate frogs they were ugly."

Adom chuckled and made his way past the counter, threading between displays that seemed to shift slightly as he passed. The unconscious assassin bobbed along beside him like a particularly uncooperative balloon.

He stopped at a door marked "Private" in letters that glowed faintly blue and knocked twice.

The door swung open by itself, revealing a cozy room beyond.

Adom stepped inside.

Biggins stood at a marble counter, pouring steaming liquid from an ornate silver teapot into delicate porcelain cups. His movements were precise, almost ceremonial, like he'd performed this exact ritual a thousand times before. Steam curled upward in perfect spirals, carrying the scent of something floral and complex.

"Hello, Mr. Biggins."

The old man looked up, his eyes brightening with pleasure. "Oh, young Adom! Just in time for tea. Perfect timing, really." He gestured toward the cups with obvious pride. "I've been working on a new blend. Moonflower petals from the Southern Reaches, a touch of crystallized starfruit essence, and just a hint of silverleaf for clarity. I had a feeling you'd appreciate the subtlety."

"I'm sure I will."

"You know," he continued, arranging the cups on a tray with unnecessary precision, "I believe young Thessarian is attempting to seduce me. It's quite awkward, really. She keeps finding excuses to lean over the counter when she talks to me, and yesterday she brought me cookies shaped like hearts." He paused, looking genuinely perplexed. "Could you perhaps mention to her later that I'm not attracted to humans? I don't wish to hurt her feelings, but the situation is becoming rather uncomfortable."

Adom nearly choked on air. "Wait, what? Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, quite certain. The signs are unmistakable."

"Does she know what you are?"

Biggins's eyes sparkled with amusement. "She's been trying to figure it out for years now. It's been quite entertaining, actually. Last week she asked me how old I was, and when I said 'older than the city,' she spent three days researching the founding of Arkhos." He chuckled, a sound like distant thunder. "Yesterday she brought up dragon mythology during casual conversation. Subtle as a brick through a window, that one, but I admire her persistence."

"And you're just... letting her?"

"It's harmless fun. She's clever, determined, and it keeps her mind occupied during the slow hours." Biggins's expression grew fond. "Though I do wish she'd stop with the heart-shaped baked goods. It's becoming awkward."

Only then did his gaze shift to the unconscious man floating beside Adom.

"Problem?"

"Big problem. Thanks." Adom accepted the offered cup, feeling the warmth seep through the porcelain.

Biggins waved his hand, and a cushion materialized out of what appeared to be solidified cloud. It bobbed gently in the air before settling near a low table. "Please, sit. But first, taste the tea. I'm quite eager for your assessment."

Adom let the levitation spell drop. The assassin crumpled to the floor in an undignified heap, but didn't wake up. Adom settled onto the cloud cushion, which was surprisingly supportive despite feeling like sitting on weather.

He raised the cup and took a careful sip.

The tension in his shoulders melted away almost immediately. The knot between his shoulder blades that he hadn't even realized was there simply... disappeared. His jaw unclenched. Even his breathing deepened without conscious effort.

"Hmm," he said, taking another sip. "What did you say was in this?"

"An alchemical blend of my own devising. Quite recent, actually." Biggins beamed with satisfaction. "Excellent for relaxation, as you can tell. The modern world is so terribly stressful, don't you think? All that rushing about, all that tension. People forget to breathe properly."

He produced a plate of small cakes from somewhere, each one a miniature work of art. Tiny flowers made of spun sugar decorated their tops, and they smelled like honey and summer rain. Which was strange for cakes. "Try these as well. The chocolate ones are particularly good."

Adom hadn't realized how wound up he'd been until the relief hit him. The assassination attempt, the conversation with Gaius, the weight of everything he'd learned about Morgana and the Emperor—it had all been sitting on his chest like a stone. Now he could actually think clearly for the first time in days.

He selected one of the chocolate cakes and bit into it. Rich, complex flavors bloomed across his tongue, with layers of sweetness that revealed themselves slowly. "This is incredible."

"Thank you. I do try." Biggins settled into his own chair, which appeared to be made of crystallized amber. His expression grew serious, the theatrical warmth fading almost instantly. "The man's name is Nabû-rēmanni. He is quite the prolific assassin."

Adom's attention snapped to full focus. "You know him?"

"I know all members of the Order. Well, most of them." Biggins replied. "This particular individual belongs to one of the branches I actively avoid. They're not supposed to know of your existence, you see. That branch has been... corrupted. I've taken great care to keep them ignorant of your training and development."

Adom set down his teacup with deliberate care. The relaxation from the tea was still there, but underneath it, his mind was racing. "Corrupted how?"

"They serve interests that are not aligned with the Order's true purpose. Gold has a way of changing priorities, as does fear. And certain... political pressures." Biggins's fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair. "The fact that Nabû found you suggests either my precautions have failed, or someone with considerable resources has been asking the right questions."

"Someone hired him?"

"Oh, almost certainly. Nabû isn't the type to act on personal initiative. He's a tool, not a thinker." Biggins glanced at the unconscious man with obvious distaste. "Rather a crude tool, at that. Whoever sent him either doesn't know your capabilities, or they're testing something else entirely."

Adom picked up another cake, using the motion to buy himself time to think. The assassination attempt made more sense now, but it also raised a dozen new questions. "Which branch?"

"The Fardhis remnant. They've been operating out of the Eastern Kingdoms for the past century, selling their services to whoever pays best." Biggins's expression darkened. "They've forgotten what we were meant to be."

"Who do you think sent him?"

"There's a tribal chief in Fardhis who happens to be the leader of that branch of the Order. Goes by the name Ashur-dan-ili these days, though I knew him by different names in the past." Biggins took a delicate sip of his tea. "Ambitious man. The kind who sees opportunity in chaos."

Adom leaned back against the cloud cushion, mind working through the implications. If they'd found him and sent an assassin, it meant one of two things. Either they thought he was an impostor trying to claim the Architect's mantle, or they'd become so corrupted that the emergence of the real Architect would be a problem for them.

The first option seemed less likely. Biggins had already confirmed they were corrupted, and besides, why send an assassin for a fake? You'd expose a fake, not kill them.

The second option was worse. It meant they knew who he was, or at least suspected enough to want him dead now, before he could grow stronger. Before he could threaten whatever little empire they'd built for themselves in the Eastern Kingdoms.

Biggins chuckled, the sound warm and satisfied.

Adom looked up. "What is it?"

"You're ready now."

"Ready for what?"

"When Law made his plans for the Order, he knew it would be corrupted eventually." Biggins's voice carried that ancient weight again, like he was reciting something he'd heard firsthand. "How he knew, I have no idea. Prophetic vision, perhaps, or simply a realistic understanding of human nature. But everything he predicted so far has proven true."

He gestured toward the unconscious assassin with his teacup. "Because he knew corruption was inevitable, he placed false information in all the branches. Deliberate misdirection, designed to lead them away from you until you could fend for yourself."

"It worked?"

"Obviously. They can send people now, but they'll likely fail." Biggins's smile was sharp around the edges. "With your movements and growing fame, this was inevitable. In fact, I'm surprised they didn't come a few years earlier."

Adom chuckled and got to his feet, brushing cake crumbs from his robes. "Do you have a place for this guy?"

"Oh, well yes, of course." Biggins waved his hand dismissively. "Us dragons always have a spare dungeon for princesses and people we don't like."

Adom laughed outright. "Is that actually true?"

"What is actually true?" Biggins's eyes twinkled with mischief. "The dungeon part? Certainly. The princess part? Well, that's more complicated. You see, the whole dragons-kidnapping-princesses business is terribly overblown. Most of the time, the princesses came to us voluntarily. Palace life is dreadfully boring, apparently, and we're excellent conversationalists."

"And the rest of the time?"

"The rest of the time it was usually the other way around. Princesses kidnapping dragon eggs. Quite aggressive, some of those royal bloodlines." He paused thoughtfully. "Though I wasn't around when my kind was still flying the skies regularly, I'd say the whole narrative was a conspiracy perpetrated by demons. For nefarious reasons, no doubt."

He raised an eyebrow. "Demons you'll also meet eventually, I'm afraid."

"Care to elaborate?"

Biggins's expression grew more serious, though he maintained that theatrical air. "At the origin of all this mess, I know there are demons involved. They're one of the primordial races, older than dragons, older than most things that walk or crawl or fly. What they want..." He shrugged elegantly. "I honestly don't know. But I fought one of them once. The Witch of the Fae Realm, Seraphine. Young Cyrel's mother."

Adom paused, studying Biggins's face. The old dragon had always been evasive about his past, deflecting questions with jokes or changing the subject entirely. But now, with an assassin on the floor and talk of ancient demons, those gaps in knowledge felt more significant.

"You've never told me anything about your life before."

He'd asked before, of course. Small questions over the years, casual inquiries about how Biggins had met Law, what the early days of the Order were like, why an ancient dragon was running a shop in Arkhos. Some of the questions had been answered. The rest had always been vague, wrapped in theatrical flourishes that entertained without actually explaining anything.

But if demons were involved, if there was some larger conspiracy dating back to the primordial races, then maybe those gaps weren't just personal preference. Maybe they were connected to whatever was happening now.

Biggins laughed, but there was something rueful in it. "I am not particularly proud of my early life, you see. I was impudent, arrogant, and could be impulsive and cruel at times. Not the sort of stories one tells over tea and cakes." His expression brightened. "But I would gladly tell you about Law. He was one of my rare friends, and that period of my life is one I'm actually proud of."

Adom remained standing, sensing there was more coming.

Biggins leaned forward conspiratorially. "You'll have to go to the witch to ask her about the other demons. She's not part of their cabal, but she knows about them. It would make everything so much easier if we could finally put faces to our enemies." He sighed dramatically. "I'd love to accompany you, but I'm rather banned from the Fae Realm. Permanently, I'm afraid. Something about property damage and unseemly behavior during a visit."

"I opened a guild for the Fae Realm dungeons. I can go there." Adom shifted his weight, thinking it through. "The last time I met the witch, when we made our deal, I asked for safe passage to her domain. So maybe I could talk to her."

Biggins got to his feet as well, moving to a ornate wooden drawer that definitely hadn't been there a moment before. "Bring Cyrel with you. It will make the witch easier to talk to if her daughter is there."

"Got it." Adom nodded, then glanced at the unconscious assassin. "Thanks for the tea. I have to get to another meeting at Valiant's."

"Young Adom!"

He turned back just in time to catch a small cloth package that Biggins tossed his way. It was warm and smelled like the tea they'd just shared.

"What's this?"

"More of the blend we just had." Biggins's expression grew unusually serious. "You were quite tense today, so keep it with you."

"Thanks."

"Of course. This world has a way of piling weight on your shoulders when you least expect it. When you find yourself wound so tight you can't think straight, when the stress feels like it's crushing your chest and you can't remember the last time you took a proper breath..." He gestured toward the package. "Brew some of that. It will help."

Adom looked at the package, then back at Biggins. He smiled. "One day, I'm going to understand everything you say without having to wonder if you might be a bit mad."

"That would take you thousands of years, I'm afraid. Dragons age differently, and madness is really just a matter of perspective." Biggins made shooing motions with both hands. "Now go! Shoo! Shoo! You have preparations to make for your next Fae Realm visit."

Chapter 170. Celebrity

"—which brings the total recovered artifacts to forty-seven, with preliminary analysis suggesting six of them retain active enchantments," Magus Keltis concluded, setting down his report with a satisfied air.

The soft click-click-click of knitting needles provided a steady counterpoint to his words. Beth sat in her chair with a half-finished shawl draped across her lap, fingers working the yarn with precision while her pale eyes remained fixed on some point beyond the chamber walls. Nobody seemed to care that the Empire's premier diviner was treating a formal council meeting like her personal sitting room.

"Excellent work, Magus Keltis," Gaius said from the head of the table. "Your cataloguing efforts continue to prove invaluable. The Treasury will be pleased to hear we've recovered so many intact pieces."

Click-click-click.

Keltis nodded gravely. "The smuggling networks appear to be more sophisticated than we initially assessed. Several of the artifacts show signs of recent magical tampering, suggesting they've been in circulation for months rather than years."

"Disturbing, but not unexpected," Xerion observed. "Black market enchanters rarely resist the temptation to 'improve' their merchandise."

Thorne rumbled agreement from his oversized chair. "Half the rogue mages we capture these days learned their trade by experimenting on stolen artifacts. It's like giving children explosive toys and wondering why they keep losing fingers."

The knitting needles paused for just a moment, then resumed their rhythm.

When Adom glanced toward Beth, she caught his eye and winked. The gesture was so quick and unexpectedly grandmotherly that he had to bite back a smile. She returned to her knitting as if nothing had happened, but there was the faintest hint of amusement playing around her mouth.

"Any remaining reports?" Gaius asked, his gaze sweeping the assembled magi.

Silence settled over the chamber, broken only by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock and the soft whisper of yarn through Beth's fingers.

"Very well then." The archmage gathered his papers. "Thank you all for your diligent work this month. The Empire's continued prosperity rests on efforts such as these, and I want each of you to know that your contributions are both noted and appreciated."

Chairs scraped against stone as the magi began to rise. Conversations started to form—Kyrian asking Corvus about some alchemical compound, Thorne making plans to compare notes with Xerion about northern border defenses.

"Magus Sylla," Gaius said quietly, not looking up from his papers. "If you could remain behind for a moment, please."

Adom settled back into his chair as the others filed out. Beth was the last to leave, tucking her knitting into a small bag.

The great doors closed with their familiar grinding sound, leaving Adom alone with the archmage in the suddenly cavernous chamber.

Gaius let out a deep sigh as the doors closed, the sound echoing in the suddenly empty chamber. He reached into his robes and withdrew an ornate pipe, the bowl carved from what looked like black drakebone.

A section of the wall slid open with a soft whisper of stone against stone. Inside the hidden compartment, magical flames flickered to life beneath a copper kettle. Teacups arranged themselves on a silver tray with delicate precision, while small pastries appeared on tiered stands like they'd been waiting for exactly this moment.

"I am so bloody tired of these meetings," Gaius muttered, raising the pipe to his lips. He clicked his fingers, and tiny golden sparks jumped from his fingertips to the pipe's bowl. Sweet smoke began to curl upward. "Sunleaf," he said, taking a long draw. "Good for the nerves. Clears the mind."

"I know," Adom said. "Used to smoke it from time to time back in the day. Good stuff."

"Hmm." Gaius settled back in his chair, pipe clenched between his teeth. "Being Archmage is exhausting, you know. All these reports, all these meetings, all these people expecting me to have answers for everything." He glanced at Adom through the sweet-smelling smoke. "You might find yourself smoking this often when you get the chair."

Adom chuckled. "I'm not in a hurry."

The water in the kettle began to bubble. Steam rose and coalesced into a thin stream that poured itself into the waiting teacups. The liquid was pale amber, and the aroma drifted across the chamber.

Adom picked up one of the cups and inhaled. "Silver Mountain blend."

Gaius stared at him. "I like tea well enough, but I absolutely do not know how you manage to identify every blend I've never seen you drink before."

"Same way you know the names of every variety of sunleaf from here to the Eastern Kingdoms," Adom replied with a grin.

They both laughed, the sound warm and comfortable in the vast chamber.

As the laughter died down, Gaius's expression grew serious. He took another draw from his pipe, the sunleaf smoke curling around his weathered features.

"How did the mission go?" he asked quietly.

Adom set his teacup down on the table with a soft clink. Time to get serious it seems. "I found her."

"Go on."

"She has been building her strength, yes, but not for conquest." Adom leaned forward slightly. "She confirmed it to me, sir. Her uncle was behind the massacre. She watched it all happen through a scrying crystal." Gaius remained silent. Listening. "We agreed that if we can find proof of what actually happened fifteen years ago, she'll bring the case to court instead of pursuing more direct methods of justice."

Gaius was quiet for a long moment, pipe smoke drifting between them. His fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair.

"Proof," he said finally. "What kind of proof?"

"The scrying system at her father's estate. If the transmission runes were modified properly, we could recover magical imprints of what really happened that night."

The Archmage nodded slowly, his eyes distant. "And if this proof exists, it would be at Castle White. Where the Emperor's cousin currently resides."

"That's right. The castle was rebuilt on the same site. The foundation stones with the original runic framework should still be there."

Gaius took another draw from his pipe. "Could you retrieve it?"

Adom considered this. "I'd have to go there to see. Castle White isn't exactly open to casual visitors, and I'd need to locate the original runic framework without being detected."

The Archmage nodded slowly, his eyes distant. "And her... capabilities? Her suitability for what we discussed?"

"She has an army, Gaius. A real one. Professional soldiers, competent mages, a fleet of ships, and a fortress that's been hidden from imperial intelligence for years." Adom paused. "She's not the broken exile we expected to find. She's a legitimate military leader with the resources to back her claims."

"How many?"

"Several thousand, from what I could see. Well-trained, well-equipped, and absolutely loyal to her."

Gaius took another draw from his pipe. "And if we could prove her claims about Soren? Prove the official story was false?"

"Then we'd have a legitimate heir with both the legal standing and military capacity to challenge the current Emperor. Someone with actual grievances rather than mere ambition."

The Archmage was pensive for a long moment. "These scrying crystals she mentioned. Could you retrieve them?"

"I'd have to go to Castle White to see. Where Soren currently resides."

Gaius set his pipe down and leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. "We'll make it happen."

"Make what happen?"

"Your trip to Castle White. I'll arrange everything—documents, cover story, whatever you need to get inside." The Archmage's eyes had taken on that calculating look Adom recognized from their discussions about particularly thorny problems. "Once you're there, you can locate the runic framework and extract whatever's stored in those transmission runes."

Adom raised his eyebrows. "Just like that?"

"Well, not just like that. It'll take some preparation. Lord Aldric isn't exactly known for his hospitality, and Castle White has more security than a dragon's hoard." Gaius picked up his pipe and took a thoughtful puff. "But yes. We'll make it work."

"And after that?"

"After that, the fate of the empire will be changed forever."

Adom nodded slowly. The plan made sense, even if the execution would be tricky. "Alright. I'm in."

"Good. I'll need a few days to arrange the necessary preparations. Stay on standby until then—don't go wandering off on any other missions." Gaius's mouth quirked upward. "I know how you tend to collect interesting side quests."

"Hey, those just happen to me. I don't go looking for them."

"Of course you don't."

Adom finished his tea and set the cup down. "Thank you for the Silver Mountain blend. And for trusting me with this."

"You've earned the trust." Gaius waved a hand dismissively. "Now get out of here. I have arrangements to make."

Adom stood, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape against the stone floor. He was halfway to the door when Gaius spoke again.

"Magus Sylla."

He turned. "Yes?"

"I seem to recall you mentioning an interest in learning all branches of magic. Is that still accurate?"

Adom paused, one hand on the door handle. "That was more of a... philosophical statement. Something I said just to say it, you know? I mean, I didn't think I'd live long enough for something like that to be realistic."

Gaius chuckled, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "You're already among the magi at nineteen, Adom. Youngest in the Empire's history. Learning multiple disciplines isn't as far-fetched as you might think."

"I suppose not, but—"

"Besides, Beth seems interested in teaching you."

Adom blinked. "Beth said that?"

Gaius's chuckle transformed into outright laughter. "She's been subtly mentioning it for weeks now. Never directly, mind you—that's not her way. But she talks about you quite a bit. Says she'd like to teach you divination."

"That would make her my..." Adom trailed off, processing the implications.

"Master? Sure, in a sense, yes." Gaius's expression grew more serious. "Which is strange in itself. Beth has never taken an apprentice. Not once in all the years I've known her. Especially not a mage who isn't even versed in divination basics."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying if she's expressing interest, I'd be curious to know why. The woman who can see the future thinks you're worth her time." Gaius took a puff out of his pipe again. "If I were you, I'd want to find out what she sees."

"I'll... talk to her. Later."

"She takes walks in Law's Park every evening at sunset. Northeast corner, by the fountain with Law's statue." Gaius took a long draw from his pipe, then began to exhale slowly. The smoke didn't dissipate—instead, it held its shape, coiling and twisting until it formed a perfect sailing ship, complete with billowing sails and tiny rigging details. The ethereal vessel drifted across the chamber before finally dissolving into wisps.

"That's cool," Adom said.

Gaius grinned. "Took practice. A lot of it."

"Should I pretend it's a coincidence when I see Beth?"

"God, no. She'd know anyway." The Archmage waved his pipe dismissively. "Might as well be honest about it."

Adom nodded, filing the information away. "Understood."

"Good. Now go. I have a very complicated infiltration to plan."

Adom pulled the great doors closed behind him, the grinding sound echoing down the corridor. Two days since he'd returned from his mission to find Morgana, and he was still processing everything that had happened.

His boots clicked against the polished stone as he made his way through the new Magisterium's halls. A few mages hurried past, arms full of scrolls and looking harried. Standard Tuesday afternoon energy.

His comm crystal pulsed against his chest.

Adom pulled it out and activated the connection. "Yes, Valiant."

"Hey Ado— wait, how did you know it was me?"

"There are only two people who call me on this crystal. You and Cass. Cass never calls at this hour."

"Oh." There was a pause. "Should I maybe have fixed hours? Would that make me seem more professional? Like, set business hours for emergencies and—"

"If it's not actually important, yes."

"But it's always important!"

Adom sighed. "You called me at two in the morning once to rant about a female mouse beastkin who broke your heart. You spent forty-five minutes explaining how her whiskers twitched differently when she lied."

"That was— look, she was really manipulative, okay? And I was going through a rough patch—"

"Valiant."

"—and honestly, the whisker thing was genuinely fascinating from my standpoint—"

"Valiant."

"Right, right. Sorry." The crystal crackled slightly. "You received a message. From some guys from Silvandros."

Adom stopped walking. "I'll be right there."

The afternoon sun hit his face as he stepped out into the streets of Arkhos. He pulled his pointed hat down low, adjusting the brim to cast shadow over his features.

The city hummed with its usual energy. Street vendors called out their wares, fresh bread, roasted nuts, little trinkets that probably didn't do what they claimed to do.

Oh, and there were at least 20 new Old Mary meat pie stands all over the city now. The thing had become the defining symbol of Arkhos’s food culture.

Children darted between the legs of adults, playing some complicated game that involved a lot of shouting and seemed to have no discernible rules.

Oh?

Actually, on closer inspection, it did have rules: they were playing mages.

"I'm Adom!" one boy declared, pointing a stick at his friends. "Lightning bolt!"

"No, I'm Adom!" another protested. "You were Adom yesterday!"

Adom noticed the second boy had painted a white streak down the front of his dark hair, a crude imitation of his own distinctive marking. The kid had probably spent his allowance on hair paint just to look the part.

"You can't both be Adom," the girl among them said. "There's only one Adom."

"Then I'll be Gaius," the first boy said sulkily.

"Nobody wants to be Gaius. He's old."

A few adults stopped to watch the argument unfold, smiling at the intensity of the debate. One woman crouched down to the children's level.

"You can all be Adom," she said diplomatically. "There's nothing wrong with having more than one celebrity in a game."

"But then who's the villain?" the girl asked, clearly having given this serious thought.

"We'll figure it out," the woman said. "Maybe you can take turns."

A group of musicians had set up near the fountain, their lively tune adding to the general cheerful chaos.

Adom chuckled softly, pulling his hat down a little further. He should probably avoid walking through areas where children congregated. His ego was already inflated enough without hearing six-year-olds argue over who got to pretend to be him. The painted hair streak was particularly mortifying, when had he become the kind of person kids wanted to imitate?

He inhaled the purified air of Arkhos deeply.

This was exactly what he wanted.

Peace. Normality. The kind of everyday life that most people took for granted.

But as Adom walked slowly, the same thought of peace made his mind churn through the implications of what he and Gaius had discussed. How was he supposed to tell his father about Morgana? About what had really happened to General Soren?

Arthur had been Soren's apprentice. The man had knighted him, shaped his entire military career, probably saved his life a dozen times over. Learning that his mentor had been murdered by the Emperor—that everything Arthur had believed about duty and loyalty had been built on a lie—would destroy him.

Should he wait until after they retrieved the proof? Or tell him now, before the mission to Castle White? Either way felt wrong. Either way would tear his father's world apart.

And if Arthur rebelled against the Emperor, he wouldn't do it alone. The Iron Wolves still followed their ex-commander absolutely. They'd march with him into hell if he asked them to. Retired or not, Arthur's word still carried weight with the regiment.

Was there a peaceful way out of this mess? Some path that didn't end with his father choosing between his honor and his oaths?

A mother scolded her son for running too close to the horse traffic. The boy looked appropriately shamefaced for about three seconds before darting off to rejoin his friends. Life continuing as it always had, blissfully unaware that everything might be about to change.

Suddenly, a pressure hit Adom's stomach like a punch.

Sharp. Sudden. Actually painful, which was impressive considering how much punishment his body could absorb these days. [Primordial Body] had made him tough enough to shrug off most—

Warmth spread across his shirt. Just a little. The blade–because it was a blade– hadn't gone deep enough to do real damage, but it had definitely drawn blood.

Adom looked down.

A man stood very close to him, close enough that their conversation would look casual to anyone passing by. The dagger in his hand was pressed against Adom's stomach, though not with enough force to penetrate further. His eyes were wide with something that might have been surprise.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Huh," Adom said conversationally. "That didn't work out the way you expected, did it?"

The man tried to step back, probably planning to disappear into the crowd.

Adom's hand closed around his wrist like a steel trap.

"I wouldn't make a scene if I were you," he said quietly, his voice carrying just enough edge to make his point clear. "You failed. So you can follow me silently and explain who sent you, or we can do this by force. Your choice."

The man's free hand darted toward his belt. Another dagger appeared, but instead of attacking again, he brought it toward his own arm—or maybe his throat. Adom wasn't entirely sure which.

Either way, that wasn't happening.

BAM.

His fist connected with the man's temple before the second blade could find its target. The would-be assassin's eyes rolled back and he went limp, both daggers clattering to the cobblestones.

Adom caught him before he could hit the ground, then discretely weaved [Levitation]. To anyone watching, it would look like the man was just standing there, maybe a little unsteady on his feet.

"Too much to drink," Adom said to a concerned-looking woman who'd noticed the man swaying. "I'll get him home."

She nodded sympathetically and continued on her way.

Adom adjusted his grip on the unconscious assassin's arm, making sure he looked stable enough to avoid drawing more attention. Then he glanced down at the man's sleeve, looking for any identifying marks or—

His blood went cold.

There, tattooed on the man's forearm in black ink, was a symbol he recognized. A staff crossed with a quill, surrounded by a circle of stars.

The Order's sigil.

His Order.

Slight delay in the chapters, but they are coming back tomorrow!

Hey everyone!

Quick heads-up: the chapters will be dropping tomorrow instead of last week-end. I know some of you were expecting them sooner, but there is a bit of a story behind the delay.

I went on a bit of a writing spree. Like, full tilt, hours and hours at a time, because I wanted to give you a big chapter dump all at once. Somewhere along the way I pushed a little too hard, ignored the early twinges, and ended up with RSI (Repetitive Strain Injury) in both hands. At first it was just this weird, almost benign ache that I figured would go away if I powered through. But it slowly turned into mild inflammation, and that was the point where I knew I needed to stop and let my body win the argument.

It is not anything dramatic, honestly, still pretty mild and nothing to panic about. But RSI is one of those things that can go from annoying to surgery if you do not listen to the warning signs. So I have been forcing myself to slow down, rest, and switch over to voice dictation. It works, but let’s just say it makes for some hilarious typos, lol.

The good news is I have invested in the whole ergonomic arsenal: new chair, proper keyboard, wrist support, the works. So when my hands are back in action I will be able to write without wrecking myself. In the meantime, the chapters are already written and just getting polished up.

Even this message was written mostly with dictation, so I am getting the hang of it better and better since it is not the first time this year. But tomorrow I will be back to posting chapters more regularly again. Thanks so much for bearing with me, I really appreciate your patience and support!

Chapter 169. New Plan

Scrying crystals.

They were relics from an earlier generation of mages, back when people thought remote surveillance was worth bankrupting yourself over. The system worked by placing specific runes around whatever area you wanted to monitor. Those runes would capture what was happening and transmit it through mana waves to a network of smaller crystals, which amplified the signal and sent it to the main scrying crystal for display.

The whole setup was expensive, finicky, and not particularly good at its job. The images came through weak and grainy, like looking through muddy water. You couldn't hear anything either, so if you wanted to know what people were saying, you had better be decent at reading lips. Ah, the range was limited too. You could monitor your castle grounds, maybe stretch to the nearby village if you had enough amplifying crystals and didn't mind the massive mana costs. But anything beyond that?

Forget it.

Most old castles had scrying systems installed at some point. The wealthy lords thought it made them clever, being able to watch their gates and courtyards from the comfort of their studies. But maintaining the crystal networks cost a fortune in expensive mana stones, and the results were mediocre at best. The whole thing went out of fashion about ten years ago when newer, more practical security methods became available.

The distance from Morgana's family's main castle to where she'd been hidden during the attack was well within range for a typical scrying network. Close enough for decent image quality, assuming the system had been properly maintained.

In the last few years, Adom had made several discoveries related to runic magic. The breakthrough came from studying the methods Law had used to record his message back in the Giant Highlands. Those ancient runes had shown Adom something that changed everything he thought he knew about magical surveillance.

The transmission runes that sent images to scrying crystals could be modified to store what they captured.

It wasn't supposed to work that way. The runes were designed to transmit, not record. But Adom had eventually figured out how to alter the basic runic structure, turning a simple transmission system into something that could preserve magical imprints of events. The modification was subtle, just three symbol changes in the standard array, but it transformed everything.

If the recording runes were intact, you could recover what they had witnessed. Years later, decades later, it didn't matter. The magical imprint would still be there, waiting.

This meant that if they could find the scrying system from Morgana's family estate, and if someone had known enough to modify the transmission runes in the way Adom now understood, they could potentially recover the events that had happened there fifteen years ago. Every face. Every movement. Every word spoken, assuming you could read lips well enough.

If they could do that...

Adom's first feeling should have been joy. Relief, even. Instead, he felt a guilt he didn't want to address.

Morgana had just told him her story. Fifteen years of pain, rage, and careful planning. Her entire adult life shaped by what had happened to her family. And here he was, whether it could be sugar-coated or not, reinterpreting her fight to make it more palatable. Even to her. To serve his cause.

He was turning her personal hell into evidence. Her thirst for revenge into a legal proceeding. Her desperate need for justice into something that might be useful for his own goals.

What was th–

"How?"

"Huh?"

"How would you recover the proof?"

Morgana looked at him for a long moment.

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "And don't start guilting yourself over this. I've always liked your pragmatism, Adom. This is a relief you're giving me, not some betrayal of my pain. So stop overthinking it and tell me how you'd modify runes in a castle that was put to fire fifteen years ago and then rebuilt."

Adom stared at her, caught completely off guard. He wasn't sure what exactly he should have expected but it was not...this.

Morgana crossed her arms and waited.

"Okay," he said finally. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"A relevant one. People see things sometimes in places where events happened. Old battlefields, execution sites, places where people were murdered. They call them ghost sightings, but a few years ago, I found out there's actually a magical explanation for it."

Morgana's eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn't interrupt.

"You see, mana is an ambient energy that exists everywhere," Adom continued. "It responds to all sorts of events, not just dramatic ones. When something happens in a location, it leaves what I call phantom imprints in the ambient mana. Like a sort of timestamp. These imprints can linger for seventy-five to one hundred years before they dilute back into time and leave the mana completely."

This was according to the Book of Primordial Runes.

"And people can see these imprints?"

"Sometimes. The stronger the event or the more emotionally charged it was, the more visible the phantom becomes to ordinary people. But with the right runes, you can capture and clarify any imprint that's still there."

Morgana was listening intently now, her arms still crossed but her posture leaning forward.

"The key is that the runes have to have been installed before the event occurred," Adom said. "You can't add them after the fact and expect to recover anything. But if your father's castle had a scrying system, and if someone had modified those transmission runes properly..."

"But the castle burned."

"Fire doesn't destroy runes. They're protected from that kind of damage unless they were written in blood, which no competent mage would ever do for permanent installations. Your father's castle was built from enchanted bricks, standard for imperial families in Sundar. Those bricks wouldn't have burned either."

Adom gestured vaguely in the direction of where her family estate would be, somewhere far to the north.

"Other things might have been destroyed in the fire, but not the foundation stones or the structural enchantments. If they rebuilt on the same site and didn't bother hauling away the original bricks, which they probably didn't since enchanted stonework costs a fortune, then the runic framework should still be there."

Morgana stared at him for a moment. "You're telling me you might be able to see what happened to my family."

"If the runes were there before it happened, and if they're still intact, then yes."

Morgana was silent for a long while, staring at something past his shoulder.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in," Adom said. "And I know you shouldn't get your hopes too much up, but we have to try, we have t—"

Morgana laughed. It was a rich, genuine sound that caught him completely off guard.

"Nerd," she said very quietly, almost under her breath.

"What?"

"Transcendent nerd," she said louder, grinning at him. "That was how you and Sam called yourselves, was it not?"

Adom blinked. "Actually, it was our friends from the club who started calling us that. It just kind of stuck after a while."

They both laughed at that, the tension in the room breaking instantly.

"Thank you," Morgana said suddenly, her voice going serious again.

"Morgana—"

"Yes, I know." She dropped her voice to mimic his deeper tone, adding a mock-solemn expression. "'You shouldn't get your hopes too much up.' Is that what you were about to say?"

She laughed again. "It is good to have hope, Adom. And if this could be proved..." She paused, her expression shifting to something more calculating. "Then I could bring my uncle to court without ruining the childhood of innocent children like Ada. Without starting a civil war I am not even certain I would win."

Adom smiled, and Ragna padded over to him, the massive puma pushing his head against his hand. He stroked the midnight fur absently, feeling the rumble of contentment that vibrated through the cat's chest.

"I need to go," he said finally.

"Already?" Morgana asked.

"Classes start again soon. I need to be there before the students notice my absence." He smiled. "I am the titular professor, after all."

"I am not surprised you took that route."

"Well, I'm also a magus, hence this mission from the Magisterium."

"I know," Morgana said. "Youngest magus in the history of the Empire."

Adom looked up from Ragna's fur. "Ah, so you have spies."

"I needed to keep an eye on Sundar. I inquired about you and Sam in all of my reports." She shrugged. "Old habits."

"If you want to reach out to me," Morgana continued, "there's a place in Arkhos. The Gilded Swan tavern, near the merchant quarter. Ask for Lyre. She can relay messages, usually within a month."

"That won't be necessary," Adom said. "I'll send you a spirit. A wind spirit, if I need to relay a message."

Morgana's eyebrows rose. "You are an elementalist as well?"

"No, it's Cyrel's spirit."

Morgana smiled at him, and there was something distinctly mischievous in her expression. "Cyrel. Is that a girl's name?"

Adom sighed. "Look. If I need to talk to you, I will send you a letter through the wind. It will come faster."

"But is Cyrel a girl?" Morgana pressed, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

"It's a long story," Adom said. "Speaking of which, where did you get this thing?" He gestured at the thin metallic lines he'd glimpsed running along her forearms.

"Oh, this." Morgana reached down and scooped up Ragna with casual ease that should have been impossible for someone her size. The massive puma had to weigh at least seven hundred pounds, but she lifted him like he was a house cat, the metal tracery along her arms gleaming as it responded to the strain.

"It's from my chief mage. Brie Nightwhisper."

Adom's expression shifted. That name he knew. Brie had been one of the most brilliant artificers of the last generation, famous for her work during the Mage Wars. She'd developed these strength-enhancing harnesses for regular soldiers, giving them the physical capability to fight alongside mages and Star Knights without being completely outclassed.

The design was elegant in its simplicity. Thin metal channels that followed the body's natural muscle groups, powered by focused mana crystals and controlled through direct neural interface. No body modification required, no permanent changes, just pure magical enhancement that could triple a person's natural strength while they wore it.

The Imperial Army had commissioned hundreds of them during the war, but they'd proven too expensive for mass production. Each harness required weeks of careful crafting and cost more than most soldiers saw in a year of service.

"Where is she?" Adom asked, watching Morgana casually support Ragna's bulk with one arm while the puma looked dignified about the whole situation.

"Another base. She's conducting magical research there, working on simpler versions for my regular soldiers." Morgana adjusted her grip on Ragna, the enhancement responding smoothly to the movement. "Turns out having an army is considerably more expensive than I initially calculated."

Adom stretched, rolling his shoulders to work out the tension from the conversation. He walked over to the window, and Morgana followed, still holding Ragna like he weighed nothing.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

Adom reached into his inventory and pulled out one of the flying swords. The enchanted blade gleamed in the afternoon light streaming through the window.

"Time is of the essence," he said, stepping up onto the windowsill. He turned back to face her, then stepped out into open air, [Levitation] keeping him hovering just outside the window. "If everything goes according to plan, we'll have plenty of time to talk later. Maybe around tea. You could tell me all about your life."

"I'd like that," Morgana said, moving closer to the window. "Tell Sam I said hi."

"Will do."

Adom looked at Ragna, still cradled in Morgana's enhanced grip, and reached out with his druidic abilities.

So long, new friend.

The puma's mental voice rumbled with warmth. Farewell, young warrior. I hope we meet again.

Adom placed the sword beneath his feet, feeling the familiar hum of magical energy as the enchantment responded to his presence. The blade steadied itself in the air, supporting his weight with casual ease.

He looked back at Morgana and grinned. "Cool, right?"

Morgana chuckled. "So cool," she said, and there was gentle teasing in her voice.

"I'd like to meet that mage of yours next time," Adom said, adjusting his balance on the sword.

"Why?"

"You know. Nerd stuff."

"You two would get along on that front," Morgana agreed.

Adom began to rise, the sword carrying him higher into the sky above the fortress. Below, he could see soldiers and workers stopping their tasks to look up at him, hands shading their eyes against the sun.

"Goodbye, Morg," he called down.

"Give my regards to Cyrel!" Morgana called back, laughter clear in her voice.

Adom sighed, but he was smiling as the sword picked up speed, carrying him away from the hidden island and back toward the open ocean. Behind him, Morgana remained at the window, one hand raised in farewell.

The fortress grew smaller beneath him, its concealment fields shimmering back into place until it looked like nothing more than empty ocean stretching to the horizon.

Chapter 168. A Game Of Thrones

"Hah, you wanna play rough? Let's play rough."

Adom chuckled as Ragna decided playtime wasn't over.

The massive puma launched himself forward, trying to bowl Adom over with his considerable bulk. What followed was less a wrestling match and more like watching someone try to tackle a tree.

Behind them, Morgana had moved to a small drawer built into the wall that Adom hadn't noticed before. The sound of porcelain and metal told him she was preparing tea.

"Do you want sugar in yours?" she asked without turning around.

"Just one cube, please."

The familiar sounds of tea preparation filled the room—the clink of spoons, the soft whistle of steam, the gentle rattle of cups on saucers.

One would not expect a human to possess such strength, Ragna observed as Adom gently but firmly prevented the puma from pinning him to the floor.

Well, you saw how I got it, didn't you?

Indeed. Your trials have forged you well, young warrior.

Adom grinned and decided it was his turn to be the aggressor. He grabbed Ragna around the middle and lifted the surprised cat slightly off the ground, earning what could only be described as an indignant yowl.

"Tea's ready," Morgana announced, approaching with a tray. The cups were steaming, and he could smell something floral and warm. She was smiling as she watched their impromptu wrestling match. "Four years I've known Shadowpaw, and he's never been this close to anyone but me."

"Shadowpaw?" Adom asked, still holding the squirming puma. "His name is Ragna."

Ragna's head turned sharply toward Morgana when he heard the sound that corresponded to his true name.

"I named him Shadowpaw," Morgana said, setting the tray down on the table. "How did you know he was called something I didn't?"

"Druid thing," Adom said, finally releasing Ragna, who sat down with as much dignity as he could muster. "The names we give them aren't always what they're really called. This is his true name—Ragna. He probably answered to Shadowpaw because it meant you had treats."

Morgana looked genuinely surprised. "I thought you were a battle mage? Did you change your path?"

"Not really," Adom said, getting up to join her at the table. "But I've been learning a few things from different disciplines. Jack of all trades, you know."

Morgana chuckled. Ragna padded over to her, and she reached down to scratch behind his ears.

"Ragna," she murmured, testing the name. "So that's your real name."

The puma pushed his head against her hand, purring.

"I'll call you that from now on."

Adom took a sip of the tea. It was complex—floral notes with something earthy underneath, and a hint of spice that warmed his throat on the way down. The aroma reminded him of rain on dry soil and something he couldn't quite place.

Morgana smiled. "You like it?"

"It's very good."

"I bought it at the Baobab Islands, on Zhara, when I was there last year. Funny thing is, I bought it thinking of you and your love for tea. Thought it would be nice if you could taste it someday." She paused, swirling her own cup. "Fate is a strange thing, for you to now be sitting here drinking tea that was bought with you in mind."

Adom put the cup down. "It's really good. Maybe I'll need to buy some for the guild."

"Wangara?"

Adom looked at her in surprise.

Morgana smiled and took another sip. "Oh, come now. I know you. And Wangara expanded so fast and so far that I did my research on it. When I found out it was affiliated with the Sylla household, I knew you were behind it."

"Could have been my father or mother."

Morgana looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Really?"

Adom chuckled.

"For someone who knows you, it's quite evident. Plus, Commander Arthur was never the merchant type."

That was when Adom knew the politics talk had started. The warm reunion was shifting into something else entirely.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

"Do you have a good memory of my father when he was under your father's command?"

"Yes. He was the kindest of all the other knights. Would let me ride his pegasus from time to time." Her expression softened slightly. "It was hard not to talk to him when he came to the Veyshari camp, back then."

"I realize that now."

Adom took another sip.

"He'd be happy to know you're alive. He doesn't speak about his time under General Soren much, but when he does, he always talks about his daughter."

"How are your parents, anyway?"

"Good. I have a little sister now. Ada. She's five."

Morgana's face lit up. "That's wonderful. I'd love to meet her someday. I could teach her to ride, show her how to braid flowers into crowns like we used to do. Does she like stories? I have so many good ones now, about distant lands and strange creatures and..."

She slowed down as she spoke.

"...And..."

Her voice became quieter with each word.

"Well."

She stopped entirely.

There was silence between them. Only Ragna's purring filled the space.

Adom could see exactly what she was thinking. The relative peace that Ada was growing up in would be shattered once Morgana started whatever it was she wanted to start. He still didn't know her actual intentions.

Was it conquest? Was it vengeance? Something else entirely?

"Morg," he said directly. "What exactly do you want to do?"

Adom saw her fall silent, contemplating something. He decided to wait. To give her time to gather her thoughts, to hope that at the end of this conversation, he wouldn't have to put her on his ever-growing list of enemies.

Adom saw her fall silent, contemplating something. He decided to wait. To give her time to gather her thoughts, to hope that at the end of this conversation, he wouldn't have to put her on his ever-growing list of enemies.

"I was actually being read stories that night," she said finally.

Adom stayed quiet.

"The night they came to kill my family." Her voice had changed. It was colder now, controlled like tempered steel. "I was with Brunhild, my father's personal mage. She was reading me stories about princesses and dragons and brave knights who saved kingdoms from darkness."

She set her teacup down.

"My father always told me that he and the Emperor would work things out eventually. They were brothers, after all. Family. He said blood meant something." Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "That was how it ended."

Adom waited, knowing she needed to tell this story.

"The siege began three hours past midnight. I remember because the great clock had just finished chiming when the first horns sounded. Knights surrounded the castle—hundreds of them in full armor, carrying torches that turned the night into day. They moved like a tide of metal and fire, cutting off every road, every path, every hope of escape."

Her voice was steady, but her knuckles were white.

"They didn't announce themselves. Didn't demand surrender. Just surrounded us and waited like wolves around a wounded deer. The siege lasted from midnight until dawn—six hours of watching them position catapults, ballistas, siege towers. My father sent ravens, but they shot them down. Every last one."

She paused, staring at something Adom couldn't see.

"I was in the north tower with Brunhild because I'd had nightmares. Foolish dreams about shadows in the corridors. Because of that, I couldn't reach my family when it started. But Brunhild had her scrying bowl—black obsidian, filled with moonwater. I watched everything through that cursed thing."

Morgana's voice became sharper, each word carefully controlled.

"I watched my father try to negotiate. He stood on the battlements in his nightrobe, calling down to them. He offered gold, territory, himself as hostage—anything they wanted. He offered to abdicate his lands, to take holy vows, to disappear forever if they would just let his family live."

Her jaw tightened.

"Chancellor Mephtilem was there. That demon in silk robes, standing beside two hundred Hound Knights like death incarnate." She looked up at Adom. "Do you know what Hound Knights are?"

"The Emperor's elite."

"The Emperor's butchers." Her voice was flat. "They are his closest guard, and do everything he tells them, no question asked. That night, the chancellor told my father that the Emperor had decided Soren was a threat to the stability of the realm. That he was a traitor who had forgotten his place."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"My father begged. The great General Soren, who had won a dozen battles for the crown, who had bled for that throne, got on his knees and begged for his children's lives. Mephtilem smiled. He agreed to terms."

Adom felt his stomach turn, knowing what was coming.

"They would arrest my father, take him to the capital for trial. The family would be spared, allowed to live in exile. My father wept with relief. He called for the gates to be opened, dismissed his personal guard, ordered everyone to stand down. He submitted to being bound with enchanted shackles, hands behind his back like a common criminal."

Morgana's voice became deadly quiet.

"The gates were opened and the Hounds poured in like a plague of locusts."

She stood up abruptly, began pacing.

"They brought my father to the great hall where my family waited. My stepmother Elara, my little brothers Kael and Daven. Eight and six years old, still in their sleeping clothes, confused and frightened." Morgana smiled bitterly, as she looked at Adom." They were just like you and Sam, you know? Kael was always causing trouble, and Daven was as shy as Sam. My little brothers."

To this, Adom was not sure what to say. Sorry felt to simple. Not saying a word too cold. He opened his mouth to speak, but Morgana was already talking again.

"My father tried to comfort them, told them everything would be fine, that this was just a misunderstanding."

Ragna bumped his head against her, and Morgana passed her hands on his midnight fur as she continued.

"Mephtilem had lied, of course. The moment my father's back was turned, the moment he thought his family was safe, they drew their swords. Twenty Hounds, as strong as Star Knights, against one bound, unarmed man."

She stopped pacing, her hands clenched into fists.

"They took his head from behind. Like the cowards they are. One clean stroke of a greatsword while he was whispering prayers of gratitude for his family's mercy. His head rolled across the stones and stopped at little Daven's feet."

Adom could barely breathe.

"But that wasn't enough for them. They needed it to look like rebellion, like he had resisted arrest. So they fell on his body like rabid dogs. Swords, maces, war hammers—they hacked and chopped and smashed until there was nothing left that resembled a man. Just meat and bone and blood splattered across the walls like some butcher's nightmare."

Ragna had gone completely still, as if sensing the darkness in the room.

"My stepmother tried to shield the boys. Sweet Elara, who had never raised her voice in anger, who spent her days tending gardens and teaching my brothers their letters. She threw herself over them and begged for mercy." Morgana's voice cracked slightly. "They stabbed her nineteen times. I counted every thrust through that scrying bowl. When she still wouldn't die, still kept moving to protect her sons, they grabbed her by the hair and cut her throat so deep I could see the bones of her spine."

The silence stretched like a blade.

"You know what they did to my brothers, Adom?" She had to stop, compose herself. "Kael tried to run. Six years old, still believing he could escape, still thinking someone would save him. They caught him before he reached the door. Daven never moved—just stood there staring at his mother's blood, too shocked to understand. They killed them both the same way. Grabbed them by their hair and drew blades across their throats so savagely they were nearly decapitated."

She turned to face Adom, and her eyes were like winter storms.

"All of it under Mephtilem's direct orders. He stood there watching, smiling, giving instructions on how to position the bodies for maximum effect. Making sure the blood patterns would tell the story he wanted told."

Adom wanted to speak, but there were no words in any language for this.

"Then after they executed the outer guards, they came looking for me. The castle was already burning by then—they'd set fires to erase evidence, to make it look like a siege that had turned into a sack. Brunhild cursed me as they climbed the tower stairs. Transformed me into a cat so small I could escape through the old mouse passages in the walls."

Her voice became hollow.

"She stayed behind to buy me time. I heard her fighting them as I crawled through those narrow stone tunnels—heard her screaming and weaving spells, heard their weapons striking her shields, heard her voice break as they overwhelmed her." She paused. "When I looked back from the forest edge, her head was already decorating a pike beside the main gates."

Morgana sat back down, suddenly looking exhausted.

"I had no idea how to change back. The only mage who could have taught me was dead, her knowledge burned with her body. I wandered for weeks as a cat, slowly starving, drinking from puddles, eating scraps when I could find them. Eventually I discovered I could become a puma when desperation drove me to hunt—Brunhild's final gift, I suppose."

She picked up her teacup again, though it was empty.

"But the larger form made me valuable. Exotic. I was captured by traders, caged, sold from one collector to another across kingdoms. Passed hand to hand like a curiosity, a conversation piece for rich men's dinner parties. Ten years of cages and chains and audiences pointing at the 'tame' predator."

She looked directly at Adom.

"Until the day I met you in that marketplace in Arkhos."

Adom sat in silence for a long moment, processing what she'd told him. The tea had gone cold in his hands.

"You've been through hell," he said finally. "More than anyone should have to endure. But you'll have justice, Morg. I promise you that."

Her head snapped up, and the look in her eyes made his breath catch. Tears had gathered there, but they weren't tears of sadness. They burned with rage.

"Justice?" Her voice was deadly quiet. "You want to know what my intentions are, Adom? You asked me what I want to do?" She stood up, her hands shaking. "I don't want justice. I don't care about justice. Justice is what weak people ask for when they can't take what they really want."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"I want blood for blood. I want to kill Emperor Rayhan. I want to kill Chancellor Mephtilem. I want Sir Bran Blackwood—the knight who held my father down. I want Commander Theon Voss—the one who laughed while they butchered my stepmother. I want Captain Marker Fell—the bastard who grabbed little Kael by the hair."

Her voice was rising, each name spat out like poison.

"These names live on my tongue, Adom. They whisper in my sleep. They echo in my thoughts every waking moment. Rayhan. Mephtilem. Blackwood. Voss. Fell. I taste them like blood in my mouth every single day."

She was pacing now, her movements sharp and predatory.

"I want their heads. I want to watch the light fade from their eyes. I want them to know, in their final moments, that this is for my family. For my father who trusted them. For Elara who never hurt a soul. For Kael and Daven who died afraid and alone."

Tears were streaming down her face, but her voice never wavered.

"I don't care who sits on the throne afterward. I'm not playing some game of thrones, trying to position myself for power. I don't want to rule anything. I want revenge, pure and simple. I want them all dead, and I want to be the one who kills them."

Adom got up from his chair and walked toward her.

"So you kill the Emperor," he said, his voice conversational. Almost casual. "You kill Mephtilem. You track down Blackwood, Voss, Fell, and whoever else is on that list of yours." He paused, studying her face. "Then what?"

Morgana's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Oh, don't tell me you're going to give me lessons on revenge as well. I've heard that many ti—"

"There's a fine line between justice and vengeance," Adom interrupted, his tone still calm.

She turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing. "Is there now?"

"Most people think they're opposites. Natural enemies. But they're not." Adom leaned back in another chair, completely relaxed despite the tension radiating from her. "There's a frontier where they meet, Morg. A border territory where the distinction becomes meaningless."

"How philosophical of you."

"Sometimes they're the exact same thing."

Morgana crossed her arms, her stance defensive. "And you think my situation is one of those times?"

Adom didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up a teacup, realized it was empty, and set it back down with care. The small sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

"What the Emperor did to your family wasn't just murder," he said finally. "It was fratricide. The killing of kin."

"He wasn't my kin."

"Your father was his brother. That makes it fratricide under imperial law." Adom leaned forward. "Law Borealis himself put that statute in the founding documents of the Empire. Did you know that?"

Morgana's expression shifted slightly, she didn't respond.

"The Founders were very specific about it." Adom stood up slowly, his movements deliberate. "The laws that the founders established aren't suggestions, Morg. They carry the penalty of death when transgressed, whether you're a peasant or an emperor."

"Pretty words." 

"Mephtilem orchestrated the murder of an imperial family member. That makes him guilty in regicide and complicit in fratricide." Adom took a single step toward her, noting how she didn't retreat. "The knights who carried it out were accessories to both crimes. Every single one of them committed capital offenses under the laws they swore to uphold."

Ragna, who had been silent throughout the exchange, lifted his head and watched them both.

"So what are you saying?" Morgana asked. "That I should march into the capital and demand a trial?"

"I'm saying that your killing them wouldn't be revenge." Adom's voice was steady. "It would be justice. You'd be carrying out the sentence that should have been pronounced fifteen years ago."

Morgana stared at him for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter but no less intense. "You're trying to make me feel better about wanting them dead."

"No," Adom said. "I'm trying to make you understand that wanting them dead is rational. Logical. Right."

"Because they broke laws."

"Because they broke the most fundamental laws of the Empire. Laws that exist specifically to prevent what happened to your family from happening to anyone else's family."

Morgana resumed pacing, and her movements were different now. Less frantic, more thoughtful. "And you think that distinction matters?"

"I think it matters to you."

She stopped again, this time facing the window. "Why?"

"Because if it was just revenge, you would have done it already. You've had fifteen years, Morg. You're powerful enough now. Resourceful enough. If all you wanted was their blood, you could have spilled it a few years ago."

The silence that followed was different from the earlier ones. Less charged, more contemplative.

"Maybe I was building my strength," she said finally.

"Maybe. Or maybe part of you knows the difference between justice and revenge, even when you don't want to admit it."

Morgana turned back to him, and he could see something shifting in her expression. Not softening, exactly, but clarifying. "For that to work, I would have to prove what happened. And it was more than fifteen years ago, Adom. Who's going to believe the word of a shapeshifter with every reason to lie?"

Adom tilted his head slightly, his eyes focusing on something she'd said earlier. "Did you say there was a scrying crystal?"

Chapter 167. Reunion

Adom found himself staring directly into a pair of luminous green eyes that belonged to what was quite possibly the largest cat he'd ever seen in his life.

The midnight puma sat on the mahogany conference table like it owned not just the furniture, but the entire room, the island, and probably several neighboring kingdoms. Its black coat absorbed light in a way that made it seem less like fur and more like a hole cut in reality, except for the faint silver striping that caught the magical illumination from the crystal chandeliers overhead.

Midnight pumas were native to the Shadowlands, deep in the continent's interior where normal sunlight never quite managed to penetrate the perpetual canopy. Even the females, in their final adult form, grew to almost twice the size of a tiger. This one had to be male, judging by the sheer bulk of him. His shoulders were easily as wide as Adom's torso, and when he shifted position slightly, muscles moved under that midnight coat like steel cables under silk.

For a moment, Adom had wondered if this might be Morgana herself. But this puma wore a collar—thick leather studded with what looked like genuine emeralds—and those green eyes held an intelligence that was distinctly feline rather than human.

Adom had been sitting in this room for the better part of five minutes now.

It was clearly designed to impress visitors into submission: vaulted ceilings that disappeared into shadow, walls lined with ancient tomes and magical artifacts that hummed with barely contained power, and enough empty space to hold a small army.

He'd been told to wait here until Morgana could see him. So he'd waited, choosing a chair that gave him good sight lines to both entrances and keeping his hands visible on the armrests in what he hoped was a non-threatening posture.

Then, a minute ago, this walking shadow had padded through the main doorway like he owned the place, hopped onto the table with surprising grace for something that probably weighed as much as a horse, and settled into a position where he could stare directly at Adom.

The puma hadn't moved since.

Hadn't blinked either, as far as Adom could tell. Just... watched.

Occasionally, a low rumbling sound would emerge from somewhere deep in that massive chest, not quite a growl but definitely not a purr. The intimidation factor was considerable. Sitting calmly while a predator that could probably bite a man's head off studied him with interest required a certain amount of mental fortitude that most people would not have.

Also, it was kind of cool. Not many people could say they'd had a staring contest with a midnight puma.

Adom smiled and reached out with his druidic abilities, the mental connection forming like a bridge between their consciousness.

Hey.

The puma's reaction was immediate and dramatic. His ears snapped forward, his eyes widened, and his entire body went rigid with surprise. The rumbling stopped abruptly.

How is this possible? The mental voice was deep, resonant. You are human.

Well, I'm a druid, Adom replied, maintaining the smile. We can talk to all living beings. That's what I'm doing with you right now.

A druid? There was confusion in the puma's mental voice. I am unfamiliar with this term.

It's a kind of mage, Adom explained.

The change in the puma's demeanor was instant and dramatic. His ears flattened against his skull, his lips pulled back to reveal impressive fangs, and a low growl rumbled through the mental connection.

I do not like mages.

Why? Adom asked, feigning hurt. What did we ever do to you?

The puma studied him for a long moment, his green eyes searching Adom's face with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable. When he finally responded, there was a note of wonder in his mental voice.

It is... most strange, to converse this way with a human. I had not thought it possible.

He settled back on his haunches, some of the aggressive tension leaving his frame, though wariness remained.

Mages took me from my home when I was young, he said, his mental voice carrying old pain beneath the dignified exterior. They killed my siblings when they resisted. Then they sold me to people who kept me in a cage barely large enough for me to turn around in.

The images that came with his words were vivid and heartbreaking. Adom saw flashes of memory—other midnight puma cubs, the terror of nets and magical restraints, the grief of loss that never quite faded.

Is that how you found yourself here? Adom asked gently. With your mistress?

The reaction was immediate and violent. Rage flooded through the mental connection, so intense that Adom actually flinched.

I have no master or mistress! The puma's mental roar was deafening. I am FREE. I am here because I choose to be here, not because any human owns me.

The depth of his offense was overwhelming.

I'm sorry, Adom said quickly. I didn't mean to imply anything bad.

...I understand. I remain here, the puma continued, his mental voice gradually returning to its previous dignity, because the human woman who helped me escape my cage lives here. I have a debt to repay. So I protect her.

There was more behind those words. Loyalty, yes, but also affection.

Did you know, Adom said, that Morgana was also a puma once?

The puma's ears snapped forward again, surprise replacing the lingering anger.

What?

I met her years ago, when she was a little midnight puma cub. She'd been captured by slavers, just like you. I freed her from her captors, only to find out later that she was actually human—cursed to take puma form.

Cursed? The puma's mental voice carried a note of disdain. It is hardly a curse to possess such a form. We are magnificent creatures.

Adom chuckled. Us humans like our own forms as much as you like yours.

The puma considered this, his head tilting slightly as he processed the concept of species identity.

I... suppose I can understand such attachment to one's natural state.

I brought her to some people called the Veyshari, Adom continued. They were able to free her from the curse and restore her human form.

Then you were her benefactor, the puma said.

Well, in a sense, I guess you could say that?

The puma rose to his feet and padded around the table with fluid grace. When he reached Adom's chair, he lowered his massive head and pressed it gently against Adom's shoulder—the kind of greeting one cat might offer to another it considered worthy of trust.

Then, mage, you are a friend of mine.

Haha. You can call me Adom.

Adom? The puma's mental voice rolled the name around like he was tasting it.

Yeah, that's my name.

The massive cat straightened, assuming a posture that somehow managed to be both regal and formal.

I am Ragna. It is the name given to me by nature itself.

The significance hit Adom immediately. Not just a name—a concept, an essence distilled into sound. He could see it in his mind, the way druids sometimes perceived the true names of things. Ragna. Rage. The fury of the wild, the wrath of something that refused to be tamed or broken.

That's a fearsome name, my friend.

I am a fearsome being.

Adom grinned. Can I pet you?

The question seemed to catch the puma off guard. His ears twitched forward in surprise.

I have always been curious about humans and their habit of wanting to touch and caress me. Are they not afraid?

Adom's smile widened. Instead of answering with words, he opened his mind and let his memories flow through the mental connection. The dungeons. The spider-mother. All the fights he's had ever since he came back. The near-death experiences, the monsters.

All of it, laid bare for Ragna to see.

The puma's eyes widened as the images flooded through their connection. When the mental torrent finally stopped, there was a long moment of silence.

Oh.

You think you're that fearsome to me?

No... no I do not think so. Not anymore.

Ragna rose from his position on the table and padded over to where Adom sat. With deliberate grace, he lowered his massive head until it was level with Adom's chest, then pushed forward gently—an invitation.

Adom reached out and ran his fingers through the midnight-black fur. It was soft, like touching liquid shadow that somehow had substance. The silver striping felt slightly different under his palm, smoother somehow, as if those markings were made of actual metal rather than just differently colored hair.

A rumbling purr started somewhere deep in Ragna's chest. The sound was so deep and powerful that it made the mahogany table vibrate, crystal decanters on a nearby sideboard chiming softly in harmony.

Adom laughed, delighted.

Footsteps echoed from behind the great doors at the far end of the room. Multiple people, from the sound of it, and they were talking—no, arguing. Voices raised in what sounded like heated disagreement, though the words were too muffled by the thick wood to make out clearly.

The arguments grew louder as the footsteps approached. Someone was definitely not happy about something.

The doors swung open.

And the first person Adom saw was Morgana.

She hadn't quite changed—still the same sharp features, still the same intelligence burning behind blue eyes—but there was something different about her bearing now. More regal, like she'd grown into a role that actually fit her. Her raven-black hair was longer than he remembered, and her skin had taken on some color, no longer the pale shade he associated with too much time spent in captivity. She looked taller, too, though that might have been the way she carried herself now.

The moment their eyes met, she stopped walking.

Behind her, what Adom assumed were her advisors—a collection of stern-faced individuals in expensive clothing—also fell silent mid-argument, all of them turning to stare at him and Ragna.

The room went completely quiet except for the soft rumble of Ragna's purring. The massive puma looked back at the new arrivals with lazy interest, clearly unbothered by the sudden attention.

Morgana started walking forward again, leaving her entourage clustered by the doorway. Her expression was carefully neutral, the kind of diplomatic mask that gave nothing away.

"You come to my home uninvited," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the vast room. "Beat up my people. Destroy a few valuable artifacts in my towers. And now you sit in my conference room designed to intimidate my adversaries, petting my friend as if you own the place."

She stopped directly in front of his chair and stared down at him.

Then she smiled. Bright and genuine and completely at odds with the stern lecture she'd just delivered.

"I'm so happy you haven't changed, little mage."

Adom grinned back and stood up. "Hello, kitty cat."

"Oh, come here, you."

She grabbed him in a hug that was surprisingly strong, considering she'd never been particularly physical when they were younger. Adom felt her squeeze him with enough force that he actually had to brace himself, which was impressive considering the size difference between them. As her arms wrapped around him, he caught a glimpse of thin metal lines running along her forearms and disappearing under her sleeves—tracery that continued up to her neck and probably along her spine.

He'd seen something like this before. A prototype enhancer, the kind of thing that wouldn't be invented for another decade or two. Which meant whoever had made this was either a genius working far ahead of their time, or...

Well. That was interesting.

When she finally let go, she was laughing.

"Look how you've grown!" She reached out and poked his arm, then squeezed his bicep. "And look at those muscles! What have you been doing, wrestling bears?"

"Something like that."

"I knew you'd fill out eventually. Remember when you were all skinny and awkward? Now look at you." She poked him in the chest. "Actual shoulders. I'm impressed."

"Thanks, I think."

"How's Sam?"

"We were supposed to come together, but he couldn't make it at the last minute. Mission business."

"Mission business?" Morgana's eyebrows went up. "That sounds ominous. How is he, though? It's been what, five years?"

"He's good. Still terrible at expressing emotions. Still thinks books are more interesting than people."

"Some things never change." Her smile faded slightly. "I've missed you both. I know I stopped writing—"

"Why did you stop writing?"

"Things got busy. Really busy. Building all this—" She gestured around at the fortress that surrounded them. "—turns out to be incredibly time-consuming. And then there were the politics, and the recruiting, and honestly half the time I wasn't sure if my letters were even reaching you."

"They were. For a while. We worried."

"I'm sorry. I should have tried harder to stay in touch."

"Hey, you're here now. We're here now. That's what matters."

She smiled again, but there was something wistful about it now. "You always were the forgiving type."

"Ahem."

Adom looked over Morgana's shoulder. An older man had stepped forward from the group of advisors, his weathered face wearing an expression of polite patience that suggested he'd been waiting for an appropriate moment to interrupt.

"My apologies for intruding on your... reunion," the man said. "But perhaps we could proceed to discuss why the mage is here?"

Morgana looked back at Adom, and he could see in her eyes that she understood the moment was over. Business time.

Adom sighed. The reunion hadn't lasted long before reverting to politics.

He hated politics.

"I was sent by the Archmage, Gaius Emris, on an official mission to bring back Morgana."

Morgana's smile faded completely. Behind her, the advisors shifted. Hands moved to sword hilts. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as everyone waited for him to explain why that didn't sound incredibly hostile.

"This isn't enmity," Adom said quickly. "They want you to be the new Empress."

The silence that followed was complete except for Ragna's continued purring. The massive puma had no idea what any of the humans were discussing, but he seemed content to provide a low, rumbling soundtrack to the sudden tension in the room.

"What do you mean?" Morgana asked.

"The Emperor's become a problem for the Magisterium. We've tried everything to maintain good relations, but eventually there's going to be a battle between us. In light of that, they're looking for a legitimate heir for when the conflict starts." Adom paused, watching her face. "I discovered, a few years ago while looking through a journal featuring an imperial family portrait, that you'd been a member. The Emperor's niece. Daughter of General Soren, who was—and the archmage wants confirmation on this—assassinated by the Emperor."

The old advisor who'd interrupted them earlier started to smile. Then the smile became a grin, then something approaching joy.

"Princess," he said, addressing Morgana with sudden formality, "this is excellent news. The Magisterium is usually neutral in these matters. They were our greatest concern about how to proceed when the time came to act."

The other advisors began nodding, murmuring agreement. The mood in the room shifted from tense wariness to something that might have been hope.

Morgana remained silent, just looking at Adom. Her expression was unreadable.

After a long moment, she turned to face her advisors.

"Please leave the room," she said politely. "I'd like to speak with my little brother alone."

"Little brother?" one of them asked, confusion clear in his voice.

"Please," Morgana repeated, and there was something in her tone that made it clear this wasn't actually a request.

They filed out, casting curious glances back at Adom as they went. When the doors closed behind them, the room felt much larger and much quieter.

Morgana was quiet for another moment, then sighed.

"Always full of surprises, aren't you, little mage?"

Chapter 166. Island

"Whoa!"

Adom pitched sideways on the narrow deck of the fishing boat, windmilled his arms frantically, and managed to step off the sword before he could fall off it and into the ocean. Which was probably the most dignified way to handle nearly face-planting into saltwater, but still not exactly what he'd been going for.

The sword clattered to the wooden planks beside him, looking innocent and metallic and completely untrustworthy.

"Right," he said to the empty ocean around him. "That went well."

He could fly under his own power, of course. [Flight] had become one of his more reliable spells, and it would certainly be faster than trying to figure out how to balance on a piece of enchanted cutlery. But he had a long way to go, and burning through his mana reserves on transportation seemed wasteful when he had three perfectly good flying swords sitting right there.

Well. Presumably good. He'd find out soon enough.

The plan was simple: use the sword to cover as much distance as possible while conserving his own magical energy, then switch to personal flight for the final approach when precision mattered more than efficiency. It would let him arrive at his destination with most of his capabilities intact, which seemed like a sensible precaution given that he wasn't entirely sure what he'd be walking into.

He'd never gotten used to brooms back at school.

Something about standing on a thin piece of wood while it hurtled through the air had struck him as fundamentally unwise, even when everyone else seemed to manage it just fine. His earlier instructors had been understanding about it, mostly because his other magical aptitudes were strong enough that nobody wanted to make an issue of his transportation preferences.

Swords, apparently, were even worse.

For one thing, they were narrower than brooms. For another, you had to stand on the flat of the blade rather than straddling something, which meant your balance point was maybe six inches wide instead of however wide your stance happened to be. And for a third thing, the sword kept trying to rotate under his feet like it wanted to present its edge to the world rather than its flat surface.

Also, it was sharp. Which seemed like an important consideration that the sword's original owners had somehow overlooked.

The fishing boat rocked gently in the swells, and Adom had to grab the mast to keep from stumbling. At least he wouldn't have to worry about takeoff space—there was nothing but open ocean in every direction.

He picked up the weapon and studied it more carefully. The blade was enchanted, he could feel the magical resonance humming under his fingertips like a tuning fork that had been struck very gently. Runes ran along both sides of the fuller in precise, flowing script that looked vaguely familiar but not immediately readable.

Well. Time to figure out how this worked.

He channeled a small amount of mana into the sword, watching to see what happened. The runes flared with soft blue light, and the weapon immediately tried to leap out of his hands.

"Okay," he said, tightening his grip. "Responsive. Good to know."

The trick, he reasoned, was probably similar to broom flight but with different control mechanisms. Brooms typically had a simple direction-and-speed interface; you leaned where you wanted to go, you pushed mana in to go faster, you pulled it back to slow down. Intuitive enough once you got used to trusting a piece of wood with your life.

Swords might work differently.

He tried channeling mana into different sections of the blade. The tip made it want to dive forward. The hilt made it want to rise. The middle section seemed to control lateral movement, though in a way that felt less like steering and more like the sword was trying to interpret his intentions and translate them into motion.

Which was either very sophisticated magic or very dangerous magic, depending on how good it was at reading minds.

After several minutes of experimentation that mostly involved the sword trying to drag him in various directions while he clung to it like a particularly stubborn anchor, Adom thought he had the basic principle figured out. The enchantment responded to both mana input and physical balance, using his center of gravity to determine which direction he wanted to go and the amount of magical energy he was feeding it to determine how quickly he wanted to get there.

Simple enough in theory.

In practice, it meant he had to stand on a narrow, sharp piece of metal while simultaneously maintaining perfect balance and careful magical control, all while moving at speeds that would turn any collision with the ocean into a very unpleasant situation.

"Well," he said, looking out at the endless expanse of water. "Time to see if this works."

He stepped onto the blade.

Immediately, the sword began to rise. Slowly at first, then with increasing confidence as the enchantment responded to his mana input and interpreted his standing-upright posture as a desire to achieve altitude.

This was the tricky part.

Adom had to keep his weight centered while gradually increasing the magical energy he was feeding into the runes, all while the ground fell away beneath him.

The sword wobbled. He shifted his weight slightly to compensate, and it overcorrected in the other direction.

For a moment, he was considering using [Flight].

Then the sword steadied.

Partly because he'd managed to find the right balance point, and partly because the enchantment seemed to have some kind of stabilization built into it. Like training wheels, but for people who were trying not to die while standing on flying cutlery.

"Huh," Adom said, surprised by how much steadier the flight felt once he stopped fighting the sword's natural tendency to stay level. "That's actually not terrible."

He experimented with leaning slightly forward. The sword responded by moving in that direction, smooth and controlled. Leaning back slowed them down. Shifting his weight left or right produced corresponding turns that felt natural once he stopped overthinking them.

The mechanics were actually quite elegant. The runes were reading his intentions through a combination of magical resonance and physical cues, translating his desired direction of travel into appropriate thrust and lift. More sophisticated than a broom, which basically just went wherever you pointed it and hoped for the best.

Also faster. Much faster.

Adom pushed a bit more mana into the enchantment and felt the sword respond with a surge of acceleration.

This was definitely cooler than a broom. Karion was going to be insufferably jealous when he found out.

*****

The sun was rising for the second time since Adom had left the fishing boat behind.

He'd been flying for almost two full days now, which should have left him exhausted. Standing on a narrow sword blade for hours at a time, maintaining constant magical input while fighting wind and weather and the occasional seabird that seemed personally offended by his presence—it should have been miserable.

Instead, he felt surprisingly good. Tired, yes, but not the bone-deep exhaustion he'd expected. His legs ached from maintaining balance, and his back had a persistent crick from holding the same posture for so long, but overall he felt like he could keep going for several more hours if necessary.

[Primordial Body] was proving its worth, apparently.

Though the skill itself remained stubbornly stuck at the same level it had been for the better part of two years. His theory was that the higher the skill level, the more difficult it became to improve further. Like trying to climb a mountain that got steeper with every step.

Oh well. At least it was keeping him functional.

The ocean stretched endlessly in all directions below him, an endless expanse of blue-green water broken only by the occasional whitecap. Flying over water was hypnotic in a way that made it easy to lose track of time. No landmarks, no variation in terrain, just the rhythmic pattern of waves rolling toward horizons that never seemed to get any closer.

According to the map Oberys had provided, he should be close now. Very close.

Adom slowed the sword and began descending, scanning the water below for any sign of an island. The coordinates were right—he'd checked them multiple times over the past few hours. This was definitely the location.

But there was nothing here.

Just ocean. Empty, endless ocean stretching in every direction like a liquid desert. No island, no ships, no sign that anything had ever existed in this particular patch of water except fish and seabirds.

He brought the sword to a hover about a thousand feet above the waves, high enough that he'd be just a speck to anyone looking up from sea level. The view from this altitude should have shown him everything within a dozen miles.

Nothing.

Had Oberys made a mistake? It didn't seem in character for the ancient merchant to provide inaccurate information, especially when he had so much invested in maintaining his reputation for reliability. Which meant...

Magic. Had to be.

Adom reached into his inventory and pulled out his glasses—the ones with [Riddler's Bane] embedded in the right lense. If there was magical concealment involved, these should cut right through it.

He slipped them on and looked down again.

There it was.

The island materialized below him like a mirage snapping into focus, sudden and startling in its completeness. It was larger than he'd expected—maybe three miles long and two miles wide, with rocky cliffs rising from deep water and a natural harbor carved into the eastern shore.

Dark volcanic stone formed dramatic spires and ridges, creating a landscape that looked like it had been carved by giants with a taste for the dramatic.

Three towers rose from strategic points around the island, each one crackling with visible magical energy. The concealment field, probably. Sophisticated work—it wasn't just hiding the island visually, it was masking magical signatures as well. No wonder he hadn't sensed anything.

And there was the fleet.

Twenty-something ships anchored in the harbor and spread along the coastline. Fast attack vessels with sleek hulls designed for speed and maneuverability. Heavy transports that looked like they could carry hundreds of soldiers and their equipment. And dominating the center of the formation, a flagship that was easily twice the size of anything else in the water.

From this height, people looked like ants moving across the docks and beaches. Tiny figures loading supplies, conducting drills, going about the business of preparing for war. There had to be thousands of them down there.

Morgana had been busy.

This wasn't just a base of operations—it was a fortress. The kind of installation that took years to establish and serious magical expertise to conceal. She'd gathered competent mages, experienced military minds, and enough resources to outfit what looked like a professional army.

Impressive. And deeply concerning.

Adom was still processing the scale of what he was seeing when a bright flash caught his attention. A point of light rising from one of the towers, growing larger as it climbed toward him.

He banked the sword hard to the right just as a fireball the size of a cart screamed past his previous position, close enough that he could feel the heat wash over him.

Another flash. Another fireball, this one aimed at where he was now rather than where he'd been.

Adom dove, pushing the sword into a steep descent that made his stomach lurch. The second fireball missed by maybe twenty feet, close enough that the magical discharge made his hair stand on end.

A third flash. They were getting his range now, adjusting for his speed and direction.

He pulled up sharply, trading altitude for a sudden change in trajectory that sent him skimming parallel to the water's surface. The third fireball detonated somewhere above him, probably where he would have been if he'd continued his dive.

... So much for stealth.

Adom dove toward the island's rocky shore, the sword responding to his urgent mana input with a burst of acceleration that made his eyes water. Lightning crackled past his left shoulder, close enough to leave afterimages burned across his vision. Another fireball bloomed somewhere behind him, the heat wave catching up seconds later.

The towers were tracking him now, magical energies building at their peaks like storm clouds preparing to unleash hell. He could see muzzle flashes—no, spell flashes—erupting from defensive positions carved into the cliff face. The entire island had become a weapons platform aimed directly at him.

Fifty feet above the ground. Thirty.

Lightning split the air where he'd been a heartbeat before, ionizing the atmosphere until it tasted like copper coins. A fireball detonated against the rocks below, spraying molten stone fragments in all directions.

Twenty feet. Ten.

The moment his boots touched volcanic stone, Adom felt something fast approaching from his left. His combat instincts kicked in before conscious thought could catch up.

[Shield].

The magical barrier snapped into existence just as a steel mace crashed into it with enough force to crater the ground where he'd been standing. The impact sent shockwaves up his arm, but the shield held.

No time for words. No time for explanations or diplomacy or anything resembling civilized conversation. They were trying to kill him first and ask questions later, which meant he had exactly the same priorities in reverse order.

The knight– because he looked like on –swung again, a horizontal strike aimed at taking his head off. Full plate anti magic armor, professionally fitted, with the kind of enchantments that made the metal gleam with inner light.

Star Knight level, easily. Damn.

Adom ducked under the mace and – BAM.

He drove his fist into the knight's solar plexus. The armor absorbed most of the impact, but physics still applied—the knight staggered backward, balance disrupted.

Lightning split the air above them. Adom rolled left, came up in a crouch, and launched himself forward as a fireball detonated where he'd been standing. The knight was already recovering, bringing the mace around in a vertical strike that would have pulverized his skull.

He wasn't there to receive it.

The small orb artifact materialized in his previous position just as Adom appeared three feet to the right, the spatial displacement causing a brief moment of disorientation that he used to drive an elbow strike into the knight's helmet. The blow rang like a bell, probably rattling the man's brain around inside his skull.

Another fireball screamed past his ear. Another lightning bolt turned the sand behind him into glass. The mages in the towers were getting creative now, layering their attacks to deny him movement options.

The knight pivoted with professional smoothness, mace sweeping in a wide arc that forced Adom to backflip away. He landed in a crouch, immediately threw another orb to his left, and teleported just as a concentrated beam of fire cut through the space he'd occupied.

The knight was good. Really good. He moved like someone who'd been wearing armor since childhood, every step calculated to maintain balance and leverage. The mace work was textbook perfect—no wasted motion, no openings, each strike flowing into the next with mechanical precision.

But textbook perfect had limitations.

Adom feinted right, teleported left, and came up inside the knight's guard. His fist connected with the helmet again, this time with enough force enhancement to actually dent the metal. The knight stumbled, mace dropping to a defensive position.

Lightning crackled overhead. Adom grabbed the knight's arm and used him as a pivot point, swinging around to put the armored figure between himself and the incoming spell. The bolt earthed itself harmlessly against enchanted steel.

The knight tried to throw him off with a backward headbutt. Adom ducked, swept the man's legs, and used telekinetic force to amplify the fall. Armor clanged against stone as the knight went down hard.

Three fireballs converged on his position from different towers. Adom threw orbs in a triangular pattern and teleported rapidly between them, the spatial jumps happening faster than the spells could track. The fireballs collided with each other in a spectacular explosion that lit up the entire cliff face.

The knight was already getting back to his feet, which was impressive considering he'd just taken a fall that should have left him stunned.

Time to end this.

Adom stepped forward, caught the rising mace with one hand, and grabbed the knight's breastplate with the other. The armor was covered in anti-magic runes, crystals embedded in the steel that made his magic much less effective on him.

So he'd do this the old-fashioned way.

His fingers found the leather straps holding the breastplate in place and yanked. Hard. The buckles snapped like twigs, metal groaning as he peeled the enchanted steel away from the knight's torso. The shoulder guards came next, then the arm pieces, his enhanced strength making short work of bindings designed to withstand sword blows.

The knight stood there in his padded undergarments, looking down at the scattered pieces of his very expensive armor, then up at Adom with an expression that was probably equal parts shock and indignation.

They looked at each other for a moment.

Adom could see the precise instant when shock transformed into tactical assessment. Without the enchanted protection, he was completely vulnerable to direct magical attack.

He'd either surrender or go berserk.

The knight's stance shifted. His breathing deepened. His weight shifted to his toes.

Berserk it is.

The knight's Fluid exploded outward in a brilliant surge of power, every fiber of his being committed to one final, impossible charge.

"AAARGH!"

He rocketed forward with inhuman speed, Fluid-enhanced strength turning him into a living projectile. The distance between them collapsed in heartbeats. Adom could see the desperate fury in his eyes, the knowledge that this was his only chance—

Then Adom channeled a [Push] spell aimed directly at the knight's now-unprotected center of mass.

The man shot skyward like a sky-spear loosed from the hand of a giant, arms and legs windmilling as he climbed toward the clouds. In seconds, he was just a glinting speck against the blue sky, probably wondering how his day had gone so wrong so quickly.

Lightning split the air where Adom had been standing. He was already gone, orb materializing inside the nearest tower as he teleported directly into the heart of the enemy's defensive position.

A mage woman spun toward him, hands already weaving the opening gestures of what looked like a very unfriendly spell. Dark hair, competent stance, the kind of focused intensity that marked her as a serious threat.

He grabbed her wrist before she could complete the weaving.

Electricity surged through his grip and into her nervous system, an offensive healer spell he'd practiced to be carefully calibrated to disrupt motor function without causing permanent damage. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in a twitching heap, alive but thoroughly out of the fight.

Movement to his left. Another mage, this one male, frantically trying to complete a spell that would probably turn Adom into something unpleasant.

Headbutt.

The man's nose made a wet crunching sound as cartilage gave way. Blood sprayed across the tower's interior as he stumbled backward, hands reflexively moving to his ruined face instead of maintaining his spell structure.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Another knight. Steel gleamed in the magical light as he reached the top of the staircase, sword already drawn.

WAM.

Adom's battle gauntlet caught him square in the temple before he could bring his weapon to bear. The enhanced knuckles transmitted kinetic force directly through the knight's helmet and into his skull. His eyes crossed, his knees buckled, and he toppled forward like a felled tree.

The tower fell silent except for the unconscious mage's labored breathing and the distant sounds of shouting from below. Adom looked around at the magical apparatus lining the walls—scrying crystals, amplification circles, the works.

Then he remembered the knight.

The one he'd launched into the stratosphere like a particularly unwilling cannonball.

He moved to the tower's window and peered upward, scanning the sky for any sign of—

A distant scream, growing rapidly louder.

There. A dark speck plummeting toward the rocky ground below, arms and legs flailing in what was probably a very belated attempt at damage control.

[Levitation].

Adom reached out with telekinetic force, catching the falling knight about fifty feet above the ground. The man's descent slowed dramatically, though not gently enough to prevent what was going to be a very unpleasant landing.

He guided the knight's trajectory toward a patch of relatively soft sand near the base of the tower, then eased off the magical support at the last moment. The armored figure hit the ground with a tremendous crash that sent up a cloud of dust and probably rattled every bone in his body.

But he was alive. Probably.

The dust cloud was still settling when Adom heard the sound of running feet, shouted orders, and the distinctive ring of steel being drawn from sheaths. Lots of steel.

He stepped out of the tower to find himself facing what looked like half of Morgana's army.

Soldiers in formation, weapons drawn, faces grim. Archers with arrows nocked, three other mages with spells prepared, knights in armor that gleamed with protective enchantments.

Adom rose into the air, [Flight] lifting him about twenty feet above the crowd. High enough to have a tactical advantage, close enough that they could all see his face clearly.

This wasn't what he'd wanted. The plan had been to land quietly, avoid unnecessary conflict, find Morgana, and have a civilized conversation about world-threatening magical disasters. Instead, he'd fought his way through their defenses like some kind of one-man invasion force.

Maybe that had been poor judgment on his part.

The crowd below was growing larger as more soldiers arrived from other parts of the island. Hundreds of them now, all armed, all looking like they'd very much enjoy the opportunity to express their displeasure with his flying sword technique.

He was fairly certain he could take them all. Area-effect spells, teleportation to avoid concentrated fire, maybe some creative use of the environment to limit their mobility options.

But these were Morgana's people. Her army and allies.

Fighting them felt wrong on multiple levels.

The soldiers were organizing themselves into attack formations, officers barking orders as archers found elevated positions and mages began the preliminary gestures for spells.

Adom made his decision.

He'd incapacitate the lot of them. Non-lethally, but thoroughly enough that they'd stay down long enough for him to find Morgana and sort this mess out. A modified [Gravity] spell, maybe.

He began gathering mana for a wide-area enchantment, the magical energy building around him like static electricity before a thunderstorm.

The soldiers below saw him preparing to weave and responded in kind. Archers drew back their bowstrings. Mages accelerated their weaving. Knights raised shields and began advancing in tight formation.

"CEASE!"

The voice cut across the battlefield with absolute authority. Everyone—including Adom—paused mid-action.

The soldiers froze. Bows remained drawn but arrows weren't released. Spells hung half-completed as mages turned toward the source of the command.

Adom looked down.

The dust cloud around the tower's base was finally settling, revealing the knight he'd inadvertently launched on an impromptu flying lesson. The man was struggling to sit up, his face visible now that his helmet had come off during the landing.

He was older than Adom had expected. Gray hair, weathered features, tired. Paint—no, blood—streaked his forehead, and his left arm hung at an awkward angle that suggested something had gotten dislocated during his aerial adventure.

But his voice still carried command authority.

"Stand down," the old knight said, his words directed at the assembled soldiers. "All of you. Lower your weapons."

"But sir Bedivere—" one of the officers started.

"Lower. Your. Weapons." The knight's voice hardened, taking on the tone of someone who was accustomed to being obeyed without argument. "Now."

There was some grumbling, a few muttered protests, but the soldiers complied. Bows were unstrung, swords returned to sheaths, though hands remained conspicuously close to weapon hilts.

The knight fixed one of the complaining officers with a glare that could have melted steel.

"If this mage had wanted us dead, we would all be corpses right now," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet battlefield. "He had multiple opportunities to kill every man in that tower. He had the advantage of surprise, superior positioning, and obvious magical superiority."

He gestured at the scattered pieces of his armor with his good arm.

"Instead, he knocked us unconscious. He used non-lethal force even when we were trying to kill him. And when I was about to crash, he saved my life." The knight's eyes found Adom, still hovering above the crowd. "That doesn't sound like the behavior of an enemy to me."

Adom felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Finally, someone with sense.

"They attacked first," he called down, his voice carrying easily in the still air. "I came here to talk, not to fight. You and your people started throwing fireballs before I'd even touched the ground."

The knight nodded slowly, wincing as the movement jarred his injured arm.

"Defensive protocols," he said. "Standing orders to engage any unidentified entity approaching the island. We've had... difficulties with unwanted visitors lately."

"I'm not an unwanted visitor."

"Then what are you?"

Adom descended slowly, [Flight] carrying him down until he was hovering just a few feet above the ground. Close enough to have a conversation, high enough to maintain a tactical advantage if things went wrong again.

"A friend, I hope."

Chapter 165. Predator

Oberys had been watching the humans for the better part of an hour now, and the calculations in his head were becoming increasingly complex.

The red-haired one—supposedly called Gareth—was studying shipping manifests with the kind of focused attention that suggested genuine familiarity with logistics. Not the sort of knowledge one picked up casually. The big fellow, Marcus, sat with the perfect posture of someone trained in formal combat, his eyes constantly moving to assess potential threats and escape routes. Thomas had positioned himself where he could see both entrances to the alcove while maintaining an unobstructed view of the main market floor.

Professional habits. All of them.

Which raised interesting questions about exactly who these people were and what their relationship to the mysteriously successful Wangara Merchant Guild actually entailed.

Oberys had already dispatched three separate inquiries to his contacts in Sundar. Discrete questions about Phoenix Guild members, about young men matching their descriptions, about any recent activity involving Wangara's upper echelons. The responses would take time to arrive, but in his experience, patience was usually rewarded with truth.

In the meantime, he had other methods of gathering information.

"Gareth," he said, not looking up from the wine cup he was polishing with a silk cloth.

The red-haired young man didn't respond. Didn't even twitch. Just continued reading his manifest as if the name meant nothing to him.

Interesting.

False names, then.

"Gareth," Oberys said again, this time with just enough emphasis to suggest the repetition was deliberate.

"Hmm?" The young man looked up, blinking with what appeared to be confusion. "Sorry. What?"

Excellent recovery. Quick enough to seem natural, confused enough to suggest distraction rather than deliberate ignoring. But the slight hesitation before responding told Oberys everything he needed to know about the authenticity of that particular identity.

"I was wondering," Oberys said, settling back in his chair, "what manner of man is this Law fellow?"

The red-haired one—not-Gareth—set down his manifest. His expression shifted into the kind of neutral politeness that usually preceded either complete honesty or complete evasion. In Oberys's experience, it was more often the latter.

"What do you mean?"

A deflection disguised as a question. Classic interrogation resistance technique. These young men had definitely received training in information security.

"Well." Oberys picked up his wine cup, though he had no intention of drinking from it. The gesture was simply something to do with his hands while he probed for reactions. "He speaks of flying four hundred miles across open ocean as if it were a leisurely afternoon's exercise. He suggests confronting three trained combat mages from the Qínglóng Empire with what appeared to be real enthusiasm rather than concern."

He paused, watching not-Gareth's face for tells.

"Either he's monumentally overconfident, or he possesses capabilities that aren't immediately obvious to casual observation."

"Or?" the young man prompted.

"Or he has access to resources and support structures that enable such confidence." Oberys took a small sip of wine, letting the implication hang in the air. "I know I say this often, but it is rare enough to be worth mentioning many times over. I've been in this business for a long time. I've learned to distinguish between boastful rhetoric and genuine capability. Your Law strikes me as someone who doesn't make idle threats."

Not-Gareth was quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming against the table in what might have been nervousness or calculation. When he spoke, his words came carefully measured.

"Well... Law doesn't really talk about what he can do. He just does it."

"That tells me very little."

"It tells you everything you need to know," the young man replied. "He doesn't posture. He doesn't make speeches about how dangerous he is. He just solves problems."

Another deflection, this one accompanied by what Oberys recognized as carefully controlled body language. Relaxed shoulders, steady eye contact, hands visible and still. Textbook presentation of calm confidence designed to discourage further inquiry.

"What kind of problems?" Oberys pressed.

"The kind that need solving."

Oberys felt his estimation of these young men rise another notch. That was a professional non-answer delivered with exactly the right mixture of cooperation and opacity. Not-Gareth was giving him responses that sounded helpful while actually providing no useful intelligence whatsoever.

"You're being deliberately evasive," he said, though there was more appreciation than accusation in his tone.

"I'm being appropriately cautious," not-Gareth corrected. "You're asking about my friend's capabilities while sitting in a slave market, having just admitted that you maintain spy networks and profit from information trading. No offense, but I'm not exactly inclined to provide detailed intelligence reports."

Fair point.

"Understood." Oberys inclined his head. "Though I should mention that those three young masters from the Qínglóng Empire are valued customers of mine. Their families purchase considerable quantities of merchandise through my various enterprises."

A slight shift in not-Gareth's posture. Not visible anxiety, but a subtle increase in attention that suggested the stakes of this conversation had just become clearer.

"And?"

"Well, if your Law is planning something... permanent... regarding their persons, it could complicate my business relationships considerably." Oberys set his wine cup down with deliberate care. "The Qínglóng Empire has a rather firm policy regarding the mistreatment of their citizens abroad. Particularly citizens from influential families."

"Are you asking if he's going to kill them?"

The question hung in the air between them like a blade balanced on its edge. Oberys had wanted directness, and he'd certainly achieved it. Now came the delicate part—extracting useful information without appearing to probe too deeply into capabilities that might prove inconvenient for him to know about.

"I'm asking what I should expect when I guide them to him, as requested."

Not-Gareth was quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. He was weighing multiple considerations.

"Law doesn't have a no-killing rule," he said slowly. "If he thought it was necessary, if they posed a genuine threat to people he cares about..." The young man shrugged. "He'd do what needed doing without losing sleep over it."

Oberys went very still. That was a significantly more dangerous answer than he'd been hoping for.

"But," not-Gareth continued, "these guys aren't really dangerous. They're just persistent and annoying. Like mosquitoes. You don't burn down the forest to deal with mosquitoes."

"Then what does one do?"

Not-Gareth's smile widened slightly, taking on an edge that suggested he was remembering something specific. Something entertaining.

"You swat them. Hard enough that they stop buzzing around your head."

"I see." Oberys picked up his wine cup again, though his appetite for alcohol had diminished considerably. "And you believe Law is capable of... swatting... three trained combat mages?"

"Well," not-Gareth said, his tone shifting to something almost conversational, "if you're worried about whether he could take on those mages..."

*****

Three figures cut through the afternoon sky like hunting hawks, their enchanted swords gleaming silver against the endless blue of the ocean. Below them, the water stretched in all directions, broken only by the occasional whitecap and the distant smudge of merchant vessels too far away to matter.

"The harbor captain said they left port two hours ago," Wáng called out, his voice carrying over the rush of wind past their ears. "Small fishing vessel, single mast, heading due south."

"How far could they have gotten?" Liú shouted back, banking his sword slightly to the left as he scanned the waters below them.

"Not far enough," Qián replied. His robes whipped behind him as he pushed his sword faster, the enchantment responding to her urgency with increased speed. "Even with favorable winds, fishing boats aren't built for outrunning pursuit."

They flew in loose formation, close enough to communicate but spread wide enough to cover more ocean. Each of them had spent years training in aerial pursuit, learning to read wind patterns and water currents, to predict where fleeing targets might try to hide or seek assistance from other vessels.

Four Sundarian operatives in a single fishing boat should have been laughably easy to track.

"There!" Wáng pointed ahead and slightly to the east. "I can see a wake."

They angled toward the disturbance in the water, pushing their swords to maximum safe speed. The wind whipped at their faces as they descended, close enough now to make out the dark speck that was creating the trail of churned foam across the ocean's surface.

"That has to be them," Liú said, squinting against the glare of sunlight reflecting off the waves. "No other vessels in this sector."

The speck grew larger as they approached, resolving into the weathered hull and patched sail of exactly the kind of boat the harbor captain had described. It moved with the steady, workmanlike pace of something designed for hauling nets rather than outrunning magical pursuit.

"Finally," Qián muttered, feeling the satisfaction of a hunt nearly concluded. "I was starting to think we'd lost them entirely."

They slowed their approach, taking positions that would let them surround the vessel if the passengers tried anything clever. Wáng brought his sword to a hover about fifty feet above the boat's stern, close enough to see details but far enough to avoid any potential surprises.

The deck was empty.

"I don't see anyone," Liú called out, frowning as he circled lower for a better view.

"They could be hiding below deck," Qián suggested, though she sounded less certain now.

Wáng descended another ten feet, close enough to see that the fishing nets were neatly stowed and the rigging showed signs of recent use. Everything looked normal except for the complete and conspicuous absence of people.

"This doesn't make sense," he said. "The captain was absolutely certain this was their vessel."

"Maybe they transferred to another ship," Liú offered. "A meeting at sea."

"Or maybe—" Qián stopped mid-sentence, his attention caught by something ahead of the fishing boat. "Look. There."

About a quarter mile beyond the empty vessel, sitting perfectly still on the gently rolling swells, was a much smaller craft. Little more than a dinghy, really. The kind of boat used for short trips between ship and shore, not for serious ocean travel.

And standing in that tiny craft, perfectly balanced despite the motion of the waves, was a young man.

He wore practical traveling clothes and a wide-brimmed hat that clearly marked him as a mage. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he was looking up at them with the sort of calm, patient attention someone might give to an interesting cloud formation.

Not shading his eyes against the sun. Not showing any sign of surprise or alarm at the sight of three armed mages descending from the sky.

Just standing there. Waiting.

As if he'd been expecting them all along.

*****

"You should be more worried about those guys."

Not-Gareth's smile took on a quality that suggested he was remembering something particularly entertaining.

Oberys raised an eyebrow. "The mages?"

"Yeah." The young man picked up his wine cup, took a measured sip, and set it down a bit too quickly. His slight grimace suggested he wasn't much of a drinker—either abstained entirely or was genuinely as young as he appeared. Interesting. "They've been chasing us across half the continent, asking rude questions, making demands, generally behaving like spoiled children who've never been told 'no' by anyone who mattered."

"And that concerns you how, exactly?"

"It doesn't concern me at all," not-Gareth said cheerfully. "But it's going to concern them. A lot. Very soon."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the harbor, where somewhere beyond the underground market and the city's bustling port district, a small boat was making its way across open water.

"See, the thing about Law is that he's very patient right up until he isn't. And when he stops being patient..." The young man shrugged with what appeared to be... sympathy. "Well. Let's just say those young masters are about to receive an education their tutors never provided."

Oberys was quiet for a moment, studying not-Gareth's face.

"You seem remarkably unconcerned about your friend facing three-to-one odds."

"Should I be?"

"Most people would be, yes."

Not-Gareth laughed. It was a genuine sound, free of malice but full of what looked unmistakably like pity.

"Master Oberys," he said, and there was something almost gentle in the way he used the merchant's name, "those aren't three-to-one odds. That's three-to-one overkill."

*****

The three swords slowed to a careful hover as their riders tried to process what they were seeing.

The young man in the dinghy remained perfectly still, perfectly balanced, perfectly calm. He raised one hand in what might have been a greeting.

Or possibly a challenge.

From this distance, it was impossible to tell which.

"Well," Wáng said quietly, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty for the first time since they'd begun their pursuit. "That's unexpected."

The figure below waited, motionless as a statue, while the ocean rolled gently beneath his impossibly stable craft.

Waiting.

Wáng brought his sword to a steady hover fifty feet above the small craft, and immediately felt that familiar crawling sensation up his spine.

The young man was looking directly at him.

Not at the three of them as a group. Not at their swords or their robes or the general spectacle of armed mages descending from the sky. At him. Specifically. With that same insufferable, measuring stare he'd worn during their first encounter at Master Lǐ's shop.

Wáng had wanted to slap that look off his face from the moment their eyes met across that tailor's floor. The way the foreign mage had studied him like he was an interesting puzzle to be solved rather than a senior battle mage from one of the most prestigious academies in the Empire.

The absolute lack of deference or even basic acknowledgment of proper hierarchy. Most people—even other mages—showed some flicker of recognition when they saw his academy robes, some subtle shift in posture that acknowledged his status.

This one had just stared. Calm. Evaluating. Like Wáng was a problem he was working out in his head.

And here it was again. That direct, unblinking regard that somehow managed to be both perfectly polite and completely insolent at the same time.

"Look at this arrogant little worm," Liú called out, bringing his sword lower. "Standing there like he owns the ocean."

"Probably thinks we won't dare touch him out here," Qián added, circling to the left. "Away from witnesses. Away from his little friends to hide behind."

Both of them sounded eager. Hungry, even. They'd been frustrated by the runaround in Lì Shān, by the careful diplomatic dancing and the need to maintain face in front of foreigners. Out here, with no one to see and no complications to worry about, they could finally settle accounts properly.

Wáng understood the feeling.

He felt it too, burning in his chest like swallowed fire. This insignificant foreigner had made him feel evaluated, weighed, and somehow found wanting without saying a single word. Had looked at him like his academy robes and family name meant nothing. Had somehow managed to slip away from the city before they could properly address the disrespect.

But something was wrong.

"We should just grab him," Liú was saying, his voice getting sharper with excitement. "Drag him back to port. See how smug he is after a few hours in a proper interrogation room."

"Or we could skip the interrogation," Qián suggested. "Ask our questions here. Middle of the ocean. Accidents happen all the time."

They were both looking at the young man now, their swords drifting closer to the tiny boat. Ready to descend and make their displeasure known in the traditional manner.

But the foreigner hadn't moved. Hadn't shown any sign of alarm or concern. Hadn't even stopped looking directly at Wáng with that calm, patient attention that suggested he was waiting for something.

"Wait," Wáng said quietly.

His junior brothers turned toward him, expressions questioning.

"Senior Brother?" Liú asked. "What is it?"

Wáng didn't answer immediately. He was remembering something his master had taught him years ago, back when he was still a novice stumbling through his first lessons in combat magic.

A predator, Master Jiāng had said, approaches its prey in a predictable manner. The prey flees, or hides, or fights desperately for its life. This is the natural order. The weak fear the strong, and the strong consume the weak.

It was a fundamental truth.

Wáng had built his entire understanding of the world around it. He was strong—stronger than most, stronger than he had any right to be at his age. Other people recognized this strength and responded accordingly. They showed respect, or fear, or both. They got out of his way when he walked through markets. They listened when he spoke. They certainly didn't stare at him like he was some mildly interesting curiosity.

But sometimes, Master Jiāng had continued, a prey animal will approach a predator instead of fleeing. In nature, this means one of two things. Either the creature is mad, or it is sick. In both cases, the wise predator does not consume such prey. Madness can spread. Sickness can infect. What appears to be an easy meal becomes a trap.

...Huh?

Wáng looked down at his hands. His palms were damp with sweat.

That was... unusual.

He hadn't noticed when it started. The feeling was familiar in a way that made his stomach clench. He'd felt it before, but not in years. Not since he was fourteen and facing Master Jiāng's personal combat instructor for the first time. Not since he was sixteen and sparring against a visiting master from the Imperial Academy whose reputation preceded him like a shadow. That electric tension in his chest, the way his heart hammered against his ribs...

His pulse was quickening now. His throat felt dry.

The young man below wasn't sick. By all appearances, he was as sane as anyone could be. Which meant that calm expression came from confidence. And one did not feel confident unless one had good reason to be.

This—this steady composure, this unhurried assessment—this was how Wáng should be feeling right now. This was how he should be looking at his opponents. Instead, he was the one with sweating palms and a racing heart. He was the one making rash decisions based on emotion rather than strategy.

He was the one behaving like prey.

Oh.

"Senior Brother?" Qián was staring at him now, and there was something like concern in her voice. "Are you—"

"Brother—"

BAM.

Confusion.

There was only confusion now. 

He wasn't sure if he should be grateful that he could no longer see what was happening. The spinning made everything blur together into streaks of blue and white, and his inner ear was screaming contradictory information about gravity and direction. He felt like he was falling already, though some distant part of his mind insisted that couldn't be right because he was still gripping his sword.

Wasn't he?

Ten seconds until he hit the water, maybe fifteen if he was lucky.

The thought came with crystal clarity even though everything else was chaos. His training kicked in automatically—assess the situation, identify threats, prioritize survival. Except he couldn't assess anything because he still couldn't see properly and there was a sound like thunder that wouldn't stop.

Wait. That wasn't thunder.

That was Liú screaming.

And Qián, somewhere off to his left, making a noise that sounded less like words and more like someone trying to breathe around broken ribs.

The fight hadn't even announced itself. It was already over.

Was he dead? It didn't seem to be the case. Dead people probably didn't spend this much time wondering about their gravitational relationship with the ocean. Also, he was reasonably certain dead people didn't feel this nauseous.

Hmm.

He hadn't touched the water yet. What was happening?

The spinning slowed, which was either good news or very bad news depending on whether it meant he was regaining control or simply running out of momentum before the inevitable splash. His vision cleared enough to see that he was indeed still falling, but something was wrong with the trajectory. Instead of plummeting straight down like a sensible person affected by gravity, he seemed to be drifting sideways.

That was when he felt something grab him.

Not hands. Something else. Like invisible ropes wrapping around his chest and arms, arresting his fall with a jolt that knocked what little breath he had left right out of his lungs. The sensation of being lifted was distinctly unpleasant—not because it hurt, exactly, but because it felt so completely beyond his control.

Then he was being deposited onto a hard surface with all the ceremony of a sack of grain being unloaded from a cart.

Wood, his mind supplied helpfully. Definitely wood. And wet. So probably the deck of a boat.

Things began dropping on him. Heavy things that groaned and cursed in voices he recognized. His juniors, apparently, were receiving similar treatment.

"Ow," Liú said, very quietly, from somewhere near his left elbow.

"Hnghhh," Qián added, with feeling.

Wáng tried to sit up and discovered that his relationship with basic motor function had become unexpectedly complicated. His arms worked, more or less, but everything felt disconnected and sluggish. Like trying to move underwater.

"Stay down for a minute," a voice said. Calm, conversational, mildly concerned. 

The young man. The foreigner. Standing somewhere above them, sounding for all the world like a physician offering medical advice rather than someone who had just... well. Whatever it was he had just done.

He had a concussion. Definitely a concussion. His head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton and then hit it with a hammer. Sound came through in waves—sometimes clear, sometimes muffled, always slightly delayed like he was hearing everything from the bottom of a well.

Wáng managed to turn his head enough to see boots. Practical leather boots, wet from ocean spray, standing with the easy balance of someone perfectly comfortable on a moving deck.

The young man was talking. Words drifted in and out of focus. The details slipped away before he could properly process them, but the general meaning was clear enough.

Allies. Coordinates. Transportation.

Captivity.

How humiliating.

Something crystalline began to hum with gathering energy. Teleportation magic, preparing to activate. Wáng could feel it in his bones, that particular resonance that meant space was about to fold in ways that minds weren't designed to comprehend.

"How do these swords even work?" the young man's voice asked, apparently to no one in particular. Curious. Genuinely interested. Like he'd just discovered an intriguing new type of tool and wanted to understand its function.

For some reason, Wáng wanted to answer but the crystal magic reached critical resonance, and the world folded itself inside out.

Chapter 164. Brightleaf

Fate, it must be said, has a rather peculiar sense of timing.

It's not content to let sleeping dogs lie, or to allow good deeds to fade quietly into memory. Instead, it keeps meticulous records, filed away in some cosmic ledger, waiting for the precise moment when those records might prove most... interesting.

Adom's mother had once explained this to him during one of their quieter evenings, when the apothecary shop below had already closed and the sounds of the street of Kati had settled into the familiar rhythm of night.

He'd been five then, the same age Ada was now, sprawled across his mother's lap while she worked her healing magic on the scrapes and cuts he'd earned from his tumble out of the old oak tree.

The healing magic felt strange—warm like sunlight on skin, but with sharp edges that made him wince when it found the deeper cuts. Like the way strong spirits burned on wounds, except this burning came from inside, from his own flesh knitting itself back together.

"Hold still," she'd murmured, her fingers glowing with soft golden light as she traced the worst of the scratches along his arm. "This would go faster if you'd stop squirming."

He'd been trying to rescue a cat, he'd explained between gritted teeth, though he was beginning to have serious doubts about the nobility of that particular mission. The ungrateful creature was currently visible through their window, sitting in the alley below and methodically cleaning itself with the sort of smug satisfaction that only cats could manage.

It had spent the better part of an hour yowling pitifully from the high branches, drawing sympathetic looks from passersby who seemed disinclined to actually climb twenty feet of oak tree to help.

So naturally, little Adom had volunteered.

The truly galling part was what happened next. The moment he'd gotten close enough to coax the animal along one of the sturdier branches, the wretched thing had simply... climbed down. By itself. With casual feline grace, as if it had never needed help in the first place. It had paused at the base of the tree to give him what could only be described as a look of profound disdain before sauntering off to find somewhere comfortable to groom.

Leaving Adom stranded twenty feet up, clinging to branches that suddenly seemed far less stable than they had on the way up.

"I should have left it there," he muttered, wincing as his mother's magic found a particularly deep scratch. "Cats are stupid."

"You don't regret helping," she said, though there was amusement in her voice.

"I do regret it. Look at it." He gestured toward the window with his uninjured arm. "It's mocking me. And dogs are better. Dogs are grateful when you help them."

His mother made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. "So next time you'll only rescue dogs from trees?"

"Dogs don't get stuck in trees. They're smarter than that."

"Mmm." She moved to a deeper scratch, the golden light pulsing as the magic worked. "And what about people? Will you only help the ones who promise to thank you properly afterward?"

"People are different," he said, though he sounded less certain now. "They can talk. They can say thank you."

"But what if they don't?" she pressed gently. "What if you help someone and they just walk away, like the cat did?"

"Then I won't help them again," he said with five-year-old finality.

"Cats rarely do thank you," his mother agreed solemnly. "But that's not why you helped it."

"Then why did I?"

"Because it needed help. And you heard it calling." She moved to the scrapes on his knee, the golden light flickering as she concentrated. "Actions have weight, Adom. Kindness, cruelty, indifference—they all leave marks on the world. And the world remembers, even when we forget." The healing magic pulsed warmer for a moment. "Someday, when you're older, you'll do something without thinking much about it. Help someone, perhaps, or make a choice that seems small at the time. And years later, that choice will find you again."

At five, he'd been more interested in whether his scrapes would leave scars than in cosmic discussions about karmic balance. But now, sitting in Oberys's silk-draped alcove while a young elf with noble bearing and fresh bruises spoke of cages and debts, Adom found himself remembering that conversation with startling clarity.

The underground markets of Arkhos. The chaos of escaped beasts and gang warfare. A cage wedged between refuse bins, and amber eyes pleading through iron bars. A moment of impulse—crush the lock, move on, survive.

He'd never expected to see those eyes again.

And yet here they were, staring at him across a table in Silvandros, carried by someone whose fine robes and careful diction suggested family connections that might prove... useful.

Assuming, of course, that useful was the right word. In Adom's experience, powerful families were just as likely to cause problems as solve them.

Lyralei straightened slowly, testing his balance against the wall of the alcove. His fingers brushed his throat once more, then fell away as he managed what might have been called a smile if you were feeling generous about it.

"I have long wished to offer proper gratitude," he said, his voice still rough. "From the moment you freed that accursed lock, though the circumstances compelled my swift departure."

Sam blinked. "When did you even do all that?"

"Yeah," Karion leaned forward, frowning. "You freed someone from a cage? When?"

Lyralei looked between them. "You speak as though this tale is unknown to you?"

"Because it is," Damus said flatly.

"I have spent these years in contemplation of that kindness," Lyralei continued, apparently unaware of the growing confusion around the table. "For the darkness of captivity taught me truths about freedom that no amount of comfort could provide. It was your intervention that set me upon the path I now walk."

"Wait." Karion's frown deepened. "Six years ago. Arkhos. Underground markets." His eyes went wide. "There was a massive gang war that year. The Silver Circle merchants against the Children of the Moon. Half the Undertow burned down."

"Yeah," Adom said mildly. "Brings back memories."

Sam's jaw dropped. "That was from that incident? You freed an elf during the gang war?"

Damus looked at Sam sharply. "You knew about this?"

"Not the elf part!" Sam protested.

"It's... a long story," Adom said. "I'll tell you later."

"A story worth hearing, I imagine," Lyralei said, then turned to address the others directly.

Oberys went very still. His wine cup, which had been halfway to his lips, completed its journey with deliberate care. He took a sip, set it down, and smiled.

"Gentlemen," Oberys said conversationally, "allow me to properly introduce Lyralei Brightleaf. Ninth son of House Brightleaf, which controls roughly sixty percent of Silvandros's maritime trade. They maintain warehouses in fourteen kingdoms and enjoy certain familial connections to the crown."

"The crown?" Damus asked.

Lyralei's cheeks colored slightly. "My sister Nhyssa wed King Theron three years past."

Sam choked on his drink. "The queen?"

"The very influential queen," Oberys clarified helpfully, "who has considerable sway in matters of policy. Trade agreements, diplomatic immunity, that sort of thing."

Karion was staring. "Your sister is the queen."

"Indeed," Lyralei said, sounding faintly embarrassed about it.

Damus looked from Lyralei to Adom and back again. "So the guy you randomly helped six years ago turns out to be royal family."

"Life's funny that way," Adom said.

Adom looked at Oberys. Oberys looked back at Adom.

The old elf smiled.

Oberys then rose from his chair. Crossed to Lyralei in three quick strides and placed both hands on the elf's shoulders.

"This seems like an excellent time to repay that debt."

Lyralei blinked, still looking slightly dazed from whatever beating he'd taken earlier. "I... what manner of debt repayment did you have in mind?"

"Safe passage," Oberys said without hesitation. "Clear seas for my guests here. No customs delays, no inconvenient inspections, no questions about cargo manifests or passenger lists."

There was an hesitation there. Lyralei's eyes darted away, his jaw working silently as he processed the request.

The silence stretched.

More.

A little more, then...

Lyralei's shoulders sagged slightly, as if they'd struck closer to the truth than he'd hoped. But then he straightened, meeting Adom's eyes directly.

"If it is for you, my benefactor," he said, "then I shall find a way. The debt I owe cannot be measured in mere convenience, but in the very essence of freedom itself."

He stood, testing his balance once more before turning toward the alcove's entrance.

"Wait for me here. I shall return shortly."

The moment Lyralei disappeared into the crowd, Oberys's smile widened to genuinely alarming proportions. He looked like a merchant who'd just discovered his competitor's warehouse was on fire.

"What is it?" Adom asked.

"Oh, this is perfect," Oberys said, settling back into his chair. "You see, Our young friend has just agreed to break a sacred vow. A vow that cost him everything three years ago when he renounced his claim to House Brightleaf's wealth and influence. Very noble, very principled, very stupid from a political standpoint."

"Why would he do that?" Karion asked.

"Because he couldn't stomach living off money that came from the slave trade," Oberys explained. "House Brightleaf made their fortune moving people as cargo, among other things. When Lyralei started his crusade against slavery, he decided he couldn't be a hypocrite about it."

Karion was frowning. "So he gave up his inheritance?"

"He walked away from everything. Lost his status, his privileges, his protection." Oberys's eyes glittered.

"That's horrible," Sam said.

"That's politics," Damus corrected.

"Wait," Sam said, frowning. "If he's from such a powerful family, why was someone beating him up when we got here? He looked like he was being treated as a common troublemaker."

Oberys nodded approvingly. "Because our young friend has made quite the habit of getting himself roughed up. Every week or so, he shows up here, makes speeches about the inherent dignity of all thinking beings, tries to physically interfere with auctions, and generally makes a nuisance of himself."

"Every week?" Karion asked.

"Like clockwork. The merchants have started taking bets on which guards will draw the short straw." Oberys picked up his wine cup, swirling the contents thoughtfully. "Last month he chained himself to one of the auction blocks. The week before that, he tried to organize what I believe he called a 'liberation raid.' It went about as well as you'd expect."

Damus raised an eyebrow. "And they just... let him?"

"Well, they beat him senseless and throw him out," Oberys said matter-of-factly. "But yes, they let him come back. House Brightleaf still has considerable influence, even if Lyralei himself has renounced it. The merchants tolerate his little tantrums because completely alienating the family would be bad for business."

"But he has no actual power," Sam said slowly.

"Precisely. He's the crazy Brightleaf heir who threw away everything to play revolutionary. Fair game for anyone who wants to silence an inconvenient voice about slavery." Oberys took a sip of wine. "Everyone knows exactly who he is, and everyone knows he chose to walk away from the protection that name provides."

"That seems like a sustainable approach," Damus said dryly.

"Oh, it's completely unsustainable. The only reason he's still breathing is that killing him would cause more problems than letting him rant." Oberys set down his cup. "Though that calculation may have just changed rather dramatically."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Tell me, young Gareth, what do you know about succession politics?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Not much."

"Then allow me to educate you." Oberys leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a steeple. "Three years ago, when Lyralei made his grand gesture of moral superiority, House Brightleaf had nine children. Nine potential heirs to one of the most powerful merchant empires in the known world."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"Nine is a crowded field. Plenty of options. Losing the idealistic youngest son? Barely a footnote in the family chronicles."

"And now?" Karion asked.

"Now it's considerably less crowded." Oberys said. "Succession politics among the great merchant houses can be rather... vigorous. Over the past two years, seven of Lyralei's siblings have died under various circumstances. Accidents, illnesses, convenient tragedies. The usual tools of family advancement."

"They killed each other," Damus said quietly.

"Indeed." Oberys took a measured sip of wine. "By the time the dust settled, only two siblings remained alive: Nhyssa and Lyralei."

The table fell silent except for the distant sounds of the marketplace.

"So the idealistic ninth son who threw everything away..." Sam started.

"Is now the only surviving heir to an empire worth more than some kingdoms' entire treasuries," Oberys finished. "The moment he breaks his vow of renunciation—which he just agreed to do for you—he becomes one of the most powerful person in the elven world."

He raised his wine cup in a mock toast.

"Congratulations, gentlemen. You've just acquired the future head of House Brightleaf as a debtor."

Adom leaned back in his chair, letting Oberys's words settle in his mind like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.

House Brightleaf.

Maritime trade routes spanning fourteen elven kingdoms. Warehouses in every major port. A sister who happened to be queen of one of the most politically connected elven nations on the continent.

And all of it potentially at their disposal because he'd crushed a lock six years ago without thinking twice about it.

His mother's words echoed in his memory: Actions have weight. The world remembers, even when we forget.

She'd been right, as usual. Though he doubted even she could have predicted this particular cosmic ledger entry coming due.

"Well," Adom said finally, "that's convenient."

Sam snorted. "Convenient? You just accidentally recruited elven royalty."

"Not royalty," Lyralei had said he was the ninth son, which in most kingdoms meant—

"Close enough," Karion said. "His sister's the queen. That makes him important whether he likes it or not."

And that was the real opportunity here. Silvandros—both the city and the kingdom that governed it—commanded serious respect in international politics.

If Lyralei could be convinced to support Sundar when the time came...

If his sister the queen could be brought into the fold...

If King Theron decided that backing Sundar served his interests...

Adom found himself smiling. Yes, they had some philosophical differences about slavery and human dignity, but those weren't insurmountable. Sundar had abolished slavery three thousand years ago and prospered magnificently afterward. The economic arguments were solid, the moral ones were obvious, and Lyralei himself proved that at least some Silvandrosi could see reason.

Change took time, but it could happen. And when it came time to choose sides in whatever conflict Morgana was orchestrating, having the Lyserian Kingdom as an ally would be worth more than a dozen smaller nations.

"Oberys," Adom said, turning to the merchant. "Could you arrange safe passage back to Sundar as well? Once we're done here?"

"Certainly. House Brightleaf's shipping connections make that trivial once our young friend reclaims his authority." Oberys picked up a grape from the bowl beside his wine. "Though I suspect the return journey might be less urgent than your outbound travel."

"You have a map to this island? Keth Valorn?"

"Of course. Detailed charts, actually. The waters around there can be tricky for inexperienced navigators." Oberys studied the grape as if it held fascinating secrets. "Three days by fast ship, assuming favorable winds and no complications."

Adom stood up, pacing to the edge of the alcove where he could see the marketplace beyond the silk curtains.

Three days by ship. Maybe four if they hit bad weather or contrary winds...

"How long do you think it'll take Lyralei to arrange everything we need?"

Oberys considered this, rolling the grape between his fingers. "Breaking a three-year-old vow of renunciation, reasserting his claim to one of the most powerful merchant houses in the kingdom and convincing the family's senior advisors that he's mentally competent to start leadership after years of what they consider madness?"

He popped the grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"Few days. Possibly a week if there are legal complications."

Adom nodded, his mind already racing ahead to logistics and timing. "I'd like to go to the island by flying."

The table went quiet except for Oberys choking slightly on his grape.

"Flying?" Sam said carefully.

"I can get there faster that way. A lot faster." Adom turned back to face them. "I could be there by tomorrow evening, maybe sooner depending on wind conditions and how much mana I want to burn."

"Law," Karion said slowly, "that's—"

"She could be on the move as we speak," Adom continued. "Every hour we spend here is an hour she has to consolidate her position, gather more forces, advance whatever plan she's working on." He met each of their eyes in turn. "The faster I get there, the better chance I have of actually finding her."

"But—" Sam started.

"You can't all fly. I can. So I go first, you wait with Lyralei's ships when everything's arranged." Adom shrugged. "It's the logical approach."

Damus leaned forward slightly. "You're talking about flying across open ocean for what, three hundred miles? More?"

"Closer to four hundred," Oberys said faintly. "It's quite a long way, young Law. Even with magical assistance, that kind of sustained flight would require enormous amounts of mana. More than most mages could manage without killing themselves."

"That won't be a problem," Adom said simply.

Oberys stared at him in silence.

The silence stretched until Sam cleared his throat.

"If you're sure about this," he said finally, "then... yeah. It makes sense. You scout ahead, we handle things here and follow up with proper transportation and supplies."

"I can keep Kellan company while we wait," Karion added. "Make sure the political arrangements actually happen."

"And I can help Lyralei with any family complications," Damus said. "Noble house politics aren't unfamiliar to me."

Adom felt a surge of gratitude for his friends. They understood. No protests, no arguments about splitting up the party or taking unnecessary risks. They saw the logic and accepted it.

"I'm counting on you for the rest of this," he said. "The political connections, the shipping arrangements, making sure we have a proper base of operations when this is all over."

"We've got it covered," Sam said firmly.

Oberys cleared his throat delicately. "There is one small complication we should address before you depart on your aerial expedition."

"The Qínglóng elves," Adom said.

"Indeed. Young Master Wáng and his companions. They seemed quite determined to continue their search, and I suspect they won't be satisfied with my list of transportation contacts for very long." Oberys's smile turned rueful. "Persistent sorts. The kind who tend to ask increasingly pointed questions when their initial inquiries prove fruitless."

Adom turned away from the curtain to look at Oberys directly. "About that."

Something in his tone made everyone sit up straighter.

"Could you guide them to me?"

Oberys went very still. For the first time since they'd met him, the merchant looked genuinely shocked. Which felt oddly satisfying.

"Guide them... to you?" Oberys repeated carefully.

"Yes. I'd like to take care of it."

"Young Law," Oberys said slowly, "I feel compelled to point out that those three are all accomplished mages from influential families. The Qínglóng Empire invests considerable resources in training their warriors." His expression grew concerned. "Taking on three trained combat mages simultaneously would be... extraordinarily difficult. Perhaps impossible, depending on their specializations and how well they coordinate."

Adom smiled.

It wasn't a particularly warm smile.

"They've been getting on my nerves for a while now," he said conversationally. "Following us across half the continent, asking rude questions, disrupting perfectly pleasant business meetings." He adjusted his position against the alcove wall, casual as discussing the weather. "They look like they've never met anyone willing to discipline them properly. If their parents failed in that regard, I'd be happy to provide the education."

The marketplace sounds seemed suddenly very distant as Adom stared at Oberys.

"Please make sure they come to me."

Chapter 163. Debt

"Where are they?!"

The shout cut through the marketplace's usual din. More voices joined it, urgent and searching, a commotion that made every merchant's hand drift toward their money pouches.

"Search every stall! Check the back rooms!"

"Sundarians! Four of them, traveling together!"

Oberys was moving before the echo faded, his reflexes faster than anyone else at the table. "Stay exactly where you are," he said quietly. "Do not move. Do not speak."

He slipped away from their table, melting into the crowd like he'd never been there at all.

Adom felt his pulse quicken.

Around their table, the others had gone statue-still. Sam's knuckles were white where he gripped his wine cup. Karion's eyes darted toward the exits, calculating distances. Damus had shifted slightly in his chair, angling himself to watch both approaches to their alcove.

The marketplace continued its chaotic symphony, but the undertone had changed. Merchants were closing stalls. Customers were finding sudden reasons to leave. Authority figures with swords tended to have that effect.

Oberys's voice drifted back to them from somewhere in the crowd, pitched to carry just the right mix of curiosity and concern.

"My, my. What seems to be the trouble, young masters? Such excitement in my peaceful little market."

Adom couldn't see him, but he could hear the performance in the merchant's tone.

"Master Oberys." The central elf said. "We come from the Qínglóng Empire on official business. Your people tried to deny us entry."

"We had to... persuade them," the thinner elf added, his nervous energy barely contained. "Things escalated unnecessarily."

Oberys made a soft sound of concern. "How unfortunate. I do hope my staff weren't too discourteous. They can be overly protective of our usual atmosphere of... discretion."

"As allies of your empire, and given that the Qínglóng delegation represents some of your most valued customers, we expected better reception," the third elf said, his voice sharp with indignation.

Adom recognized these voices.

"Haha.." Oberys laughed. "Most valued? Oh, my dear young masters, you flatter me so. Though I must say, the delegation from the Northern Reaches was just saying something remarkably similar yesterday. And the week before, the Sunset Principalities made nearly identical claims." His voice carried amusement. "It's fascinating how many 'most valued' relationships one can cultivate in this business."

Adom slipped from his chair and crept toward the edge of their alcove, where a gap in the hanging curtains offered a narrow view of the main market floor. Then he saw them.

Three elves stood near the central auction block. Young Master Wáng stood in the center, his soft features set in lines of cold determination. Flanking him were Liú and Qián, both looking like hunting dogs straining at their leashes.

"What's happening?" Sam whispered, barely audible.

"It's them," Adom breathed.

"Them who?" Karion's voice was tight with tension.

"The elves from Lì Shān."

Damus leaned forward, his expression shifting from wariness to disbelief. "Seriously?"

"They followed us here," Adom confirmed, still watching through the gap. "All the way to Silvandros."

"Why?" Sam's question came out strangled. "What could they possibly want with us?"

Oberys's voice carried clearly across the market. "I'm afraid I don't understand the nature of your inquiry, young masters. Perhaps if you could be more specific about what brings you to my establishment?"

Wáng stepped closer to the merchant, his robes rustling with the movement. Even from a distance, Adom could see the calculated intimidation in the gesture.

"As I stated before, we're here on official business. Qínglóng security concerns." Wáng continued. "We're tracking Sundarian operatives who passed through our territory recently."

"Sundarian operatives?" Oberys's tone managed to convey both surprise and helpful interest. "How fascinating. I do hope they haven't caused any difficulties in your beautiful nation."

"They infiltrated our capital under false pretenses. Gathered intelligence. Left just ahead of our investigation." Liú spoke up, his nervous energy barely contained. "We have reason to believe they continued south toward the trading ports."

"I see." Oberys sounded genuinely concerned now. "And you believe these individuals might have passed through my market?"

"We know they did." Qián interjected. "Our tracking confirms they might have arrived in Silvandros days ago. They would have needed information, contacts, passage to wherever they're going next."

"Well," Oberys said thoughtfully, "I do serve many travelers from many nations. Perhaps if you could provide descriptions of these individuals?"

"Four humans traveling together," Wáng said. "Young males, maybe early twenties. One with distinctive blue eyes. Another with red hair, a blond and a brute looking one."

"What the fuck did he just—" Karion started to rise.

"Sit," Sam hissed, grabbing his arm.

"Down," Damus added flatly, not even looking at him.

Adom pressed a hand to Karion's shoulder. "Stay."

Karion sat back down, scowling.

"They would have been asking questions about transportation, possibly seeking passage to other territories."

The description was not quite specific enough to be damning. Half the travelers through Silvandros probably fit some variation of that profile.

"Humans," Oberys mused. "Yes, I do recall some human visitors recently. Though I must say, young masters, humans are not uncommon in my establishment. The trading ports attract people from many kingdoms."

"These weren't common traders." Liú stepped forward. "They had resources. High-quality gear. They moved with purpose, not like merchants or tourists."

"Ah." Oberys's tone shifted slightly, becoming more collaborative. "Well, that does narrow things considerably. Resources and purpose do tend to leave impressions in my line of work."

"So you did see them," Wáng said. It wasn't a question.

"I see many people, young master. But yes, I do recall some well-equipped humans who seemed to know exactly what they wanted." Oberys paused, as if considering. "Though I'm afraid our interaction was quite brief. They made their purchases and departed without lingering for conversation."

"What did they purchase?" Qián demanded.

"Information, primarily. Directions to other merchants, recommendations for transportation providers. The usual requests from travelers seeking to move quickly and efficiently."

"Which transportation providers?" Wáng's voice had gained an edge.

"Several, I believe. I provided them with a list of reputable contacts throughout the port district." Oberys's tone remained helpful but vague. "I'm afraid I don't recall the specific details—such recommendations are quite routine in my business."

Adom could practically hear the wheels turning in Wáng's head. The elf was clearly frustrated by Oberys's cooperative but ultimately unhelpful responses.

"We need to search your establishment," Wáng said finally.

"Of course, young master. You're welcome to examine my market as thoroughly as you wish." Oberys's agreement came without hesitation. "Though I should mention that my current customers might find such attention somewhat... disconcerting. I do try to maintain a certain atmosphere of discretion for those conducting sensitive business."

"We're not concerned with your other customers," Liú said.

"Of course not. Though I should point out that several of my current patrons are representatives of various kingdoms and trading guilds. People who value their privacy and tend to remember when that privacy is... interrupted."

Wáng stared at the smiling merchant for a while, then around him. Several people were staring back. Nobles, mages, people with personal soldiers.

"...How long ago did these humans depart?" He asked, changing tactics.

"Oh, goodness. Two days past? Perhaps three? Time seems to move strangely in the underground markets, I'm afraid."

Another careful non-answer. Recent enough to be plausible, vague enough to be useless.

"And you have no idea where they went from here?"

"I'm afraid not, young master. As I mentioned, I simply provided them with general information about transportation options. Where they chose to go from there..." Oberys's voice conveyed regretful helplessness. "Well, that would be entirely their business, wouldn't it?"

The silence stretched out, filled with the ambient noise of a marketplace trying to pretend normalcy.

Finally, Wáng spoke again, his voice tight with controlled frustration.

"We'll need a full list of the transportation contacts you provided them."

"Certainly. Though I should mention that such a list would be quite extensive. I pride myself on thoroughness when assisting travelers." Oberys paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps fifty or sixty names across various port districts and trading routes. Quite comprehensive, really."

"We'll take the list," Wáng said tersely.

"Of course. I'll have my assistant prepare it immediately. Though I should warn you, young masters, that verifying the current status of so many independent operators will be quite time-consuming. The transportation business is notoriously fluid—routes change, operators relocate, partnerships dissolve without notice."

"We'll manage," Qián said, though he sounded less confident than before.

"Excellent. Now, was there anything else I could assist you with? Perhaps recommendations for lodging while you conduct your investigation? Silvandros has several establishments that cater to visitors conducting official business."

"The list," Wáng said finally. "Have it ready within the hour."

"Certainly, young master. My assistant will prepare it with all due speed."

Footsteps echoed across the market floor, growing fainter as the elves moved away from Oberys's central stall. But they weren't leaving entirely—Adom could still hear their voices as they began questioning other merchants, following the same pattern of polite intimidation.

Several minutes passed before Oberys returned to their alcove, slipping through the curtains.

"Well," Oberys said quietly, settling back into his chair as if nothing had happened. "That was unexpectedly entertaining."

"I suppose this complicates things," Adom said quietly.

Oberys sighed. "Significantly, yes." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "There's a treaty between our nations, you understand. Trade agreements, mutual protections, the usual diplomatic pleasantries. And these particular young... gentlemen... they're from families I deal with regularly. Powerful families. The kind who remember slights."

He paused, studying his wine cup. "I knew they'd arrived this morning, actually. But I assumed it was about the usual business—silk imports, perhaps some exotic metals. I certainly didn't expect them to be hunting Sundarian 'operatives.'"

"And now?" Sam asked.

"Now it becomes significantly more difficult to arrange your passage. Ship captains tend to be nervous about passengers who attract imperial attention."

Adom stood abruptly. "How fast could you prepare it? The boat?"

Oberys looked up at him. "Not fast enough, I'm afraid. Your new friends will be questioning every transportation contact in the city. By evening, they'll have a very clear picture of who's moving where."

Adom.

Zuni's voice cut through Adom's thoughts.

Yes?

I do believe we have a rather pressing situation. Someone appears to be employing an artifact of concealment to approach our position. Quite sneaky, really, though not entirely effective. The person is somewhat... blurry.

Adom kept his expression neutral, continuing to look at Oberys as if listening intently to their conversation.

Where?

Behind you. He's been at it for the past minute or so, trying to position himself near the curtain opening.

Adom shifted slightly, pretending to stretch, and caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. A shimmer, like heat waves rising from hot stone, creeping closer to their alcove.

I see him.

Not alerting the others?

Not yet.

Adom nodded at something Oberys was saying about harbor schedules, then leaned forward as if deeply interested in the merchant's words. "The evening tides, you said?"

"Precisely. Though with this new... attention... I suspect most captains will be reluctant to—"

Adom's hand moved.

The [Pull] spell took less than a second to weave, a sharp yank of force that dragged something solid and struggling through the curtain opening. His other hand shot out, fingers closing around a throat.

"What the—" Karion started.

"Wait!" The voice was strained, panicked, distinctly elvish. "I'm sorry! I wasn't—I didn't mean—"

The others had gone rigid with shock. Sam's wine cup hit the table with a sharp clink. Damus was already moving, hand reaching for his sword.

"Lyralei?!" Oberys said, incredulous and alarmed in equal measure. He seemed to recognize the voice.

The struggling figure in Adom's grip went very still.

"Master Law," Oberys said carefully, "might I suggest you not kill him? At least not immediately?"

A ring clattered to the floor, and suddenly Adom was holding a young, very frightened elf by the throat.

Lyralei's hands flew to his throat, fingers trembling as they found the already darkening impressions Adom's grip had left on his pale skin. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly for several seconds, like a fish gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Then the coughing started.

"Please," he wheezed between fits, the word barely audible. His amber eyes were watering now, whether from the coughing or the lingering terror, it was impossible to tell. "Release... release me."

Adom looked to Oberys who nodded once, almost imperceptibly. "He's not a spy." The old elf said. "That I can promise."

He released.

The coughing intensified for a moment, the elf's body finally free to react fully to what had just happened. He bent forward, hands on his knees, shoulders shaking with each harsh sound that escaped his damaged throat.

"Easy," Oberys said quietly, though whether he was addressing Lyralei or the suddenly tense atmosphere in the alcove was unclear. "Breathe."

It took nearly a full minute before Lyralei could straighten fully. When he did, angry red marks were already blooming across his pale throat. He worked his jaw carefully, testing the movement, then swallowed with visible difficulty.

"Your grip," Lyralei said finally, his voice rough and strained like he'd been screaming for hours. He had to pause and clear his throat painfully before continuing. "I wasn't expecting... that kind of strength from..." Another pause, another careful swallow. "Most mages rely entirely on their spells for physical confrontation."

Oberys leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a careful steeple as he regarded the young elf. "What exactly did you think you were doing, Lyralei? Sneaking around my establishment with concealment artifacts? Spying on my guests?"

Lyralei straightened as much as his battered throat would allow, some spark of his earlier determination flickering back to life despite his obvious discomfort. He touched his neck once more, wincing, then let his hand fall to his side.

"I saw this young man," he said, and despite the roughness of his voice, there was something almost reverent in the way he pointed directly at Adom. "I wanted to pay a debt."

Everyone looked at Adom.

"Have we met?" He asked slowly, studying the elf's features more carefully now that he could see them clearly.

"Yes, actually." Lyralei's damaged voice carried an unmistakable note of certainty. He never looked away from Adom's face. "You grew up quite a bit. Six years ago, In the part of Arkhos they call the dregs. You helped me escape captivity and slavery."

Lyralei lifted one trembling hand to gesture toward Adom. "You freed my cage in the underground markets. During all that chaos with the escaped beasts and the fighting."

Ah.

You seem to remember something. Zuni said.

Yeah. This guy did seem familiar when I first saw him earlier...

Suddenly Adom was back in that hellish marketplace, trying to escape with Eren. Smoke and screams filling the air, the desperate voice of an elf calling out from behind bars. The cage wedged between waste bins. The amber eyes filled with terror and hope in equal measure.

"That was you." Adom breathed, his own voice barely above a whisper.

Chapter 162. Oberys

"Ah, where are my manners? Please, please, sit," Oberys said, gesturing to the chairs around his table. "Any friends of Kellan's are most welcome here."

He snapped his fingers, and a serving girl appeared as if summoned by magic. Probably was magic, actually.

"Wine for our guests," Oberys said. "The good bottle. Not the swill we serve the tourists."

The girl nodded and vanished back into the crowd.

Adom settled into his chair, noting how Oberys had positioned himself so he could see the entire market while keeping his back to a solid wall. The others took their seats with varying degrees of comfort—Sam looked like he was trying not to touch anything, while Karion kept glancing around as if expecting an ambush.

"Now then," Oberys said, steepling his fingers. "Kellan, you must introduce me to your companions properly. I confess I'm quite curious about this little expedition of yours."

"Of course." Kellan straightened slightly. "Master Oberys, allow me to present Law"—he gestured to Adom—"my employer and the leader of our group. These are his associates: Gareth, Marcus, and Thomas."

Oberys's eyes fixed on Adom with the intensity of a jeweler examining a particularly interesting stone. "Law. How wonderfully simple. And so young! Tell me, my dear boy, is there some new magical enhancement on the market that keeps one looking so fresh? Or perhaps"—his smile turned speculative—"elven blood in the family tree?"

There was, technically. Somewhere on his mother's side, maybe two thousand years back, there'd been an elf who'd married into the family. The bloodline was so diluted it barely counted as a footnote in genealogy records.

Adom smiled. "Half-elven, actually."

"Ah!" Oberys clapped his hands together in delight. "I knew it! Those eyes gave you away immediately. Such an extraordinary shade of blue—like sapphires with fire trapped inside them. And that skin tone!" He gestured appreciatively. "I've been trading for three millennia, and I've never seen quite that particular caramel hue. Absolutely striking."

The man seemed to be using an artifact to make his words charm people. It was subtle. But it was there.

The serving girl returned with wine. Oberys poured, the liquid catching the amber light from the market's fungi.

"You're very kind," Adom said, accepting his cup. The compliment reminded him of the lutin at the bank who'd said something similar about his eyes.

Fire.

"Kindness has nothing to do with it," Oberys replied. "I simply appreciate beauty when I see it. Now, Gareth"—he turned to Sam—"that red hair is magnificent. Reminds me of a sunset I once saw over the Crimson Peaks. And those freckles! Like stars scattered across porcelain."

Sam's face turned approximately the same color as his hair. "Thank you, sir."

"Marcus," Oberys continued, focusing on Karion, "such noble bearing! You carry yourself like a knight from the old stories. Good breeding shows, doesn't it?"

Karion nodded stiffly. "You're too generous."

"And Thomas." Oberys's gaze settled on Damus. "The strong, silent type. I can always appreciate a man who speaks with his actions rather than his words. That intensity in your eyes suggests depths that would be fascinating to explore."

Damus simply inclined his head. Which was probably the most diplomatic response he could manage.

"Now then," Oberys said, settling back in his chair. "What brings such an interesting group to my little corner of commerce? Kellan mentioned you might have need of my services."

Adom reached into his inventory—the movement hidden by the table's edge—and produced an ornate wooden box. It was about the size of a jewelry case, carved with intricate patterns and bound with brass fittings. He set it on the table between them.

Oberys's eyes lit up like a child seeing birthday presents. "Ooh, magic! After three thousand years, you'd think the novelty would wear off, but it never does. Storage enchantments always make me feel like I'm witnessing genuine miracles."

He leaned forward, examining the box without touching it. "May I?"

Adom nodded.

Oberys opened the box with reverent fingers. Inside, nestled in velvet padding, were neat stacks of gold coins. The kind that caught light and threw it back in all directions.

"My," Oberys murmured. "How refreshingly direct."

The elf closed the box with a soft click and leaned back in his chair.

"Very generous," he said. "Though I confess I'm curious what sort of information commands such... substantial compensation."

"We're looking for someone," Adom said. "A woman who passed through here some time ago. She would have been traveling under an assumed name, probably presented herself as a merchant from the southern kingdoms."

Oberys's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. The kind of shift that came from recognizing a description.

"I meet many merchants," he said carefully. "Could you be more specific?"

"Dark curly hair, blue eyes, pale skin. Mid-twenties. She would have been interested in acquiring warriors—skilled fighters, not common laborers. And she would have had the gold to pay for quality."

"Ah." Oberys smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Lady Aethel. Yes, I remember her quite well. Charming woman. Excellent taste in merchandise."

Damus leaned forward slightly. "You did business with her?"

"Oh yes. Quite a lot of business, actually." Oberys gestured expansively. "She purchased seventeen slaves from me over the course of two weeks. All fighters, as you said. Veterans, most of them. The kind that cost more than a small house but are worth every copper."

Adom kept his expression neutral, but his pulse quickened. Seventeen fighters. Added to whatever forces she'd already gathered elsewhere...

"She was very particular about her requirements," Oberys continued. "Had to see them fight first. Tested their skills personally, if you can believe it. Most buyers just trust my word, but she insisted on demonstrations. Quite impressive, actually—she clearly knew what she was looking for."

"Did she say what she needed them for?" Sam asked.

"Security work, she said. Protection for her trading ventures in dangerous territories." Oberys's smile turned wry. "She also asked me to put her in touch with my best weaponsmiths. And armorers. And an alchemist who specialized in... shall we say, more volatile compounds."

Oberys chuckled.

Karion frowned. "You helped her with all of that?"

"Of course I did. Business is business, and she paid very well for the introductions." Oberys spread his hands. "Besides, the woman was absolutely persuasive. Had a way about her that made you want to help, even when your better judgment suggested otherwise."

"Persuasive how?" Adom asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Charismatic. Intelligent. The sort of person who could convince you that black was white and have you thanking her for the education." Oberys's expression grew slightly rueful. "In fact, she convinced me to give her my entire stock of those particular fighters. Every last one. Even the ones I'd been planning to keep for special customers."

"She bought them all?"

"She did indeed. Cleaned me out completely and left me scrambling to explain to some very disappointed clients why their orders couldn't be filled." Oberys laughed, but there was a note of genuine admiration in it. "Brilliant negotiation, really. By the time I realized what had happened, she was gone with the lot of them."

Adom felt another piece click into place. She'd moved fast, taken everything available, left before anyone could ask too many questions. Classic Morgana efficiency.

"Do you have any idea where she might have gone?" he asked.

Oberys tilted his head, considering. The marketplace noise seemed to fade around their table as the merchant studied Adom's face with those ancient, calculating eyes.

"As a matter of fact," he said slowly, "I do."

Adom looked at him steadily, waiting. The silence stretched between them like a taut bowstring.

"Well?" he finally asked.

Oberys smiled and took a sip of his wine, savoring both the vintage and the moment. "Tell me, Law, what do you know about the nature of ambition?"

What was this about?

Adom studied the merchant's face, looking for tells. The man had gone from helpful information broker to philosophical interrogator in the span of a heartbeat. There was a purpose here, a direction Oberys was steering the conversation toward. But what?

He decided to indulge for now.

"I know it drives people to do things they might not otherwise consider."

"Indeed. And what separates the ambitious from the merely greedy?"

Karion shifted in his seat. Sam's eyes flicked between Adom and Oberys. Damus remained perfectly still, but his attention had sharpened to a razor's edge.

Adom felt like he was being tested, but for what?

"Vision," he said after a moment. "The ability to see beyond immediate gain."

"Excellent." Oberys leaned forward slightly. "Now, when someone of obvious intelligence and considerable resources begins acquiring skilled warriors in significant numbers, what might that suggest about their... vision?"

A trap question.

Oberys already knew what he thought it suggested. This was about drawing Adom into admitting something, or revealing how much he knew about Morgana's actual plans.

"That they're planning something that requires skilled warriors."

"Precisely. And when that same person also seeks out weaponsmiths, armorers, and alchemists specializing in volatile compounds, what additional conclusions might one draw?"

The conversation was shifting beneath him like quicksand. Each question built on the last, creating a logical chain that led somewhere Adom wasn't sure he wanted to go.

"That whatever they're planning involves more than simple defense."

"You have a quick mind. I appreciate that." Oberys set down his wine cup. "But before we proceed further, I find myself curious about another matter entirely. What is your take on all this, exactly?"

There it was. The real question. Everything else had been groundwork.

"We're just adventurers," Sam said. "I am not sure what you mean here."

"Ah, but adventurers come in many varieties, don't they? Some seek glory, others gold, still others knowledge or power or simple excitement." Oberys's gaze moved from face to face. "You, however, strike me as something rather different. More... purposeful."

Kellan remained silent, but Adom could see tension in the set of his shoulders. The guide was clearly uncomfortable with where this was heading.

"The woman you seek," Oberys continued conversationally, "Lady Aethel–as she called herself—she had that same quality. The sense that every action served a larger design. Most merchants think in terms of the next profitable quarter. She thought in terms of... well, shall we say longer horizons."

"What's your point?" Damus asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"My point, dear Thomas, is that I've spent multiple millennia watching patterns. Political currents. The rise and fall of kingdoms." Oberys picked up a grape from the small bowl beside his wine and examined it as if it held the secrets of the universe. "And lately, I've been observing some rather... interesting developments."

He popped the grape into his mouth and chewed.

"Have you been following the recent diplomatic movements? The Qínglóng Empire announced just last month that they would formally support Farmus in any future conflicts. Meanwhile, the Tirajin Confederacy has signed mutual defense pacts with Sundar. My little birds told me that the Northern Clans are mobilizing their ice-walkers for the first time in fifty years."

Adom felt a chill that had nothing to do with the underground air. "You're talking about alliance building."

"I'm talking about the same patterns I witnessed before the War of the Burning Skies. And before the Heighten Collapse. And before the Sunset Rebellion." Oberys's voice remained conversational, but his eyes had grown distant. "Kingdoms don't announce military support unless they expect to need it. Confederacies don't sign defense pacts unless they anticipate being attacked. And northern clans certainly don't mobilize ice-walkers unless they smell blood in the water."

Sam had gone pale. "You think there's going to be a war."

"I think there's going to be several wars, young Gareth. All connected, all feeding into each other like streams flowing into a river." Oberys leaned back in his chair. "The question becomes: who's orchestrating the flow?"

"Maybe no one," Karion said. "Maybe it's just... politics."

"Perhaps. But I've found that when multiple seemingly unrelated events begin trending in the same direction, there's usually an intelligent hand guiding the current." He paused, and looked at them with a knowing smile. "Which brings me back to my earlier question about what is your take on all this."

Adom could feel the conversation tightening around them like a noose. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I've also been observing another interesting pattern. Have you heard of the Wangara Merchant Guild?"

Adom kept his expression neutral. "Should we have?"

Oberys looked directly at him and chuckled. It was a bit unnerving.

As if he was mocking them.

"Perhaps not. They're relatively new—only five years in operation. But in that short time, they've accomplished more than guilds with centuries of history. Their investment choices are... remarkable. Almost prophetic, one might say."

"Prophetic how?" Karion asked, though Adom could hear the strain in his voice.

"They invested heavily in mana crystal mines just before the discovery of new veins tripled the ore's value. They cornered the market on Thessian steel three months before the kingdom announced massive military expansion. They bought controlling interests in seven different shipping companies just before a trade war made independent transport extraordinarily profitable. But that's not all."

Oberys began counting on his fingers.

"They purchased vast quantities of preserved food supplies just before crop failures drove prices through the ceiling in Anpokolous. They acquired mining rights to what everyone thought was worthless mountain territory, only to discover the largest celestium deposits in recorded history."

Sam frowned. "Lucky investments?"

"One or two might be luck. Three might be exceptional insight. Seven in a row?" Oberys laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That suggests something rather more interesting than mere fortune."

"Such as?" Damus asked.

"Such as someone providing them with information that shouldn't exist yet. Knowledge of future events, political decisions not yet made, discoveries not yet announced." Oberys picked up another grape but didn't eat it, instead rolling it between his fingers. "It's as if they knew the future. As if someone was whispering tomorrow's secrets in their ears."

The marketplace noise seemed to fade around their table. Adom became acutely aware of every sound—the clink of Oberys's rings against his cup, the distant haggling of merchants, the soft scrape of Damus's boot against the floor.

"Even I—and I pride myself on reading the political winds—even I saw some of their investments as pure madness. Who buys worthless swampland in regions everyone's abandoned? Who invests in experimental magical research that half the Academies considers useless?" Oberys finally ate the grape, his expression thoughtful. "And yet, somehow, every impossible investment becomes exponentially profitable."

"What does this have to do with us?" Adom asked, though he suspected he knew exactly where this was leading.

"Well, now. As members of the Phoenix Guild, that depends entirely on what your relationship to Wangara might be, since your guild operates under their support."

Adom frowned, his eyes immediately shifting to Kellan. The man was supposed to have prepared the terrain, made them anonymous. How much had this elf known from the start?

Oberys caught the look and chuckled, holding up a placating hand. "Please, don't be too harsh on poor Kellan. I've had several millennia to build a sufficiently comprehensive network. My little birds told me about your guild affiliation the moment you registered at the gates."

Kellan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but said nothing.

Oberys set down his cup and fixed Adom with those ancient eyes. "You see, if representatives of such a remarkably successful organization were suddenly interested in the same woman who recently purchased enough firepower to level a small city, well... that would suggest certain implications."

Adom felt like he was walking across a frozen lake, listening for the crack of breaking ice. Every word could be the one that sent him plunging into icy water.

"What kind of implications?"

"The kind that make an old merchant very interested in where to place his next investments." Oberys's smile was predatory now. "You see, I've been wondering about Wangara's remarkable success. Such prescient investment strategies don't emerge from thin air. They require either supernatural foresight or access to information others don't possess."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"Now, imagine my fascination when I learn that this mysteriously successful guild might have an interest in a woman who's clearly preparing for something significant. A woman who thinks in the same long-term patterns I recognize from history's great players."

"Why does it matter?" Adom asked carefully.

"Because I am a merchant. I trade in goods, yes, but more importantly, I trade in information. And when patterns begin converging—when a mysterious woman gathers an army, when a prophetically successful guild takes interest, when political tensions rise across multiple kingdoms—well, that suggests opportunities for those wise enough to read the signs."

Oberys gestured broadly at the slave market around them.

"I've survived three millennia by understanding that knowledge is the ultimate currency. More valuable than gold, more powerful than armies, more lasting than kingdoms. And right now, I'm seeing the convergence of knowledge streams that suggest something monumentally profitable is about to unfold."

Sam looked sick. Karion's hand had drifted unconsciously toward his weapon. Even Damus, usually unreadable, showed tension in the line of his jaw.

The elf picked up his wine again, swirling the liquid thoughtfully.

"War is coming. I don't know when. I don't know exactly who will participate. But I can smell it in the wind like smoke from a distant fire. And wars, my young friends, create opportunities. For those positioned correctly."

"You're talking about profiting from suffering," Karion said, his voice tight with anger.

"I'm talking about reality, young Marcus. War happens whether I profit from it or not. The question becomes: do I position myself to help shape its outcome, or do I simply wait to be swept along by forces beyond my control?" Oberys's expression remained pleasant. "Your Lady Aethel understands this. She's gathering pieces for a game most people don't even realize has begun."

"And you want to know which side we're on," Adom said.

"I want to know which side will win."

He set down his wine and steepled his fingers.

"Wangara's success suggests they have access to information that allows them to position themselves advantageously before major events unfold. If they've taken an interest in Lady Aethel, it implies she's part of something significant enough to warrant their attention. The question is: are they backing Lady Aethel, or are they moving against her? Because whichever side they choose, that's where a smart merchant places his investment." He leaned back in his chair. "Which brings me back to my fundamental question."

His smiled broadened.

"What is Wangara's take on this?"

Hah.

Adom wasn't even angry at the elf's cunning. This was fair game. There were all sorts of people in this world, and staying in Sundar for so long had made him forget that he wouldn't be the only one with information, with agendas, with networks spanning continents. The good news though, was that this wasn't an enemy. Not necessarily.

Plus, Oberys still thought Adom worked for Wangara, and was not the owner of it. This meant his information network was limited, and Adom had hidden his assets well enough.

This was a game of "I have pieces of the puzzle you need, but I want to know how my pieces fit with yours before I share them."

Adom leaned back in his chair, studying the ancient merchant's face.

"We're with Lady Aethel," he said finally. "We need to find her. To help her."

Oberys's expression transformed like sunrise breaking over mountains. Pure delight spread across his features, and he clapped his hands together with enthusiasm.

"Excellent! Oh, this is perfect." He leaned forward eagerly. "Then I shall help you, of course. Information freely given to allies rather than sold to strangers."

He snapped his fingers, and the serving girl materialized beside their table with that same magical promptness.

"Lyra, clear your schedule. You'll be guiding our friends to Keth Valorn."

The girl nodded without question.

"Keth Valorn?" Adom asked.

"A small island about three days south by fast ship. According to my last intelligence, that's where Lady Aethel has established her primary base of operations." Oberys gestured expansively. "Beautiful location, actually. Easily defensible, excellent harbor, close enough to major shipping lanes to be convenient but far enough out to avoid unwanted attention."

"You're still in contact with her?" Damus asked.

Oberys laughed, amused. "Oh, heavens no. Lady Aethel struck me as far too careful to maintain unnecessary communication channels. But among the seventeen fighters I sold her, one happens to work for me as well."

Karion frowned. "A spy."

"A prudent investment in future information," Oberys corrected smoothly. "I've been in this business long enough to know that when someone purchases an army's worth of skilled warriors, someone else will eventually come asking questions. It seemed wise to ensure I could provide useful answers."

He picked up his wine again, swirling the liquid thoughtfully.

"She's been quite busy, your Lady Aethel. Gathering forces, acquiring ships, establishing supply lines. When she came to me three months ago, I suspected she was part of something significant. Having Wangara's representatives confirm it..." He smiled. "Well, it tells me exactly where to place my investments."

"You know about the fleet?" Sam asked.

"My dear boy, I know she's assembled 20 fast attack vessels, 7 heavy transports, and what my sources describe as a truly impressive flagship. I know she's recruited approximately three thousand skilled fighters from various markets across the continent. I know she's stockpiled enough weapons and supplies to outfit a small army for extended campaign." Oberys's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "What I didn't know was whether she was planning protection or conquest. Your presence suggests the latter, which is tremendously useful information."

Adom nodded.

"So you'll help us reach her?"

"Gladly! Lyra will arrange transport and provide detailed navigation to Keth Valorn. She knows the waters well." Oberys raised his wine cup in a mock toast. "Thank you, by the way, for confirming Wangara's involvement and allegiance. That tells me exactly where to invest my considerable liquid assets in the coming months."

"Happy to help," Adom said dryly.

"I do hope we can work together again in the future. Information exchanges can be so much more profitable than simple commercial transactions." Oberys's smile seemed genuine now, warmed by the prospect of future cooperation. "When this all settles—and assuming we all survive whatever's coming—I believe we could establish a very beneficial relationship."

The marketplace noise continued around them, the casual brutality of human commerce providing an oddly normal backdrop to their conversation about wars and alliances.

Then the sound changed.

It started as shouting, distant but growing closer. Then came the unmistakable ring of steel on steel, the crash of overturning stalls, the screams of people caught in sudden violence.

Oberys was on his feet before Adom could blink.

"Battle," he said, his voice sharp with alarm. "Here. In my market."

The sounds were getting closer. Much closer.

Chapter 161. Traditions

The boys stepped out into the controlled chaos of the Adventurer District, and Adom began murmuring under his breath.

"Left at the fountain with the dragon motif, straight past the weapons quarter, right at the tavern with the blue door..."

"Are you reciting directions?" Sam asked.

"Memorized the layout yesterday," Adom said, not breaking stride. "Habit."

The district buzzed with activity. Job boards lined every major intersection, covered in notices that ranged from the mundane to the obviously suicidal. Karion paused to read a few as they passed.

"'Seeking experienced party for basilisk extermination. Previous applicants welcome to reapply if still breathing,'" he read aloud. "'Wanted: Someone stupid enough to investigate mysterious singing in the Whispering Caves. Good pay, terrible survival odds.'"

"Cheerful," Damus commented.

They'd made it maybe three blocks when a large lizardman stepped directly into their path. He was built like a siege engine wrapped in scales, with arms that could probably bench press a small house.

"Hold up there, friends," he said in a voice like gravel grinding against stone. His eyes fixed on Karion's mace and Damus's sword. "Those are some nice pieces of steel you're carrying."

"Thanks," Karion said carefully.

"My party's looking for a couple more fighters. We've got a job lined up in the Sunken Crypts—good money, proper dungeon work. You look like you know which end of those weapons to hold."

The lizardman's smile revealed teeth that belonged in a shark's mouth. "Name's Thrakk. I run a tight operation. Professional work, professional pay."

Adom stepped slightly forward. "We appreciate the offer, but we're already committed to another job."

"What kind of job?" Thrakk's eyes narrowed with interest.

"Private contract," Sam said smoothly. "Already signed the paperwork."

"Shame." Thrakk looked genuinely disappointed. "You sure I can't change your minds? The Crypts have been picking off solo adventurers for weeks. Could use fighters with your look about them."

"We're honored by the offer," Damus said with polite firmness, "but we have to decline."

Thrakk shrugged, causing his scales to ripple. "Fair enough. If your 'private contract' falls through, ask around for me. I'll be here through the week."

He stepped aside, and they continued walking.

"Think he was legitimate?" Karion asked once they were out of earshot.

"Probably," Adom said. "The Sunken Crypts are a real dungeon about two days south of here. Moderately dangerous, good training ground for mid-level parties."

"How do you know that?"

"I read the job boards while you were all sleeping."

They passed more taverns, more weapon shops, more groups of adventurers haggling over contracts and arguing about loot distribution. The smell of cooking food mixed with the metallic tang of weapon oil and the occasional whiff of something alchemical.

"Right at the enchanter's shop with the glowing sign, straight past the training yards..." Adom continued his quiet navigation.

The training yards were exactly what they sounded like—open areas where adventurers practiced their skills under the artificial sky. They could hear the clash of metal on metal, the twang of bowstrings, and the occasional explosion of magical energy.

"Left at the statue of the guy with too many swords..."

"That's supposed to be Kaelen the Bladedancer," Sam said, reading the plaque. "Says here he could wield seven weapons simultaneously."

"Show-off," Karion muttered.

The crowds began to thin as they moved away from the commercial heart of the district. The buildings here were still carved from the living wood, but they had a more residential feel—smaller shops, quieter streets, actual trees growing alongside the structures instead of being the structures.

Finally, they emerged into what could only be called a park.

It was a circular clearing where the heartwood opened up to reveal soil and plants. Benches carved from polished stone sat beneath smaller trees that provided comfortable shade. A stream ran through the center, fed by some underground spring that babbled peacefully over smooth rocks.

"Let's go sit over there," Adom said, pointing to a bench that offered a good view of the park's entrance while keeping their backs to a cluster of flowering bushes.

They settled onto the stone bench, and Zuni immediately began investigating the interesting smells coming from the nearby flowers.

These smell like honey cakes, he announced.

"Don't eat the landscaping," Adom said absently, his eyes on the park's entrance.

Now they waited.

They sat in comfortable silence, each pulling out something to occupy their time. Sam produced a small journal and began sketching the park's layout with quick, precise strokes. Karion unfolded a letter from home and read it for what was probably the third time. Damus pulled out a slim volume of poetry and flipped to a bookmarked page.

Adom kept his eyes on the entrance while pretending to review a set of merchant receipts.

Minutes passed. Then more minutes.

These flowers definitely taste like honey cakes, Zuni reported from somewhere behind the bench.

"I told you not to eat the landscaping," Adom said without turning around.

I'm not eating them. I'm just... sampling. For science.

More time crawled by. The stream continued its cheerful babbling. A pair of elves walked through the park, deep in conversation about potion ingredients. Someone's familiar squeaked from a nearby tree.

"Your contact is late," Sam said, closing his journal.

"Yeah," Adom replied, still watching the entrance.

"I think I see him," Karion said suddenly, nodding toward a figure approaching the park.

Adom looked up. A man in a dark traveling cloak was walking toward them with the measured pace of someone who knew exactly where he was going. Average height, brown hair, the kind of unremarkable appearance that made for good spy work. He matched the description perfectly.

The man's eyes swept the park, found their bench, and he started walking directly toward them.

Adom straightened slightly. This was it.

The man walked right past them and sat down at a bench twenty feet away, where three other people were waiting for him.

"Well," Damus said after a moment. "That was anticlimactic."

"Maybe we should—" Sam started.

"Gentlemen? Sorry I'm late."

They turned to find another man standing behind their bench—this one also matching the description exactly. Same average height, same brown hair, same unremarkable face that probably got lost in crowds on a regular basis.

"The crystal archives were more heavily guarded than usual," he continued. "And then I had to deal with a Guild bureaucrat who apparently thought my paperwork needed to be filed in triplicate. In three different languages. With witnesses."

The man settled onto the bench and took a proper look at them for the first time. His eyes moved from Sam to Karion to Damus, then landed on Adom and stayed there.

"I was told the boss was young," he said slowly. "But wow." He tilted his head. "What are you, like, seventeen?"

"Nineteen, actually," Adom replied without any particular defensiveness.

"Well then." The man extended his hand. "Name's Kellan—false, of course, but it'll do for our purposes. Pleased to finally meet you, sir."

Adom shook his hand. "Likewise."

"Did you get a lead on our target?" Adom asked.

"I did indeed." Kellan lowered his voice slightly. "There's a place she went through. A slave market. It's possible some of the people there might have information about her movements. She bought quite a few slaves during her visit—warriors among them, from what I could gather."

Adom blinked. "Slave market?"

Kellan looked at him with mild surprise. "Ah. You really are new to elven territories, aren't you?" He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "This isn't the human kingdoms, sir. Elven society runs on different rules. The Silvandrosi especially have built entire economies on slavery. Has been that way for centuries."

"I wasn't aware this place had that, though," Adom said.

"Well, it's not exactly advertised." Kellan's tone took on a cynical edge. "They opened their borders to everyone about fifty years ago—good for trade, good for their reputation. But it would be rather bad for business if all those tourists from more... modern societies knew they still kept slaves. Most elves, especially the Silvandrosi, are quite conservative about their traditions. They just keep the ugly parts out of sight."

Sam and Karion exchanged glances. Damus closed his poetry book with a soft snap.

"So they hide it?" Adom asked.

"Very carefully. The market operates in the old district, down where the tree roots are thickest and the tourists don't usually wander. Perfectly legal by their laws, perfectly invisible to anyone who doesn't know where to look."

"How can we get there?" Adom asked.

"That's why I was late." Kellan reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch. "Getting these took longer than expected."

He opened the pouch and poured five smooth crystals into his palm. They were about the size of coins, each one carved with intricate runes that seemed to shift slightly in the light.

"Transportation crystals," Kellan explained. "Only locals and a few privileged people have access to these—they're distributed by the city council and tracked pretty carefully. The tourists are supposed to walk everywhere, experience the 'authentic tree city adventure' and all that."

He held up one of the crystals. "These are enchanted for specific levels of the tree. This set will take us down to the root market in seconds."

I was wondering what kind of legs these elves must have to make all that walking practical, Zuni's voice drifted from somewhere near Adom's shoulder. Glad that mystery is solved.

Adom smiled slightly.

"What are we waiting for then?" Karion asked.

"Nothing, really." Kellan tucked the crystals back into the pouch except for five, which he kept in his palm. "I've already arranged meetings with a few slave traders. Maybe we can have a productive conversation, pay them for their time and information." He looked at Adom. "You did bring the gold I requested?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." Kellan handed each of them a crystal. "Just press your thumb to the runes. The crystal already contains the needed mana to activate it. Should take us straight to the market."

Sam turned his crystal over in his hand, examining the runes. "How do we get back?"

"Same crystal works both ways. Press it again down there and it brings you back exactly where you left from." Kellan stood up from the bench. "Everyone ready?"

They all stood, crystals in hand.

"Press on three?" Damus suggested.

"Sure." Kellan counted down. "One... two... three."

They pressed their thumbs to the runes.

The world blurred and snapped back into focus. Adom's feet found solid ground without the nausea that came with portal travel. He'd have to figure out how to replicate that. Portals tore you apart and rebuilt you across vast distances—the longer the journey, the more time your consciousness spent scattered across the void, which explained the disorientation and sickness afterward. Crystals worked differently as they were designed for shorter hops.

There had to be a way to modify portal magic to reduce the trauma, maybe by creating smaller jumps or finding a gentler method of reconstruction.

"Well," Sam's voice cut through his thoughts. "We're here."

They were indeed.

The market sprawled before them in a vast hollow between the great tree's roots, lit by glowing fungi that cast everything in warm amber light. Vendors had carved their stalls directly into the living wood, creating an organic maze of commerce that seemed to breathe with the tree itself. The air carried the rich scents of roasted chestnuts, cinnamon bread, and exotic teas. Children ran between the stalls clutching sugar-dusted pastries while their parents examined bolts of silk and fine jewelry.

It looked like any prosperous market in any civilized city.

Except for the platforms.

Adom's gaze found the first auction block almost immediately. A human woman stood there with her hands bound behind her back, wearing a simple white shift that had clearly been chosen to display rather than conceal. The auctioneer—a well-dressed elf in burgundy velvet—was speaking to the small crowd gathered below.

"Note the excellent muscle tone," the elf said, running his hand along the woman's arm like he was examining a horse. "Twenty-three years old, all her teeth, no diseases. Previous owner reports she's literate in three languages and has basic healing knowledge."

He gripped her chin and forced her mouth open, displaying her teeth to the bidders. A few leaned forward for a better look. One asked a question about her temperament.

"Spirited when we acquired her," the auctioneer replied with a practiced smile. "But properly trained now. Observe."

He snapped his fingers. The woman immediately knelt, eyes fixed on the ground.

"Excellent obedience training. She'll make a fine addition to any household staff, or"—his voice took on a more suggestive tone—"for those seeking more personal companionship, she's proven quite... adaptable."

A middle-aged elf woman in the crowd raised her hand. "Has she been bred?"

"No children yet, but the previous owner's physician confirmed she's fertile. Perfect for establishing a breeding line if that's your intention."

The woman nodded thoughtfully, as if considering the purchase of a prize mare.

Adom's hands slowly curled into fists. On the platform, the human woman's face remained completely blank. Whatever had once lived behind her eyes had been methodically crushed.

To their left, another auction was concluding.

A young orc male, probably no older than sixteen, was being led away by his new owner—a portly elf merchant who was already discussing work assignments with his steward. The orc followed without resistance, but Adom caught the brief moment when his shoulders sagged in defeat.

A third platform featured a dwarf family. Father, mother, two children. They were being sold as a lot, the auctioneer explaining how keeping families together often improved productivity and reduced escape attempts. The children clung to their parents' legs while potential buyers discussed their mining experience and whether the investment in feeding four mouths would be worthwhile.

Adom noticed something else. Every face on every platform was human, orc, dwarf, halfling, or some other non-elven race. Not a single elf among the merchandise. The buyers, the auctioneers, the guards—all elves. The sold—everyone else.

The casual nature of it made his stomach turn. A well-dressed elven couple strolled past the dwarf family's auction, sharing a bag of candied nuts and debating whether to bid. They looked like they were considering buying a new dining set.

Sam had gone pale except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. His freckles stood out like paint spatters against white canvas. Karion's jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were standing out like cords. Even Damus, whose face usually carried a permanent frown, looked darker than Adom had ever seen him.

In Sundar, slavery had been abolished three thousand years ago when Law had helped unified the empire. The First Emperor had declared it "a disease upon the soul of civilization"—that no thinking being should own another, that the moment one person claimed absolute dominion over another, both became less than human. The philosophy had become so deeply embedded in their culture that even criminals condemned to hard labor retained basic rights and the possibility of redemption.

The few black market traders who still dealt in human flesh operated in absolute secrecy, knowing they'd face not just legal consequences but mob justice if discovered. Adom remembered a story from his childhood about slave traders found operating near the capital. The city guard had to protect them from the crowds long enough to reach trial.

Here, families brought their children to watch the auctions like it was entertainment.

The casual cruelty of it was worse than outright malice would have been.

Adom could buy them all, probably. Wangara's purse was heavy enough, and he could portal back to Sundar for more gold if needed. The thought gnawed at him as he watched the human woman being led away by her new owner, a thin elf in expensive robes who was already discussing her duties with a stern-looking steward.

But what would be the point?

Tomorrow there would be others. Next week, more shipments would arrive. The machine would keep grinding, feeding the endless demand that made slavery profitable. He'd save a few dozen people and condemn thousands more to take their places.

The real horror wasn't the individual cruelty—it was the system. The casual acceptance. The way slavery had been woven so seamlessly into elven society that it was simply part of the landscape, like the great tree itself.

"Keep your hoods up," Adom said quietly, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "Don't try anything."

"Smart advice," Kellan murmured. "The guards here don't ask questions first. And even if we could free everyone here today, there are five more markets just like this one in other parts of the city."

Five more. Adom felt something cold settle in his chest. This wasn't even the only one.

They walked deeper into the market, weaving between stalls selling everything from enchanted trinkets to exotic foods. The sounds of the auctions followed them—auctioneers calling out bids, the casual chatter of buyers discussing their purchases like livestock.

"We should do something about this," Karion said quietly, his voice tight with barely controlled anger.

"Focus on the mission," Adom replied without looking back.

"How can you stay calm in this situation?" Karion's voice rose slightly. "They're selling people like cattle."

Sam and Damus said nothing, but Adom could feel their tension. They were all wound tight as bowstrings.

This would be a problem if not addressed now.

Adom stopped walking and turned to face Karion. His expression was granite.

"You want to do something? Fine. Draw your weapon. Start a fight. Free a few slaves. Then watch as every guard in the city hunts us down, our mission fails, and by tomorrow morning they're selling twice as many people to make up for the lost revenue." His voice was level. "Stop acting like a child and letting your emotions override your common sense. Trying to play hero here would only antagonize them and make our mission infinitely more difficult."

Karion's face flushed. "So we just walk past like it's nothing?"

"You want change?" Adom stepped closer. "Real change? Then understand how systems actually work. They don't crumble because someone had a fit of conscience and struck a single heroic blow. They change when the foundations shift, when the economics stop working, when the people who benefit from them start seeing them as liabilities instead of assets. That takes time. That takes planning. That takes being smart instead of being righteous."

He gestured back toward the auction platforms. "Eventually, the day will come when things like this are seen as evil by everyone. But not today. And not because we risked our mission on a gesture."

The group remained silent. There was still defiance in their eyes, but it seemed contained now.

Good.

Adom turned and resumed walking. "Let's go."

Kellan led them toward a quieter section of the market where several well-dressed elves sat at small tables, conducting what looked like business meetings. The slave traders, Adom realized. The real power behind the platforms and auctions.

"The emotional outburst is understandable," Kellan said quietly as they approached. "But your friend was right to shut it down. These people have been doing this for centuries. They're not going to be shamed into stopping by a few angry foreigners."

A commotion erupted near one of the merchant tables. Shouting voices, the sound of something crashing to the ground, and then a clear voice rising above the noise.

"You're all sick! Every one of you! How can you sit there drinking wine while people are being sold like furniture?"

Adom turned toward the disturbance. An elf was being hauled to his feet by two burly guards, his fine clothes torn and a trickle of blood running from his split lip. He looked young, with deep amber eyes that burned with fury.

"This has to stop!" the elf shouted, struggling against the guards' grip. "We're supposed to be civilized! We're supposed to be better than this!"

One of the merchants he'd apparently been harassing stood up, brushing wine stains off his robes. "Get this lunatic out of here before he scares away my customers."

"You can't just ignore what's happening!" The young elf's voice cracked with desperation. "These are people! Thinking, feeling people with families and dreams and—"

A guard backhanded him across the face. The crack echoed through the immediate area.

"Enough," the guard growled. "You've caused enough trouble for one day."

"I'll keep causing trouble until you listen!" the elf spat blood. "Until someone with a conscience stands up and—"

The other guard drove his fist into the elf's stomach. He doubled over, gasping.

The nearby merchants and customers watched with mild interest, like they were observing street performers. A few shook their heads with the patient exasperation reserved for village idiots and ranting prophets.

"Poor thing," one elven woman murmured to her companion. "Completely lost his mind."

"Tragic, really," her friend agreed. "Such a good family too."

The guards began dragging the still-struggling elf toward what looked like an exit. His protests grew fainter as they hauled him away, but he kept shouting about justice and dignity until his voice disappeared into the market's general noise.

"Ah," Kellan said, watching the scene with something that might have been sympathy. "That would be Lyralei."

"Friend of yours?" Sam asked.

"In a manner of speaking." Kellan gestured for them to keep walking. "Tragic story, actually. He's the ninth son of House Brightleaf—one of the most powerful merchant families in the city. About seven years ago, his older brothers convinced him to take a little trip to the human territories. Told him it would be educational, help him understand the family business better."

They moved closer to the merchant tables, following Kellan's lead.

"Instead," Kellan continued, "they sold him to human slave traders. Kept him for a year before he managed to escape and make his way back home."

Karion's eyes widened. "His own brothers sold him?"

"Family politics among the merchant houses can get rather... cutthroat. Lyralei was always the idealistic one. His brothers decided he was a liability." Kellan's voice was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather. "The plan was probably to leave him gone permanently, but he had the poor taste to survive and return."

"And now he does this?" Damus nodded toward where the guards had dragged Lyralei away.

"Every few months. Shows up here, makes a scene, gets beaten and thrown out. The merchants tolerate it because his family still has influence, but they think he's gone completely mad from his experiences." Kellan paused. "Maybe he has. Slavery does things to people's minds."

Adom watched the exit where Lyralei had disappeared. Something about those amber eyes nagged at him, like a half-remembered dream. Had he seen the elf somewhere before? The face seemed familiar in a way that—

"Kellan!"

A jovial voice cut through his thoughts. One of the well-dressed merchants had spotted them and was rising from his table with a broad smile. He was a tall elf with silver hair and expensive rings on every finger, the kind of man who probably owned half the market.

"Master Oberys," Kellan replied with a respectful bow. "Good to see you again."

The merchant—Oberys—approached their group with a confident stride. His eyes moved over Adom and the othersas if he was evaluating them in terms of profit and loss.

"And who might these young gentlemen be?" Oberys asked, his smile never wavering.Chapter 161. Traditions

Chapter 160. Silvandros

The portal spat the boys out onto a platform of white marble that had been polished smooth by thousands of years of arrivals and departures. Adom's boots hit the stone with a solid thunk that echoed off the vaulted ceiling overhead, and for a moment he just stood there, letting his eyes adjust to the light.

Because there was a lot of light.

Adom bent over with his hands on his knees.

"Portal travel," he gasped, "is an abomination against nature and I will never get used to it."

"We know," Sam said, steadying himself against a carved pillar. "You've mentioned it. About a hundred times."

"The way it scrambles your insides," Adom continued, straightening slowly, "like someone took your organs and shook them violently–"

"Adom," Karion interrupted. "We get it. You hate portals. You're like an old man complaining about newfangled magic."

"I am an old man complaining about newfangled magic."

"You're nineteen," Damus pointed out.

"I'm ancient in spirit."

Around them, the portal chamber buzzed with activity.

The platform they'd arrived on was one of at least a dozen, each disgorging travelers with varying degrees of portal-induced nausea. The chamber itself sat at the base of what could only be described as the world's most aggressively beautiful tree.

It rose above them in spiraling curves of silver bark, its trunk easily two hundred feet across, its canopy disappearing into mist somewhere far overhead. Crystalline formations grew from the bark like frozen tears, each one catching and amplifying light until the entire space hummed with gentle radiance.

Silvandros.

"Well," Sam said from somewhere behind him, his voice pitched carefully neutral. "That's a tree."

"It's the Worldheart," said a cheerful voice in accented Common. "Been growing for about twelve thousand years now. Still got a few thousand left in her, the druids reckon."

Adom turned to find an elf in official-looking robes watching them. She carried a clipboard that appeared to be made of carved jade, and her smile had the quality of someone who'd given this speech roughly ten thousand times.

She wasn't alone. Several other officials moved through the crowd, checking documents and directing traffic. Behind them, Adom caught sight of guards in more serious-looking armor.

"First time in Silvandros?" she asked.

"Yes," Adom said.

"Excellent. I'll need to see your identification and documentation, please." She continued. "New security protocols, you understand."

They handed over their Phoenix Guild badges.

The elf examined each one carefully, running her fingers over the engravings and weaving what looked like verification spells with her fingers.

"Phoenix Guild," she said, making notes on her clipboard. "Adventuring party. Purpose of visit?"

"Dungeon work," Adom said. "We're here for jobs."

"Ah." She made another note. "Guild business, then. Any weapons to declare?"

"Just standard adventuring gear," Damus said.

"Magical items?"

"A few minor enchantments," Adom said. "Nothing dangerous."

The elf nodded and handed their badges back. "Everything seems to be in order. Welcome to Silvandros, capital of the Lyserian Kingdom and home of the Worldheart." She gestured toward the massive tree. "Been growing for about twelve thousand years now. Still got a few thousand left in her, the druids reckon."

"Security seems tight," Karion observed.

The elf's expression darkened slightly. "We had an incident a few months ago. Infiltrators using forged documents. The Council decided additional precautions were warranted." She brightened again. "But you gentlemen are clearly legitimate. You'll want to head up the Ascent Spiral, that's the walkway carved into the tree trunk, to reach the main city levels. Mind the guardrails, don't lean out too far to gawk, and whatever you do, don't try to break off pieces of crystal as souvenirs. The tree doesn't like that."

"The tree doesn't like that?" Karion asked.

"It is somewhat opinionated about people damaging it, yes." The elf made a final note on her clipboard. "Standard warning. You'll be fine as long as you show proper respect. Next!"

She moved on to a group of nervous-looking humans who were fumbling with their travel documents.

"So," Damus said, shouldering his pack. "Up we go?"

The Ascent Spiral turned out to be exactly what the elf had described: a walkway that wound around the interior of the massive trunk, climbing gradually toward the surface. What she hadn't mentioned was that the walls were translucent.

They could see the city through the wood.

Sam stopped walking entirely about fifty feet up, pressing his face against the smooth inner bark. "Are those buildings growing out of the tree?"

"Some of them," said a passing elf merchant, not bothering to slow down. "Others are built into the branches. Been that way for millennia."

Through the translucent wood, Adom could make out structures that defied any reasonable definition of architecture. Towers that spiraled like nautilus shells. Bridges that spanned great distances between branches, their supports so delicate they looked like spider silk. Gardens that hung in mid-air, their roots drinking directly from the tree's substance.

And everywhere, movement.

Elves going about their daily business in a city that had been growing and changing for thousands of years.

"How big is this place?" Karion asked, craning his neck to peer upward.

"The Worldheart has about three hundred levels," said another passing traveler, this one a dwarf in merchant's robes. "Most folks live between levels fifty and two hundred. Below that's too humid, above that's too windy."

"Three hundred levels," Sam repeated faintly.

"Give or take," the dwarf said cheerfully. "Depends how you count the sub-branches."

They climbed in silence for a while, passing massive gates at each level. The entrances were easily twenty feet tall, carved from the living wood and flanked by guards in ceremonial armor.

"Level twenty," announced a voice from somewhere in the walls. "Merchant quarter, portal administration, visitor registration. Please mind the gap."

A section of the wall melted away. About half their fellow travelers filed off, including the helpful dwarf merchant.

Around level thirty, Adom placed his palm against the translucent wall and closed his eyes. He reached out with his senses, the way he did with smaller trees and plants, feeling for the vast consciousness he knew lived within the Worldheart.

Hello, he said silently. Thank you for sheltering us.

The response was immediate—a presence so ancient and enormous it made him dizzy. But it said nothing. Just... listened. Acknowledged. Then deliberately turned its attention elsewhere.

Adom opened his eyes and pulled his hand back.

"What did it say?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," Adom said. "It's refusing to talk to me."

"Probably tired of tourists trying to chat it up," said a passing elf carrying a satchel of scrolls. "Gets dozens of attempts every day."

"Do people always insert themselves into other people's conversations without being invited?" Damus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Another dwarf climbing behind them snorted. "Son, you're walking up the inside of a tree with a hundred other people. If you don't want folks hearing your business, maybe try whispering. Or better yet, try shutting up entirely."

Sam burst out laughing. Karion covered his mouth to hide his grin. Even Adom couldn't help smiling.

"Fair point," Damus admitted.

They climbed higher, passing more gates and levels.

"Level thirty," came the announcement as they passed another set of imposing gates. "Artisan district, magical workshops, enchantment services."

"Level forty," the voice continued. "Temple quarter, houses of worship, diplomatic quarter."

The light changed as they rose, becoming softer and more golden. The sounds of the city filtered through the walls: voices, music, the distant ring of metal on metal that suggested workshops. Somewhere around this level, the smell of baking bread made Adom's stomach remind him they hadn't eaten since before dawn.

"Almost there," Adom said, checking the carved markers on the wall.

"Level forty-five," the wall-voice announced. "Adventurer district, guild offices, equipment services. Please mind the gap."

"Here we go," Damus said as a section of wall melted away, revealing their destination.

They joined a steady stream of adventurers heading toward the massive gates ahead. Adom recognized the types immediately—a party of orc fighters arguing loudly about weapon maintenance, a group of humans probably not sundarian, a mixed party that included what looked like a cinder and a half-orc.

Two elven guards flanked the entrance, checking badges and documents with the same thorough efficiency they'd encountered below.

"Phoenix Guild badges," one of the guards said when their turn came, examining each one carefully. "First time in Silvandros?"

"Yes," Adom said.

"Welcome to the Adventurer District. You'll find guild offices, equipment services, and accommodations suited to your profession." She handed their badges back and gestured toward the massive gates. "Proceed through the entrance."

But instead of the great gates swinging open, a much smaller door—maybe eight feet tall—melted out of the wood beside them. Adventurers filed through in an orderly line.

"Seriously?" Sam said, staring up at the enormous gates and then down at the human-sized opening. "They've got doors the size of castles and we're walking through the servants' entrance?"

"I mean, where's all this mana even coming from?" he continued, waving at the magical door. "The show-off magic, the melting walls, the talking announcements. If you've got a massive door, why not just use the massive door?"

"The tree provides the mana," said a dwarf ranger behind them, adjusting her crossbow. "Been doing it for thousands of years. The big doors are for ceremonies and emergencies. Day-to-day traffic uses the sensible entrances."

The boys exchanged glances and burst out laughing. Well, all of them except Damus.

"There it is again," The young man said.

"Thanks for the explanation," Adom said to the dwarf. "We're still getting used to how things work here."

"No problem," she said with a friendly nod. "First time in an elven city is always overwhelming."

They stepped through the smaller opening and into wonder.

The Adventurer District sprawled before them under an actual blue sky. Not a ceiling painted to look like sky—actual sky, complete with drifting clouds and warm sunlight that felt real on their faces.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks, causing a minor traffic jam. "How is there sky inside a tree?"

"It's not inside," Adom said, craning his neck to study the ceiling far above with [Riddler's Bane]. "Well, technically it is, but they've embedded thousands of transportation crystals and runic arrays into the heartwood. It forms one massive portal array that connects directly to the actual sky above the canopy."

Karion stared at him. "I keep forgetting you're as much of a nerd as Sam with all the badass stuff you do."

"Back in the Academy," Sam said with a grin, "we were called the Transcendent Nerds."

"That explains so much," Karion muttered.

The district itself was a marvel of organized chaos. Unlike the refined elegance of the lower levels, this area had a comfortable, lived-in feel to it.

Taverns spilled warm light and laughter onto cobblestone streets that curved to follow the natural grain of the wood. A blacksmith's forge sent sparks flying from an open workshop, and mixed among the elves were representatives of every race Adom could think of—humans, dwarves, halflings, cinders, and several species he didn't immediately recognize.

"This is more like it," Karion said, eyeing a tavern called The Wounded Wyvern where someone was playing what sounded like a very energetic drinking song.

"Guest accommodations first," Adom reminded him, though he had to admit the tavern looked inviting.

They found lodgings at an inn called The Heartwood Haven, run by a cheerful elf woman who clearly specialized in housing adventurers. The rooms were rustic but comfortable, carved from the living wood but furnished with practical amenities.

"Meals downstairs, baths are heated by the tree's own warmth, and try not to track monster guts through the common room," she said, handing them their keys. "We get enough of that from the regular clientele."

Through their windows, they could see the district in all its chaotic glory: training yards where adventurers sparred under the open sky, guild halls with their doors thrown wide, and everywhere the constant bustle of people preparing for their next expedition into whatever dangers lurked in the world's dungeons.

"Now this," Adom said, looking out at the scene, "feels like home."

*****

Adom sat on the edge of his bed, running a towel through his damp hair. The bathrobe the inn provided was surprisingly soft—some kind of elven weave that felt like wearing a cloud, if clouds were practical and came with pockets.

Definitely stealing this.

Eight hours since they'd arrived. Eight hours since he'd walked through a door melted out of a tree and into a district where the sky was real but also wasn't. His body had finally stopped feeling like his organs were trying to reorganize themselves into new and creative configurations.

Portal travel. Still an abomination.

The room itself was helping, though. There was a sweet scent that had been present since the moment he'd stepped inside—something floral but not cloying, probably magical, definitely effective. His shoulders had unknotted themselves somewhere around hour three, and he'd actually managed a decent nap before the bath.

Now came the work.

Adom reached for his travel pack and pulled out a leather portfolio that looked unremarkable from the outside. Inside were papers, letters, reports, and the accumulated detritus of a year spent chasing ghosts across half the known world.

He spread them across the bed in a pattern that would look like chaos to anyone else but made perfect sense to him. Reports from informants. Copies of merchant records. Sketches drawn from secondhand descriptions. A map with red marks indicating confirmed sightings and blue marks indicating probable locations.

And there, in the center of it all, a single letter in handwriting he'd memorized down to the curve of every letter.

I hope this finds you well. The weather here has been lovely, though I suspect that will change soon. Business has been good—better than expected, actually. I've made some new connections that might prove useful in the future. Take care of yourself.

—M

One year old. The last communication he'd received from her.

Adom picked up a more recent report, this one dense with details and expensive information. According to his sources in Silvandros—sources he'd have to track down and see later today—a woman matching Morgana's description had indeed been here.

She'd called herself Lady Aethel.

Light name, carefully chosen, probably pulled from some old poetry collection. She'd presented herself as an independent merchant with goods from the southern kingdoms, and she'd done it well enough that the local trade guild had given her full privileges.

But whoever trained her to hide her accent hadn't been quite good enough. Anyone with a practiced ear could catch the subtle inflections that marked her as Sundarian born, though she'd clearly worked hard to bury them. Most people wouldn't notice. Most people weren't looking for them.

Adom's informant had been looking.

The description clinched it. Blue eyes, dark curly hair, pale skin, and what the report described as a "feline gaze".

Morgana. It had to be.

She'd stayed seventeen days. Long enough to establish herself, make connections, gather information. Then she'd left at dawn with an entire company of soldiers.

The Sìlmaran Mithrellon. In Common, that translated roughly to "The Silver Leaf Company," though like most Elvish military terms, it lost something in translation. They were mercenaries, technically, but that was like calling a hurricane "technically weather." Elite didn't begin to cover it. These were the soldiers other soldiers told stories about around campfires.

Same caliber as Sundar's Iron Wolves.

Never lost a battle. Trained from childhood. The sort of outfit that kingdoms hired when they needed something done quietly and permanently.

Their captain was a man named Lucius Vaelthorne. Half-elven, which explained how he'd managed to establish himself in Lyserian territory. Sundarian mother, Lyserian father. Mixed heritage that let him move freely in both kingdoms while owing complete allegiance to neither.

More importantly, he'd served under General Soren before the man's death. Morgana's father. That connection explained a lot—loyalty to the family, probably guilt over surviving when his commanding officer hadn't, possibly genuine affection for the general's daughter.

It fit the pattern. Three years ago, Adom had tracked down another of Soren's former subordinates—a knight named Sir Bedivere of the Roaring Rock who'd been captured and sold into slavery. The authorities in Vethia had tried to keep it quiet, but money and patience had eventually loosened the right tongues.

During a major gladiator tournament, chaos had erupted in the arena. In the confusion, witnesses reported seeing a woman fleeing the city with the old knight and two companions—a young man and a boy. They'd made for the harbor and disappeared across the sea, never to be seen again.

The woman had spoken with a thick Sundarian accent. She'd also stopped at a merchant stand to buy drinks before the escape—Adom's own stand, as it happened.

It tracked.

Adom set the reports aside and leaned back against the headboard. The sweet scent in the room made thinking easier somehow, like it was designed to promote clear thought and peaceful contemplation.

Morgana was collecting her father's men. The question was why.

Three sharp knocks echoed through the room. Adom looked up from his reports, then over at the bed where Zuni had curled into a blue ball against the pillows.

"Wake up, friend."

The quillick stirred, one amber eye opening to peer at him with what could only be described as dignified annoyance.

I wasn't sleeping, Adom. I was merely resting my eyes in a horizontal position.

"You've been 'resting your eyes' since we arrived eight hours ago. Are you alright?"

Of course I'm alright. I'm simply old in quillick years. We age faster than you humans, you know. What would be middle age for you is practically ancient for my kind.

Adom chuckled despite himself. "Stop behaving like an old man."

I am an old man. Or old quillick, rather. Haven't you noticed how my blue quills have dimmed? They used to be bright as sapphires. Now they're more like... well, like old sapphires that someone left in a dusty drawer.

The observation hit harder than it should have. Adom looked at his companion—really looked—and saw what he'd been trying not to notice. The once-vibrant blue had indeed faded to a softer gray-blue, and there were white patches around Zuni's muzzle that hadn't been there a year ago.

Oh, don't look so melancholy. I've had a good life, better than most quillicks could hope for. I've seen more of the world than any of my cousins, learned three languages, and eaten more sweets than I ever thought possible.

Zuni paused, tail twitching thoughtfully.

Actually, no. One can never have enough sweets.

"Greed," Adom said, forcing lightness into his voice. "That's what your name should have been."

Sir Greed the Terrible. I rather like the sound of that.

They shared a laugh, but the sadness lingered as Adom walked to the door. He scooped Zuni up on the way, settling the quillick on his shoulder. If his old friend was indeed getting on in years, then every adventure mattered. Every memory counted.

Adom opened the door to find Sam, Karion, and Damus standing in the hallway, all dressed and clearly ready for something.

"Ready?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Let's go look for trouble."

Chapter 159. Morwyn's Malice

The boys moved down the stairs without discussion, their new silk robes literally whispering against the wooden steps. The voices below had gotten louder, more irritated, and whatever was happening wasn't improving.

What they found at the bottom made Adom pause on the last step.

Master Lǐ stood behind his counter, hands flat on the jade-inlaid surface, facing three young elves in what appeared to be academy robes. His posture was perfectly correct—respectful but not servile—but there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"The silk consortium delayed the shipment by two weeks," Master Lǐ was saying, his voice level. "I sent word immediately, but perhaps it didn't reach you."

The elf in the center—maybe twenty-five, with soft features that suggested he'd never missed a meal—tapped his fingers against his thigh in rapid succession. "Word. Yes. We received your word. Do you know what we did with your word?"

"I assume you read it, Young Master Liú."

"We threw it away." The elf's voice carried frustration laced with something sharper. "Because words don't help us when we're standing in front of the Selection Committee without our ceremonial robes."

Master Lǐ's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The ceremony was postponed—"

"That's not the point!" The second elf—this one thinner, nervous energy radiating off him—stepped forward. "The point is that we ordered these robes three months ago. Three months. And you've given us nothing but delays and excuses."

"Young Master Qián," Master Lǐ said carefully, "if you'd like to cancel the order and seek another tailor—"

"Another tailor?" The third elf laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it. "Do you think we're stupid? Do you think we don't know you're the only one in the district who works with Celestial Silk?"

"Then perhaps," Master Lǐ said, and Adom caught the edge in his voice now, "you might consider that quality work takes time."

The temperature in the room shifted.

Sam shifted beside Adom, and Adom caught his wrist without looking away from the scene below.

"We should—" Sam whispered.

Adom shook his head once. Sharp. Final.

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line, but he stayed put.

Young Master Liú's fingers stopped tapping. "Time. Yes. Let's talk about time." He moved around the counter with deliberate slowness. "Time is what we've given you. Patience is what we've shown you. And respect..." He stopped directly in front of Master Lǐ. "Respect is what you seem to have forgotten you owe us."

"I have shown you every courtesy—"

"Every courtesy?" The nervous elf—Qián—practically vibrated with indignation. "You sent a servant to deliver your last message. A servant. To the Liú family."

Master Lǐ's hands pressed harder against the counter. "My apprentice delivered the message because I was working on your robes."

"Your apprentice," Liú said slowly, "is not qualified to speak to us. Your apprentice should not even be allowed to look at us. And yet you sent him to our family compound like we were common merchants."

"That was not my intention—"

"Your intentions," the third elf said, speaking for the first time, "are irrelevant. What matters is what you did. What you continue to do."

This one was different from the other two. Older, maybe thirty by human standards. When he spoke, the other two deferred to him automatically.

"Senior Brother Wáng," Liú said, his voice immediately more respectful.

Wáng moved past his companions to stand directly in front of Master Lǐ. "We had preliminary interviews. Preliminary interviews where appearance matters." Wáng's voice never changed tone, never got louder, but somehow it filled the room. "Do you understand what that means for our chances at selection?"

"Answer him," Qián snapped.

"I do not, young master Wáng."

"We were marked down. Penalized. Because our appearance was deemed 'inappropriate for candidates of our standing.'" Wáng's voice never changed tone, never got louder, but somehow it filled the room. "Because we showed up in training robes instead of ceremonial silk."

"I understand your frustration—"

"Do you?" Wáng stepped closer. "Do you understand that Young Master Liú's family has been working toward this selection for three years? Do you understand that Young Master Qián sold family heirlooms to afford your fees? Do you understand what it means when we fail because of your negligence?"

The silence stretched out like a held breath.

Then Wáng looked up.

His eyes found Adom and his friends on the stairs, and the casual authority in his gaze was like being weighed and measured by something predatory. Not angry. Just... evaluating.

Liú and Qián followed his gaze, and suddenly the four friends were the center of attention.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Adom met Wáng's stare directly. Beside him, Sam had gone very still. Karion's hand had drifted toward his belt without him seeming to realize it. Damus was watching with cold focus, memorizing faces.

The moment stretched out, taut as a bowstring.

Then Wáng smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Customers," he said, never looking away from Adom. "How fortunate for you, Master Lǐ. More people to disappoint."

He turned back to the tailor, dismissing the foreigners.

"You have until tomorrow evening," Wáng said conversationally. "The robes will be perfect. The embroidery will be flawless. The fit will be exact. Because if they're not..."

He let the sentence hang.

"Senior Brother," Liú said, his voice carrying excitement, "perhaps we should explain to Master Lǐ what happens when respected families are embarrassed by tradesman incompetence."

"That won't be necessary," Wáng said, still watching Master Lǐ. "I'm sure Master Lǐ understands the consequences of continued failure."

Master Lǐ bowed. Just a slight inclination of his head, but it was acknowledgment.

"Excellent." Wáng stepped back, straightening his academy robes. "Tomorrow evening, then. Don't make us return to discuss this further."

He moved toward the door, and his companions fell in behind him like ducklings following their mother.

At the threshold, Wáng paused and looked back at Master Lǐ.

"Oh, and Master Lǐ? The shame you've brought to our families today... don't let it happen again. Some mistakes can't be forgiven twice."

The door closed behind them with a soft click that somehow sounded final. For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Sam exploded.

"How is that legal?" His voice cracked on the last word. "Is there no protection for merchants here? They assaulted him!"

Karion stepped down the remaining stairs, his face flushed. "We should have done something. That was—"

"No." Adom said calmly. "We shouldn't have."

Sam whirled on him. "Are you serious? Did you see what just happened? They threatened him. They—"

"I saw." Adom descended the stairs slowly, his expression neutral. "We're not home, guys. Laws aren't the same. Customs aren't the same. And however unfair it might seem, we don't meddle in other people's business unless our interests align."

"Our interests?" Karion's voice climbed higher. "What about basic human decency?"

"Basic human decency doesn't pay for our passage to Silvandros." Adom reached the shop floor and stopped in front of his friends. "It doesn't keep us from drawing unwanted attention. As humans, we already stand out enough without starting fights with locals."

Sam's hands clenched into fists. "So we just stand there and watch?"

"Yes."

The single word landed like a stone in still water.

Damus nodded slowly. "He's right. We're guests here. Unwelcome guests, if those three are any indication."

Zuni squeaked agreement from Adom's shoulder.

"That's—" Sam started.

"Practical." Master Lǐ's voice came from behind the counter, calm and measured. He was straightening bolts of fabric that had been knocked askew. "Your friend speaks wisdom."

Sam turned toward the old elf, his anger shifting targets. "How can you say that? They humiliated you in your own shop!"

Master Lǐ paused in his work, looking up with eyes that held no anger, no resentment. Just tired acceptance. "Young man, I have been in business for five hundred years. Do you think this is the first time someone has been... difficult?"

"Difficult?" Karion stepped forward. "They threatened you!"

"They expressed frustration with delayed orders." Master Lǐ's tone remained perfectly level. "Rather emotionally, perhaps, but understandably so."

"You're defending them?"

"I'm stating facts." Master Lǐ moved to another section of his inventory, checking each item. "They placed orders three months ago. Those orders were delayed due to circumstances beyond my control. They are understandably upset."

Sam stared at him. "They slapped you."

"Young Master Liú has always been... expressive when agitated." Master Lǐ touched his lip briefly, checking for blood. "The mark will fade."

"This is insane," Sam muttered.

"This is business," Master Lǐ corrected gently. "And I thank you for your concern on my behalf. It speaks well of your character. But I assure you, the situation is well in hand."

"How is it in hand?" Karion demanded. "They want those robes by tomorrow evening. You said yourself the silk was delayed."

Master Lǐ smiled, and for the first time since they'd entered his shop, it reached his eyes. "Ah, but I didn't say I didn't have the silk. I said it was delayed. Two very different things."

Adom raised an eyebrow. "You already have their robes?"

"Nearly finished, actually. I completed them yesterday." Master Lǐ moved behind his counter and pulled out a wrapped bundle. "Celestial Silk, hand-embroidered, fitted to their exact measurements."

The silence stretched out.

"Then why didn't you just give them to them?" Sam asked slowly.

Master Lǐ's smile turned slightly wicked. "Because Young Master Liú insulted my apprentice last month. Called him 'worthless peasant stock' and suggested I replace him with someone more... appropriate."

"So you made them sweat," Damus said, understanding dawning in his voice.

"I made them wait. There's a difference." Master Lǐ rewrapped the bundle carefully. "My apprentice is my sister's grandson. A good boy who works hard and shows respect to everyone who enters this shop. The young masters could learn from his example."

Karion laughed suddenly. "You magnificent bastard."

"Language, young lord." But Master Lǐ was still smiling. "I prefer 'experienced businessman.'"

"Will you deliver them tonight?" Adom asked.

"Tomorrow evening. Exactly as requested." Master Lǐ tucked the bundle back under his counter. "They specified the timing, after all. It would be rude of me to deliver early."

Sam shook his head slowly. "I don't understand anything about this place."

"You will," Master Lǐ said kindly. "Or you'll leave. Both are acceptable outcomes."

"Comforting," Sam muttered.

"Now then," Master Lǐ clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet shop. "I believe we were in the middle of fitting you gentlemen for proper attire. Shall we continue?"

*****

The afternoon sun felt good on their faces after the dim interior of Master Lǐ's shop. Sam adjusted his new robes, running his fingers over the fine silk with obvious appreciation.

"Maybe we should have gotten the same artifact as Zuni," he said, watching a group of elves cross the street without sparing them a glance. "Look like locals instead of standing out like sore thumbs."

Zuni chittered from Adom's shoulder, flicking his tail in what might have been amusement.

"Those artifacts don't scale well," Adom said. "The bigger the person, the less stable the illusion becomes. Works fine on something Zuni's size, but a full human? Anyone with half a brain would spot the inconsistencies."

Sam tilted his head. "What kind of inconsistencies?"

"Look at him closely." Adom gestured toward the squirrel. "The proportions are slightly off. His tail's too thick. His ears sit wrong. On a quick glance, he passes, but if you actually study him..."

Sam leaned closer to Zuni, who obligingly turned his head to show off his profile. After a moment, Sam blinked. "Huh. You're right. His face is too... structured? For a squirrel."

"Exactly. Now imagine that effect on a six-foot human trying to pass for an elf. Every movement would scream 'disguise.'"

Karion pulled at his collar, which was still slightly too tight despite Master Lǐ's adjustments. "Still getting stares anyway."

"Fewer than before," Damus pointed out. "At least now they're just curious looks instead of outright hostility."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, navigating the streets. The city around them buzzed with activity—merchants hawking wares, children running between market stalls, elves conducting business.

"So," Damus said eventually, "where do we go now?"

Adom stopped at a street corner, letting a cart loaded with exotic fruits pass before answering. "According to my information, Morgana was last seen in Silvandros. That's our next destination."

"How do we get there?" Karion asked.

"Portal. It's the only reliable way from here to there." Adom checked the position of the sun, calculating time. "Opens in two days."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Two days? That's pretty specific."

"The portal network runs on a schedule. Silvandros portal opens every five days, stays active for six hours, then closes again." Adom started walking again, leading them toward what looked like an inn district. "We don't want to miss it."

"What happens if we do?" Damus asked.

"We wait five more days. Or we find another way, which would involve traveling through some very unpleasant territory on foot."

"How unpleasant?" Sam's voice carried a note of concern.

"The kind where people don't come back."

They walked another block in contemplative silence.

"Two days," Karion mused. "What do we do until then?"

"Find a place to sleep," Adom said. "Stay out of trouble. Try not to draw any more attention than we already have."

"Define 'trouble,'" Sam said.

"Anything that involves students, city guards, or people who look like they have more money than sense."

"So basically everyone we've met so far."

"You're learning."

They turned down a street lined with buildings that had the distinctive look of inns and boarding houses—multiple stories, wide doors, and the slightly worn appearance that came from hosting travelers.

"This looks promising," Damus said, pointing to a three-story building with a painted sign depicting a crescent moon over a bed.

"The Lunar Rest," Karion read. "Subtle."

"Subtle works," Adom said. "Let's see if they have rooms."

*****

In his past life, Adom had known a man named Garrett Voss.

Voss had been a Farmusian soldier—captured during the Siege of Redwall, both legs taken by a Sundarian mage's lightning bolt that had split him from hip to ankle. The field surgeons had done what they could, which wasn't much. What remained of Garrett Voss came to the military hospital in a wheelchair that squeaked with every turn of its iron wheels.

The war had a use for broken soldiers.

The mage corps needed test subjects for their experimental healing magic, volunteers who were already damaged and had nothing left to lose.

They'd given Voss a choice: submit to the experiments, or face execution as a prisoner of war. He'd chosen the experiments, of course. He was terrified of death—had admitted as much during one of their late-night conversations, his voice shaking as he described nightmares about the void that waited beyond.

Adom had been one of the head researchers then, studying Lifedrain Syndrome and using live patients like Voss for his experiments. He'd spent years in his own wheelchair, rolling between laboratory tables and hospital beds, his body already ravaged by the same condition he was trying to cure.

At first, their interactions had been purely professional.

Adom would explain the procedures, Voss would nod and submit to whatever was required. But somewhere between the third failed attempt at regenerating nerve tissue and the fifteenth experimental pain relief potion, the formality had cracked. Maybe it was the shared experience of watching their bodies betray them. Maybe it was the way other people looked at them—with pity, discomfort, the careful avoidance that healthy people showed the irreparably broken.

They'd started talking during the long hours between procedures.

Voss had been a scholar before the war, drafted into service when Farmus ran out of willing bodies. He spoke four languages, could recite poetry from memory, and knew more about ancient folklore than most academy professors. Adom found himself lingering after each session, discussing everything from ancient texts to the philosophical implications of magical healing.

It had been almost companionable, in its way. Two broken men finding something like friendship in the sterile halls of military medicine.

Then one evening, after a particularly brutal day of failed experiments and mounting frustration, Voss had said something that lodged itself in Adom's memory like a splinter.

"There's an old Fae legend," Voss had said, while rain drummed against the hospital windows and Adom adjusted the monitoring crystals around his bed. "About a principle they called Morwyn's Malice. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong, and always at the worst possible moment."

Adom had laughed, though it hurt his ribs. "Sounds about right."

"The trick," Voss continued, his voice getting softer as the pain medication took hold, "is to convince yourself so completely that something will work, that it actually does. Belief so absolute it becomes reality. It's the only way to fight the malice."

That was the last conversation they'd had. The next morning, Adom had wheeled himself into the laboratory to find Voss's bed empty and cleaned. The other researchers said the treatment had been "concluded." They'd brought in a new subject by afternoon.

They'd moved Voss to the terminal ward—the place where subjects went when the experiments had extracted all they could and the body had nothing left to give. It was a quiet corridor lined with narrow beds, where broken test subjects waited for death to claim what the war and magic had already destroyed.

Adom had found him there three days later, panicked and crying, his breathing shallow and labored. The healing experiments had left his body unable to sustain itself—organs failing one by one, systems shutting down in a cascade of biological collapse. The medical staff had done what little they could for comfort, but there was no reversing what had been done.

Voss had grabbed Adom's hand with fingers that felt like brittle twigs, his eyes wide with the terror that had always haunted him. "Don't forget me," he'd whispered, tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks. "Please. I'm the last one left of my family. Don't let me just be a number when I'm gone."

Adom had stayed with him through those final hours, watching as fear gave way to exhaustion, as the desperate gasping slowed to stillness. He'd closed Voss's eyes himself, and when the orderlies came to remove the body, he'd made sure they wrote the name in the ledger.

Adom had remembered. Remembered Garrett Voss, not Subject 0956.

Now, years later and a lifetime away from those sterile hospital corridors, Adom found himself thinking of Voss's words again. The Fae legend had stayed with him through death and rebirth, a piece of wisdom that felt more relevant with each passing day.

If Morwyn's Malice truly governed the world, if everything that could go wrong would go wrong at the worst possible moment, then perhaps absolute belief that it wouldn't really was the only defense.

For the first day in Lì Shān, this strategy worked perfectly.

They'd spent their time like proper tourists—visiting the Jade Gardens where Sam had gotten into a heated discussion with a gardener about soil composition, browsing the artifact markets where Karion had nearly bought a flying sword, and sampling street food that made Damus nostalgic for his grandmother's cooking. Zuni had attracted more attention than the rest of them combined, with several elven children following them around just to watch the "exotic foreign squirrel" perform tricks.

It had been, against all odds, fun.

Then Morwyn's Malice decided to show its teeth.

The first sign was the newsboys.

Adom noticed them on the second morning—young elves running through the streets shouting headlines in voices that carried farther than they should have. He caught fragments as they hurried past the Lunar Rest.

"—Emperor's declaration expected by week's end—"

"—Qínglóng considers alliance—"

"—Farmusian delegation arrives tomorrow—"

Adom bought a broadsheet from one of them and spread it on the table in their shared room while the others finished breakfast. The headline was written in the flowing script of formal Elvish, but the meaning was clear enough.

"Problem?" Damus asked, noting Adom's expression.

"Maybe." Adom folded the paper carefully. "The Qínglóng Empire is considering an alliance with Farmus."

Farmus had been at war with Sundar for five years.

"Oh." Karion set down his spoon. "That's bad."

"If Qínglóng declares for Farmus, we go from foreign tourists to enemy nationals." Adom tucked the broadsheet into his travel pack. "Overnight."

"How likely is that to happen?" Damus asked.

"Depends on what the Farmusian delegation is offering. And what they're threatening."

They'd spent the rest of the day indoors, playing cards and pretending to read books from the inn's collection while Adom listened to every conversation in the common room. The news wasn't encouraging. The Farmusians had brought gold, trade agreements, and promises of military support against something called the "Eastern Incursion." In exchange, they wanted Qínglóng's formal alliance and access to their portal network.

It was a good offer. Too good.

"They're scared," Adom had murmured to Damus while Sam and Karion argued over whether three sevens beat a pair of dragons. "Farmus wouldn't offer this much unless they were desperate."

But Morwyn's Malice had another weakness.

It only struck when you were committed to a course of action you couldn't change. The solution was simple: don't commit. Stay flexible. Keep your options open.

So when the innkeeper mentioned that the portal schedule might be "subject to governmental review" starting next week, Adom made sure they were first in line the next morning.

When rumors started circulating about new restrictions on foreign travel, Adom had their packs ready and their bills paid.

When the newsboys started shouting about "emergency sessions" and "immediate declarations," Adom led his friends through the pre-dawn streets to the portal district.

The portal platform stood in the center of a circular plaza, surrounded by carved pillars that hummed with contained energy. A queue had already formed despite the early hour—mostly merchants and travelers who'd heard the same rumors Adom had. The portal itself was nothing impressive to look at, just a circular archway of black stone with runes carved around its edges. But every five days, for exactly six hours, it would shimmer and open onto somewhere else entirely.

They took their place at the front of the line. Adom checked their travel documents one more time while Zuni perched on his shoulder, tail twitching with nervous energy.

"Portal opens in a minute," the queue supervisor announced in accented Common. "Have your papers ready. No contraband, no animals larger than a squirrel."

Zuni squeaked indignantly.

"Present company excepted," the supervisor added with a small smile.

Adom settled in to wait. Around them, the city was waking up. Smoke rose from chimneys, shops opened their doors, and the first newsboys appeared with what were probably the morning's final headlines before everything changed.

But they'd be gone before any of that mattered. Morwyn's Malice could go find someone else to torment.

Chapter 158. Lì Shān

"LAND HO!"

The shout cut through Adom's sleep like a blade through silk.

He stirred in his hammock, the familiar sway of the ship beneath him giving way to something different—a subtle change in the rhythm that his body registered before his mind caught up.

The air had changed too. Where before it had carried nothing but salt and open ocean, now there was something else. Something with an undertone that made the hair on his arms stand up.

Magic. Dense enough to taste.

He rolled out of the hammock and made his way topside, squinting against the morning light. The deck was buzzing with activity, crew members pointing and chattering in excited voices.

"Would you look at that," one of the sailors was saying. "Never gets old, seeing it for the first time."

Adom reached the rail where Sam, Karion, and Damus stood looking out at the horizon. What he saw there made him understand the sailor's comment.

The land rising from the sea ahead of them looked like someone had taken a mountain range and decided that gravity was more of a suggestion than a law. Peaks floated in mid-air, connected by bridges of what appeared to be crystallized light. Waterfalls cascaded from nowhere, their sources lost in clouds that glowed with soft, internal luminescence. And threading between it all, tiny figures moved through the air with impossible grace.

"These guys are so different from us," Sam said, his voice carrying a note of awe.

Karion was practically vibrating with excitement. "They're cool! Look at that—they fly on swords. Literal swords. Why are we still flying with nothing or on brooms?"

"Because brooms work," Damus said without taking his eyes off the approaching coastline. "They're reliable, efficient, and they don't require you to balance on a sharp piece of metal."

"That's lame." Karion waved dismissively. "I'm going to enchant my mace to fly on it. Imagine the intimidation factor."

"Imagine the medical bills," Damus replied dryly. "Brooms have centuries of safety enchantments built into them. Weight distribution, stability charms, emergency landing protocols—"

"Boring safety features for boring people."

"Practical safety features for people who want to keep their internal organs internal."

"You sound like my grandfather. 'Oh Karion, don't climb the dragon statue, you might fall.' 'Oh Karion, don't weave fire spells indoors, you might burn down the house.'"

"Did you burn down the house?"

"That's not the point."

"It sounds like exactly the point."

"Look, all I'm saying is that if I'm going to fly through the air, I want to do it with style. A mace is stylish. A broom is what my grandmother uses to clean the kitchen."

Damus, Adom, and Sam all turned to look at Karion.

"What?"

"Aren't you a Dimitri?" Adom asked.

"Yeah?" Karion looked confused. "Why?"

"Like, one of the noblest of noble families in the empire?" Sam added.

Karion's chest puffed up slightly, though he tried to look casual about it. "I mean, we manage."

"Your grandmother cleans the kitchen herself?" Damus asked slowly. "With a broom?"

"Oh, that." Karion waved a hand. "She used to be a commoner. Grandfather met her in some tiny village when he was traveling incognito to avoid an arranged marriage. Love at first sight, apparently. She was hanging laundry and told him to move because he was blocking her clothesline." His expression softened just a bit. "He proposed three days later. Caused the biggest scandal in House Dimitri history until then."

"And she still cleans?" Sam asked.

"Says idle hands are the devil's playground. Refuses to let the servants touch her personal quarters." Karion shrugged. "Grandfather never tried to change her. Says it's part of why he fell in love with her in the first place. Anyway, point is, brooms are lame."

Damus raised an eyebrow. "So you want to abandon centuries of proven flight technology because your grandmother uses a broom to clean?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds stupid."

"It sounds stupid when you put it any way."

"Look, she's also never intimidated anyone in her life with that broom."

"I met your grandmother. She's terrifying."

"That's different. That's just personality. I'm talking about visual impact."

Adom found himself grinning as he listened to them argue.

Zuni, perched on his shoulder, made a small sound that might have been amusement. They do this often?

"Every chance they get," Adom murmured.

"Besides," Karion was continuing, "imagine the psychological warfare potential. Enemy sees you coming, thinks 'oh no, it's a guy with a sword, I can handle that.' Then you land and pull out a mace instead. Boom. Instant confusion."

"Or," Damus said patiently, "they think 'look, an idiot balancing on a weapon' and shoot you down before you get close enough for psychological warfare to matter."

"Details."

"Important details."

"You're just jealous because House Lightbringer is too dignified for creative flight solutions."

"House Lightbringer is too intelligent for creative flight solutions."

"Same thing."

"Not even remotely the same thing."

The ship was drawing closer to shore now, and Adom could make out more details of the floating city ahead. Lì Shān, according to the captain. A major trade hub for this part of the elven territories, and their first stop on the way to Silvandros. Where Morgana had been seen last.

"So what do you think?" Sam asked, nodding toward the approaching docks. "Ready to see how the other half lives?"

Adom watched a group of elven traders glide past on what appeared to be crystalline platforms, their robes flowing in defiance of any wind he could feel. "Should be interesting."

The gangplank hit the dock with a solid thunk, and Adom shouldered his pack as they prepared to disembark. Captain Henris stood near the rail, checking his manifest one final time.

"Captain," Adom said, extending his hand. "Thank you for the passage. Smooth sailing."

"My pleasure, Law," Henris replied, using the name from Adom's adventurer credentials. The Phoenix Guild badge had gotten them aboard without questions, which was exactly how these things were supposed to work. Guild affiliations were confidential by design—no real names, no personal details, just proof that you were legitimate enough to book passage and pay your bills.

The captain pocketed the gold coins Adom handed him, then gestured toward the bustling dock. "Few things you'll want to know before you head into Lì Shān. Currency here is jade, not gold. See that pavilion over there with the green banners? That's where you exchange. Fair rates, no funny business."

"Appreciated," Adom said.

"Also," Henris continued, lowering his voice slightly, "you might want to consider picking up some local robes. Nothing fancy, just something to blend in better. Elves notice foreign clothing, and trust me, you don't want to stand out more than you already will."

Karion looked down at his traveling clothes. "What's wrong with what we're wearing?"

"Nothing wrong with it. It just screams 'Sundarian tourists' to anyone with eyes." Henris scratched his beard. "Speaking of which, be careful around the young masters from the grand families. And the mage school students. They get... touchy about perceived slights."

"Touchy how?" Damus asked.

"Like, they'll slap you in the face for looking at them wrong, touchy."

Sam blinked. "I heard stories about that, but I always thought they were exaggerations."

"Wish they were. Saw a kid get backhanded last month because he didn't bow deep enough when some young lord walked past." Henris shook his head. "Elves can be quite emotional when their pride's involved."

"Emotional enough to start fights in public?" Adom asked.

"Emotional enough to start fights anywhere. The authorities usually side with whoever has the fancier robes, so just... keep your heads down and don't make eye contact unless you're buying something."

Karion snorted. "Sounds delightful."

"It's not so bad once you know the rules. Just remember—bow when in doubt, speak softly, and if someone starts getting aggressive, apologize immediately and walk away." Henris clapped Adom on the shoulder. "Safe travels, Law. Hope you find what you're looking for."

They made their way down the gangplank onto the dock, their boots clicking against polished stone that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light. The air was thick with the scent of incense and something floral that Adom couldn't identify.

Around them, elven dock workers moved with efficient grace, their robes flowing as they directed cargo and passengers. Most barely glanced at the new arrivals, but Adom caught a few curious looks directed their way.

"Well," Sam said, adjusting his pack straps, "when in Lì Shān..."

"Let's go find those robes," Damus finished.

The exchange pavilion was exactly where Captain Henris had said it would be, marked by green banners that fluttered in a breeze that seemed to carry hints of jasmine and something metallic. The woman behind the jade-inlaid counter looked up as they approached, her dark eyes curious but friendly.

She was different from the elves Adom was used to seeing back in Sundar. Her features were more angular, with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes that seemed to hold depths of ancient knowledge. Her black hair was pulled back in an elaborate knot secured with what appeared to be carved jade pins, and her robes were a deep emerald that brought out the subtle golden undertones in her skin.

"Welcome to Lì Shān," she said in accented Common, her voice carrying the musical quality that seemed universal among elves. "First time in Qínglóng?"

"Yes," Adom replied, pulling out his coin purse. "We're looking to exchange Sundarian gold for local currency."

"Ah, travelers from the western continent." She smiled, revealing teeth that were perfectly white. "The exchange rate today is quite favorable. Fifteen jade pieces per imperial gold."

It had taken them four days to reach this point, and Adom was still feeling the effects of the journey. Three different ships, each smaller and more cramped than the last, plus two portal jumps that had left his stomach somewhere back in the previous timezone. Qínglóng was a long way from Sundar, far enough that the very air felt different here.

The elf—her nameplate read 'Míng Yuè'—counted out their jade pieces with practiced efficiency. The currency itself was beautiful, each piece carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when you looked at them directly.

"Might I suggest the Flowing Silk establishment for clothing?" she asked as she handed over their exchanged currency. "Master Lǐ has the finest selection of robes for foreign visitors. Tell him Míng Yuè sent you, and he'll treat you fairly."

"Thank you," Adom said, pocketing the jade. "Any other advice for first-time visitors?"

"Keep your voices low in the market district, bow to anyone in mage robes, and avoid the tea houses after sunset unless you're looking for trouble." Her smile turned slightly mischievous. "Also, the street food near the third tier is excellent, but don't let them talk you into the 'special spice blend' unless you enjoy feeling like your tongue is on fire for three days."

They thanked her and made their way through the dock district toward the market.

The streets were paved with the same shimmering stone as the docks, and everywhere Adom looked, he saw signs of a culture that had seamlessly blended magic into daily life. Street lamps that glowed without flame, fountains that defied gravity by flowing upward, and vendors selling everything from crystallized lightning to what appeared to be bottled moonbeams.

"This place is incredible," Sam said, nearly walking into a lamppost because he was too busy staring at a shop window displaying floating scrolls.

"Focus," Damus said, though he was doing his own share of gawking. "We need those robes before we start looking like complete tourists."

"Too late for that," Karion muttered, dodging around a group of elven children who were playing some sort of sword game.

The Flowing Silk establishment turned out to be exactly what they needed. The shop was three stories tall, with robes hanging from enchanted displays that rotated slowly to show off the intricate embroidery. Master Lǐ himself was a elderly elf with silver-streaked hair and hands that moved like water as he gestured toward different sections of his inventory.

"Ah, human visitors from the west," he said, looking them up and down. "Míng Yuè sent you, yes? Good, good. Let me guess. You need something that won't mark you as complete outsiders, but nothing too elaborate. Simple scholar robes, perhaps? Or traveling merchant style?"

Adom looked around the shop, taking in the organized chaos of silk and cotton in every color imaginable. "Whatever you think would help us blend in."

"Practical choice," Master Lǐ nodded approvingly. "Come, come. Let us find you something appropriate for walking among civilized beings."

Karion was already fingering a deep blue robe with silver threading. "How much for this one?"

"For a mage of your standing? Quite reasonable," Master Lǐ replied without missing a beat.

Sam looked up from examining a display of jade buttons. "How did you know we were mages?"

Master Lǐ smiled, the expression crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Oh, my young friend, I have been in this business for five hundred years. You learn to read the signs."

"What signs?" Damus asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, for starters, you all wear enchanted spectacles that allow you to read our script. Most tourists struggle with the writing, but you four have been reading every sign and label without hesitation." He gestured toward Sam's glasses. "Those particular enchantments have a very subtle blue shimmer when they activate. Barely noticeable, but I notice everything."

Adom became aware of Zuni shifting on his shoulder. He'd made an artifact for the quillick to take the form of a small squirrel for this trip, complete with bushy tail and twitching whiskers. To most observers, he would appear to be a perfectly normal familiar.

"Also," Master Lǐ continued, moving to a rack of earth-toned robes, "your friend there carries himself like nobility but examines prices like a merchant. Your tall friend has the posture of someone trained in formal magic combat. And you," he looked directly at Adom, "have the bearing of someone accustomed to leadership, but you defer to the group's decisions. Classic adventuring party dynamics."

"Impressive," Adom said.

"Plus, your little squirrel friend there is far too interested in the flame-resistant fabrics for a normal animal," Master Lǐ added with a knowing glance at Zuni. "Shapeshifting artifacts are great yet so easy to detect."

Zuni chittered indignantly, which only made the old elf chuckle.

"Do not worry, little one. Your secret is safe. Now then," he clapped his hands together, "let us get you properly attired. I suggest earth tones for you three, and perhaps something in deep green for the young lord. Nothing too flashy, but well-made enough that you won't be mistaken for beggars."

"How can you tell I'm--" Karion started.

Master Lǐ just smiled.

Damus opened his mouth to ask something, caught the old elf's expression, and thought better of it.

Sam looked between his companions and the shopkeeper, then decided some questions were better left unasked.

"Right then," Master Lǐ said, seemingly pleased with their sudden understanding. "Let us get you properly clothed before you accidentally offend someone important with your foreign attire."

The elf led them up a narrow staircase to the fitting area, where mirrors lined the walls and silk samples hung in cascading waterfalls of color. The robes he'd selected were laid out on a low table—rich fabrics that caught the light and seemed to shimmer with their own inner glow.

"The cut is traditional," Master Lǐ explained as they examined the garments. "Wide sleeves for freedom of movement, but not so wide as to mark you as ceremonial scholars. The belt placement will indicate your social standing without being presumptuous."

Adom lifted his robe—deep charcoal silk with subtle silver threading along the seams. It was heavier than he'd expected, the fabric substantial between his fingers. "This is beautiful work."

"Five hundred years of practice," Master Lǐ said simply. "The young lord's green will complement his coloring nicely, and—"

From downstairs came the sound of the shop door banging open, followed by voices that carried clearly through the wooden floors.

"Master Lǐ! MASTER LǏ! Where are you, old man?"

The tailor's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment. Please, try on the robes. I'll return shortly."

His footsteps were measured as he descended the stairs.

"We know you're here, Lǐ!" another voice called out, sharper than the first. "Don't make us wait!"

The four friends exchanged glances. Sam was already holding up his earth-brown robe, examining the intricate knotwork that secured the collar.

"Should we...?" Karion began quietly.

"He can handle himself," Adom said, though he moved closer to the top of the stairs. "Let's see what we're working with."

The robes transformed them.

Where moments before they'd been obviously foreign travelers, now they looked like they belonged—not quite locals, but at least civilized visitors. The silk moved like water, the colors muted but rich.

"These feel expensive," Damus said, adjusting the green robe's wide sleeves. The fabric fell in perfect folds, the cut emphasizing his natural bearing.

"They probably are," Sam replied, running his hands down the smooth silk of his brown robes. "Worth it though. I actually feel respectable."

Karion was admiring himself in the bronze mirror, turning to catch how the blue fabric caught the light. "Naia would love these. All that craftsmanship and detail work."

"Still on about that?" Sam asked, glancing up from adjusting his belt.

"It's been years, Karion," Damus said mildly. "She's made her position pretty clear."

Adom nodded. "I respect her for sticking to her boundaries. And I respect you for not being a pest about it."

"I'm not giving up," Karion said, but without any real heat. "I just... admire her persistence in saying no."

"That's one way to put it," Sam muttered.

Karion's expression shifted, a sly look creeping across his face. "Wait a minute. Speaking of persistence..." He turned to Adom. "What about you and that girl from the farm? The wind elementalist with the green eyes?"

The other two perked up immediately.

"Oh, right!" Sam snapped his fingers. "What was her name again?"

"There wasn't a girl," Adom said quickly.

"Cyrel," Sam said triumphantly. "That was it. Cyrel."

Damus just smiled, which somehow made it worse.

His friends had been convinced for months that he and Cyrel were secretly dating.

They weren't.

There had never been any romantic feelings between them—she was the witch's daughter, and Adom had no desire to get entangled in that particular web. But he couldn't exactly explain that his frequent visits to the farm were because of the dryads, or that his trips to the weird stuff shop were to check on Mr. Biggins, who happened to be a dragon. So he'd learned to let his friends draw their own conclusions.

"It was a misunderstanding," Adom said.

"How's it a misunderstanding when you found every excuse to visit that weird stuff store?" Karion pressed. "And somehow you always needed to stop by the farm afterward."

"You were there every other day for weeks," Sam added.

"I had business there."

"Right," Karion said. "Business. With Cyrel."

"Not with Cyrel."

"Then why did you always ask if she was working when you went to the shop?" Damus asked mildly.

Adom opened his mouth, then closed it.

Sam was grinning now. "It's just funny because you're always so serious about everything. We never thought we'd see you get all... careful around anyone."

"I wasn't being careful."

"You definitely were," Karion said. "At least you tried, though. Unlike some people." He shot a meaningful look at Damus.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Adom asked, grateful for the redirect.

"Damus has never even talked to a girl he liked," Sam said. "Mr. Perfect over here."

Damus shrugged. "I'm seeing someone, actually."

The room went dead silent.

"What?" Karion's voice cracked slightly.

"Since when?" Sam demanded.

"You're what now?" Adom stared at his friend.

Before Damus could answer, a voice boomed from downstairs: "YOU DARE!"

The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the building.

Chapter 157. Second Mission

"Take me with you!" Bennu announced before Adom had even finished with his left shoe.

Adom paused, lace halfway through the eyelet. "No."

"But I could be very helpful," Bennu pressed, perched on the windowsill with his tail feathers spread for maximum dramatic effect. "I can fly, I'm fireproof, and I have excellent eyesight."

"Still no." Adom moved to his right shoe.

Ada burst through the door like a small tornado, still in her nightgown with her hair sticking up in every direction. "What are we talking about?"

"Adom's new mission," Bennu explained. "I was just listing all the reasons he should bring me along."

Ada's eyes went wide. "You're going on another mission? Can I come? Can I come? Can I come?"

"No," Adom said, finishing his laces and standing up.

"Why not?" Ada demanded, bouncing on her toes.

"Because you're five."

"So? I'm very mature for my age!"

"You tried to brush your teeth with jam yesterday."

"That was an experiment!"

Bennu tilted his head thoughtfully. "Actually, Ada makes an excellent point about being mature. And I'm technically older than all of you combined, so—"

"Age doesn't work that way for phoenixes," Adom interrupted, reaching for his travel pack. "And the answer is still no."

They followed him out of his room in a determined parade. Ada had to take three steps for every one of his, but she kept up through sheer stubborn enthusiasm.

"What if we promised to be really, really good?" she asked.

"No."

"What if we promised to be quiet?"

"No."

"What if we promised to only talk when absolutely necessary for mission success?"

Adom glanced at Bennu. "You've been coaching her."

"I may have provided some strategic guidance," Bennu admitted.

They reached the bathroom door. Adom put his hand on the handle and looked back at his persistent shadows.

"This is where I draw the line," he said.

"We could wait right here," Ada suggested brightly. "Like guards!"

"Silent guards," Bennu added. "Protecting the perimeter."

Adom studied them both. Ada was practically vibrating with excitement, and Bennu's golden eyes held the kind of hopeful determination that suggested this conversation was far from over.

"Right," he said, and closed the door.

Their voices came through immediately.

"Do you think he's weakening?" Ada whispered.

"Difficult to assess," Bennu replied in what he probably thought was a whisper but was actually perfectly audible. "Human resolve can be quite variable."

"What's resolve?"

"Stubbornness, but fancier."

"Oh. Adom has lots of that."

When Adom emerged, they were exactly where he'd left them, though Ada had apparently used the time to attempt some kind of elaborate hairstyle that made her look like she'd been electrocuted.

"Ready for phase two of negotiations," she announced.

"There is no phase two," Adom said, walking toward the next bathroom.

"There's always a phase two," Ada replied with the confidence of someone who had clearly been talking to Bennu too much.

"That's very wise," Bennu said approvingly. "Persistence is key to successful diplomacy."

"What's diplomacy?"

"Asking for things in a fancy way until people say yes."

Adom paused at the next bathroom door. "That's not what diplomacy means."

"Close enough," Bennu said cheerfully.

"This conversation isn't happening in here either," Adom said firmly.

"We'll be very patient," Ada promised.

"Exceptionally patient," Bennu agreed.

The door closed. More whispering commenced.

"Maybe we should try being sad instead of excited," Ada suggested.

"An interesting tactical shift," Bennu mused. "Emotional manipulation rather than logical argument."

"What's that mean?"

"Making puppy dog eyes until he feels bad and changes his mind."

"Ooh, I'm good at that!"

"I noticed. Your facial expressions are quite expressive."

Adom brushed his teeth to the sound of them planning their next approach. When he opened the door, mouth still foamy, they both deployed identical devastatingly cute expressions.

"Still no," he said through the toothpaste foam.

Ada's bottom lip trembled. "But we'll miss you so much."

"We'll be terribly lonely," Bennu added, somehow managing to make his golden eyes look watery.

Adom spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth. "You'll survive."

"Will we though?" Ada asked dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead like she was about to faint. "Will we really?"

"You've been teaching her theater too," Adom observed.

"She has natural talent," Bennu replied proudly.

They followed him to the kitchen, where he sat down with a bowl of porridge and some fruit. Ada climbed into the chair across from him and propped her chin on her hands.

"I've been thinking," she announced.

"That's usually dangerous," Adom said, taking a spoonful of porridge.

"What if the mission is really dangerous and you need backup?"

"I'll have Zuni."

"But what if Zuni gets hurt and you need different backup?"

"Then I'll be very careful not to let Zuni get hurt."

Bennu landed delicately on the table next to Adom's bowl. "She raises a valid point about redundancy in safety measures."

"She raises a five-year-old point about wanting to go on an adventure."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive," Ada said, then paused. "What does that mean?"

"It means you can want an adventure and also make good points," Bennu explained.

"Oh! Then I'm definitely right!"

Adom continued eating, unmoved by their logic. Ada swung her legs under the table, thinking hard.

"What if we disguised ourselves?" she asked suddenly.

"As what?"

"I could be a really short adult!"

"You're three feet tall, Ada."

"A really, really short adult!"

"No."

"What about me?" Bennu asked. "I could pretend to be a regular bird."

"You're bright blue and you talk."

"I could not talk. And blue birds exist."

"Not ones that glow slightly and have four wings."

"Minor details," Bennu said dismissively.

Ada gasped suddenly, nearly falling off her chair with excitement. "What if we followed you secretly?"

"Absolutely not."

"But if we were really sneaky—"

"Ada." Adom's voice carried just enough warning to make her pause. "If you try to follow me, I'll ask Mother to make you help with the laundry all day instead of playing outside."

Her eyes went wide with horror. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"That's cruel and unusual punishment," she protested.

"Where did you learn that phrase?"

"Bennu taught me! He knows lots of fancy words! Just like Zuni!"

"I've had extensive time to study human language," Bennu said proudly. "Ten thousand years provides excellent opportunities for vocabulary expansion."

"Well use your vocabulary to explain to Ada why following me would be a terrible idea."

Bennu considered this seriously. "Well, Ada, missions can be quite dangerous. There might be bad people who wouldn't hesitate to hurt small children or phoenixes. And Adom would be distracted worrying about our safety instead of focusing on his important work."

Ada's face scrunched up thoughtfully. "So we'd make him worse at his job?"

"Significantly worse," Bennu confirmed.

"Oh." Ada looked genuinely disappointed now. "I don't want to make Adom bad at things."

"See?" Adom said. "Bennu understands."

"However," Bennu continued, and Adom's spoon paused halfway to his mouth, "that doesn't mean we can't continue advocating for future inclusion in less dangerous missions."

"What's advocating?" Ada asked.

"Asking nicely but with more words."

"Ooh, I like that better than begging."

"It's essentially the same thing," Adom pointed out.

"But fancier," Ada said happily.

At that moment, Maria appeared from the kitchen with a cup of tea, taking in the scene with the weary expression of someone who'd been listening to this entire negotiation.

"Alright, you two," she said, settling into her chair. "Stop harassing your brother. Let the man eat his breakfast in peace."

Ada deflated slightly. "But we have so many good reasons—"

"I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Why don't you go show Bennu your new dollhouse? I bet he's never seen one before."

Bennu perked up with genuine interest. "I haven't, actually. What's a dollhouse?"

"It's like a real house but tiny!" Ada explained, instantly distracted from her mission lobbying. "With tiny furniture and tiny people and tiny plates!"

"Fascinating. The attention to detail in human recreations is quite remarkable."

Ada grabbed Bennu gently and headed for the door, chattering about miniature tea sets and furniture that actually opened and closed. Their voices faded as they disappeared into the living room.

Maria waited until they were gone, then turned back to Adom with a smile that was equal parts affection and amusement.

"Those two are going to be trouble," she said.

"They already are trouble."

She reached across the table and brushed her thumb along his jawline, where a few dark hairs had started to appear. "Look at this. My little boy's growing a beard."

Adom grinned and leaned into her touch. "It's hardly a beard."

"Give it time. You're starting to look more and more like your grandfath—" She stopped abruptly, her hand freezing against his cheek.

The moment stretched between them. Adom didn't ask. He'd learned years ago not to ask about her family, about the people she'd left behind when she married his father. It was one of the unspoken rules of their house, even though she sometimes slipped and mentioned fragments before catching herself.

Maria pulled her hand back and picked up her tea, the casual gesture not quite hiding the tension in her shoulders.

"Anyway," she said, voice carefully light again. "You're growing up too fast."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize for things you can't control." She stood and moved to the window, looking out at the garden where morning sunlight was just starting to touch the herb beds. "Your father went hunting in one of the smaller dungeons yesterday evening. He should be back later today."

"I figured he'd gone somewhere when I didn't see him last night."

"You two had plenty of time to catch up anyway. How many hours did you spend in his workshop, three? Four?"

"Something like that." Adom finished the last of his porridge. "I'll see him when I get back."

Maria turned from the window, and the worry that had been lurking beneath her casual tone finally showed on her face. "Be careful out there, Adom. I know you can't tell me what this mission is about, but the Archmage wouldn't send you personally unless it was important."

"I'll be fine, Mom. I promise."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied, though her fingers were still wrapped tightly around her tea cup. Adom wished he could tell her more, could explain that he wasn't heading into immediate danger. But this mission was too complicated, too politically sensitive.

Finding Morgana was treason, technically.

At least until they could prove she was a victim rather than a conspirator. His father had been a knight before retirement, and those vows didn't just disappear. Arthur was honor-bound to report threats to the crown, and asking him to ignore that duty without proof would put him in an impossible position.

Better to bring Morgana back first. Let her tell her own story. Then maybe his father could understand, could even help rally the Iron Wolves to their cause.

And telling his mother was out of the question entirely. Not because she'd betray them, but because she couldn't keep secrets from Arthur. She tried, but after 24 years of marriage, he could read her like a book. The moment she started acting strange, he'd know something was wrong.

"Thank you for breakfast," Adom said, standing and carrying his bowl to the kitchen.

"Of course, sweetheart."

He paused in the doorway. "Zuni? You ready?"

A sleepy voice echoed in Adom's head. Coming, Adom. Give me a moment to achieve full consciousness.

A few minutes later, Zuni appeared at the top of the stairs. He descended slowly, pausing every few steps to yawn.

Ada and Bennu emerged from the living room at the sound of footsteps.

"Finally!" Ada announced. "We've been waiting forever!"

"It's been approximately seven minutes," Bennu corrected.

"That's forever when you're excited."

Zuni reached the bottom of the stairs and blinked slowly at the assembled group. Ready when you are, he said, though his voice carried the unmistakable tone of someone who would much rather go back to bed.

"See?" Ada pointed accusingly at Zuni. "He doesn't even want to go! He's old and tired and would probably rather stay home and nap!"

"Whereas we're young and energetic and definitely wouldn't slow you down," Bennu added.

Zuni's quills rustled with what might have been amusement. I may be old, young ones, but I've also survived long enough to develop what humans call 'good judgment.' This mysterious quality prevents me from volunteering for dangerous adventures.

"But don't you want to see new places?" Ada asked. "Don't you want excitement?"

I've had quite enough excitement for several lifetimes, thank you. These days I prefer the simple pleasures of warm sunbeams and regular meals.

"That's so boring," Ada said.

Boring is safe, Zuni replied sagely. Safe is comfortable. Comfortable is highly underrated.

Adom reached down and scooped Zuni up, settling him on his shoulder. "Ready, old man?"

As ready as one can be for whatever madness you've planned this time.

Adom checked his inventory one more time, verifying that his travel pack was properly stored along with the other supplies he'd need. Everything was in order.

"Alright," he said, turning toward the door. "We should go."

"Have a safe trip!" Ada called out, though she still looked disappointed about being left behind.

"Try not to get eaten by anything with too many teeth," Bennu added cheerfully.

"I'll do my best," Adom replied, and headed for the door.

The streets of Arkhos were quiet in the early morning light, most of the city still wrapped in sleep. Adom's footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones as they made their way toward the harbor, the air cool and fresh with the promise of a new day.

Why didn't you bring Bennu? Zuni asked from his perch on Adom's shoulder.

"He's still learning how to shapeshift," Adom replied quietly. "Biggins told me not to take him anywhere public until he can pass for a normal bird. A talking phoenix tends to attract attention."

Ah, Zuni said thoughtfully. And you'd prefer to avoid attention on this particular venture.

"Something like that."

Makes sense. Zuni shifted to get more comfortable. Though I do wonder why you need me along if discretion is the goal. I'm hardly inconspicuous myself.

Adom smiled. "I like the company."

Zuni's quills rustled with what might have been pleasure. Well then. It has been some time since our last proper journey. Five years, wasn't it? Since the Fae Realm.

"About that, yeah."

This should be a pleasant outing. I've grown quite fond of the sea over the years. The salt air is remarkably good for one's quills.

They reached the harbor as the first fishing boats were beginning to stir, crews preparing for the day's work. The smell of salt and seaweed mixed with the faint aroma of bread from early-opening bakeries.

"Adom!" Sam's voice carried across the dock, and Adom spotted his friend standing near a sleek sailing vessel, flanked by two familiar figures.

Karion waved enthusiastically, his usual grin already in place despite the early hour. "Look who decided to show up fashionably late!"

"I'm actually early," Adom protested as he approached the group.

"We're earlier," Damus said simply, smiling. The tall, broad-shouldered mage looked perfectly composed despite the hour, as if he'd been awake for hours.

The others were scattered across their own Magisterium obligations.

Gus had been pulled into an emergency consultation that could take days. Naia was handling a delicate trade dispute at the Tirajin embassy. Mia was covering research on an alchemical compound. Emma was literally on a battlefield miles away, as healer.

And Gaius had specifically requested Eren remain for advanced training—something that had left the young mage looking equal parts honored and frustrated.

"Hey Zuni," Sam said slowly, the words careful but clear enough. "Good to see you."

Likewise, Sammenel, Zuni replied, his little smile expending.

They boarded the vessel, greeting the small crew with the easy familiarity of people who'd worked together before. The boat was built for speed rather than comfort, all clean lines and efficient design.

"So," Karion said as they settled on deck, "are you going to tell us what we're actually looking for? Or is this one of those mysterious 'you'll know it when you see it' situations?"

Sam leaned forward with interest, and even Damus turned his attention fully to Adom, waiting for an answer.

The boat began to move, cutting smoothly through the harbor waters toward the open sea. The city fell away behind them, morning sunlight catching on the white buildings and turning the water into a field of scattered diamonds.

That's when they appeared.

Sleek forms in the water, keeping pace with their boat. Sirens, their scaled tails catching flashes of sunlight as they swam alongside, curious about the vessel and its passengers.

"Well," Sam said, watching them with fascination, "that's not something you see every day."

The sirens' song began, wordless and haunting, rising from the water like music made manifest. It wasn't the dangerous lure from old stories, just pure beauty, the kind that made you want to sit still and listen forever.

Karion leaned over the rail, grinning. "Think they're here for the entertainment, or are we the entertainment?"

One of the sirens surfaced closer to the boat, her dark hair streaming behind her as she studied them with intelligent eyes. She sang a few more notes, almost like a greeting, before disappearing beneath the waves again.

Adom watched them for a moment, then turned back to his friends. The wind was picking up, carrying the scent of open ocean and distant islands.

"Listen..." he began.

Chapter 156. Respect

The first spell erupted from Nox's fingertips before the echo of Beth's words had fully faded—a compressed lance of force aimed dead center at the boy's chest. Forty-three years of combat experience distilled into a single, perfect opening strike.

Teodorus Nox had killed his first man at seventeen with that exact spell.

The boy shifted three inches left.

Not a dodge. Not a reaction. A preemptive movement that put him exactly where he needed to be before Nox had even finished casting. Like he'd read the attack from Nox's stance, his breathing, the way mana gathered around his fingers.

...Impressive.

Nox's second attack was already forming—muscle memory from the Valdris Campaign, where hesitation meant death. A binding spell from his off-hand while his dominant prepared a concussion blast. The combination had dropped three rebel mages in four heartbeats during the siege of Northaven.

The disruption hit his binding spell before it was halfway formed.

Not at the spell itself—at its heart, the single point where all the energy converged. The binding collapsed like a cut rope, unraveling instantly.

Nox felt the first cold whisper of something that might have been concern.

The boy had killed his spell mid-weave. That required an understanding of combat magic that belonged to masters. But there was no time to process the implications because Adom was already moving, closing distance with fluid steps.

Where did he learn to fight like that?

Nox abandoned subtlety.

Fire lance, gravity slam, blinding flash—three spells in rapid succession, each designed to force a specific response that would open the boy to the fourth attack already building in his core.

The fire lance met a deflection that sent superheated air past Adom's shoulder without wasting energy on absorption. The gravity slam caught nothing but empty space as the boy used the pull to spin into a counter-attack. And the blinding flash struck closed eyes, targeting vision that had already been cut off.

Nox's fourth attack died as he found himself on the defensive.

A force wave, elegantly simple, timed to catch him between offense and defense. His barrier held, but the impact sent him sliding backward across ancient stone.

The courtyard was dead silent. Two hundred faces watching, but Nox couldn't spare the mental capacity to register their expressions. The boy was already moving again, not giving him time to reset, to reassess, to fall back on the methodical approach that had served him through four wars and seven magical insurrections.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Nox had been seventeen when he'd first killed with magic. Twenty-three when he'd earned his commission in the Magisterium's Arcane corps. Thirty-one when he'd been promoted to Battlemage First Class after single-handedly breaking the siege of Fort Meridian. He'd faced down orcs in the Shadowlands, rogue mages in the Northern Reaches, and an entire coven of blood mages in the tunnels beneath Greywater.

He was Teodorus Nox, the Iron Fist of the Empire, and by every sacred oath, he did not lose duels to fresh-blooded academy pups!

His fifth spell was a crushing field designed to pin the boy in place—a battlefield favorite that had served him well against faster opponents. It should have caught Adom mid-stride, holding him long enough for Nox to dictate the next exchange.

Instead, the field shifted.

Mid-flight. The spell changed its own nature, adapting to work around a counter that hadn't even been weaved yet. The kind of real-time modification that should have been impossible.

Nox's sixth attempt was raw desperation disguised as tactical flexibility. He flooded the air with chaotic energy, creating interference that should have disrupted whatever enhanced perception the boy was using.

For half a second, it worked.

Then Adom moved through the magical static like it was clear air, his own spells forming with surgical precision despite the chaos. Energy wrapped around Nox's wrist. Something aimed at his weaving hand. His own power turned against him.

Nox broke free by burning enough mana to level a city block, and barely managed it.

His seventh exchange came from pure instinct. A spatial tear, brief but devastating, designed to exist in space rather than target matter directly.

Adom stepped around it before it formed.

The cold whisper in Nox's chest became a roar.

The boy wasn't reacting to his spells. He was anticipating them. Reading not just the physical tells—the shift of weight, the pattern of breathing, the micro-expressions that preceded casting—but something deeper. Something that let him see attacks before they existed outside of Nox's mind.

His eighth attempt abandoned magic entirely.

Close quarters combat had been Nox's first love, before he'd ever touched a spell. Street fighting in the Lower District, bare-knuckle matches in underground arenas, and later the brutal hand-to-hand training of the Magisterium. His body was a weapon honed by decades of violence, enhanced by magic but grounded in fundamental truths of physics and anatomy.

His first enhanced strike caught Adom in the ribs—a satisfying impact that sent the boy stumbling. His second landed on the shoulder, spinning him around. For three glorious heartbeats, Nox felt like himself again. This was where experience mattered. Where the difference between academy training and real combat would finally show.

Then Adom adapted.

The boy's defensive patterns shifted like water, becoming fluid and predictive. Where before he'd been matching Nox spell for spell, now he was reading the micro-tells that preceded each enhanced strike. The tightening of muscle. The shift in weight that signaled target selection. The barely perceptible change in stance.

Nox's ninth strike never landed.

Neither did his tenth.

By his eleventh, he realized with crystalline, terrifying clarity that something fundamental had shifted in the fight's dynamic.

He was no longer trying to win.

He was... he was trying to survive.

Sweat ran down his spine despite the cool air. His breathing was elevated, not from exertion but from something approaching panic. When had that happened? When had the confident veteran been replaced by a man fighting for his life against a nineteen-year-old academy graduate?

His twelfth attempt was the most dangerous spell in his arsenal—a cascading explosion that drew everything his mana core could provide, trading years for raw destructive potential. The kind of magic that experienced battle mages only used when facing certain death.

The duel didn’t warrant such savagery. But his father’s lesson burned in him still: better to die than to be shamed.

The boy's counter was already in motion before the first movements of the spell left Nox's fingers.

A precise disruption, aimed not at the spell but at his concentration. The cascade collapsed catastrophically, and the backlash sent agony racing through his body. Nox dropped to one knee, tasting blood, his vision blurring.

Through the haze of pain, he saw Adom standing over him.

The boy's expression was perfectly calm. No triumph, no satisfaction, no emotion at all.

One hand rose, fingers positioned for a killing strike.

And in that moment, Teodorus Nox—veteran of four wars, slayer of demons, the man they called the Iron Fist of the Empire—felt the cold certainty of his own death.

When... when did things go wrong? He couldn't find it.

The only feeling, at that moment, was shock.

He'd never been outclassed. Not once. Outmaneuvered, sometimes. Overwhelmed by numbers, certainly. But never made to feel small.

Never made to feel stupid.

The boy's hand descended and Nox's mind went blank with terror. Not the clean fear of battle—he knew that feeling, had made peace with it decades ago. This was different. This was the animal panic of realizing he'd walked into an execution thinking it was a sparring match.

When had he become so blind? The casual suggestion of a duel. The complete lack of preparation. The calm acceptance of terms. He'd read it all wrong, catastrophically wrong, and now—

Ah.

From the start, Nox thought. It was from the start.

The binding spell. Collapsed instantly. Like the boy had known exactly how he'd weave it before Nox had even started the weave.

The thermal lance. Deflected with surgical precision, no wasted energy.

The gravity slam. Turned into advantage.

Every attack. Every defense. Every tactical shift.

All of it anticipated. All of it useless.

Nox had spent four decades learning to read opponents, to judge threats, to never take fights he couldn't win. His survival had depended on that judgment. His reputation had been built on it.

And he'd been completely, utterly wrong.

The hand was almost at his throat now, and Nox realized that he was about to die because he'd forgotten how to be afraid of the right things.

Then something struck Adom from the side—not an attack, but a wall of force that sent him skidding backward across the courtyard stones. He landed in a perfect crouch, instantly alert, already scanning for the new threat.

The silence was absolute.

Even the wind had stopped.

In the center of the dueling circle, Sir Gaius stepped forward, his hand still raised from the intervention spell.

"That will be sufficient," the archmage said quietly.

The courtyard remained frozen in absolute silence.

Nox knelt on the ancient stones, chest heaving, each breath a struggle that burned his throat. Sweat had soaked through his robes despite the cool air, and his hands trembled. They trembled.

Across the circle, Adom was getting to his feet with casual efficiency. He brushed dust from his robes, checked his sleeves for tears, and straightened his collar like he'd simply stumbled during a walk.

The boy looked at him and smiled.

Nox felt something cold settle in his stomach. Well, that put things in perspective.

Young Adom hadn't been selected as a magus for nothing. Not politics, not nepotism, not Gaius playing favorites with promising students.

Power.

Raw, terrifying, absolute power.

It was clear now. Clear as day.

Awareness crept back slowly, like blood returning to a numbed limb. Two hundred faces staring down at him. Students who'd watched their professors discuss his legendary reputation. Professors who'd built careers on stories of his battlefield accomplishments. Academy staff who'd grown up hearing tales of the Iron Fist of the Empire.

All of them had just watched him get systematically dismantled by a nineteen-year-old.

His chest burned with something worse than magical exhaustion.

The other magi were silent on their platform, but he could feel their stares like physical weight. Xerion's calculating assessment. Kyrian's wide-eyed shock. Corvus's amusement. Beth's smile.

They'd all known.

They'd sat there and watched him walk into this humiliation with full knowledge of what was coming.

Nox forced himself to stand.

His legs shook, but they held. His breathing was still labored, but it was coming under control. His robes were disheveled, his hair was a mess, and there was blood on his lip from the backlash of his own failed spell.

He straightened what could be straightened and accepted what couldn't.

"My defeat," he said clearly, his voice carrying across the silent courtyard. "The agreement will be respected."

The words tasted like ash, but they were necessary. A debt was a debt, and Teodorus Nox had never broken his word.

"We have a meeting to attend," he continued, glancing toward the platform where Gaius stood. "Now that the archmage is here, we should proceed."

He turned without waiting for a response and began walking toward the academy's exit, his pace steady despite the exhaustion weighing on every step.

Behind him, the silence finally broke.

Voices rose in excited chatter. Students comparing what they'd just witnessed to everything they'd been taught about magical combat. Professors debating the spells they'd observed. Academy staff already composing the stories they'd tell for years to come.

Nox didn't look back.

He didn't acknowledge the other magi as he passed their platform. He didn't respond to the scattered calls from colleagues who might have offered congratulations or condolences. He didn't stop when someone—probably one of the younger professors—started to approach with what was undoubtedly going to be an awkward attempt at conversation.

There would be time later to process what had happened. Time to analyze where his tactics had failed, where his judgment had been flawed, where years of experience had proven insufficient.

But not here.

Not in front of an audience that had watched him discover the difference between reputation and reality.

The academy gates couldn't come fast enough.

*****

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.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

But this time, the stares felt different.

Adom could still sense them—the sideways glances, the occasional lingering look—but the quality had changed entirely. Where before there had been dismissive assessment or barely concealed hostility, now there was something closer to curiosity.

When Xerion caught his eye across the table, the battle mage didn't immediately look away with that expression of barely tolerated annoyance. Instead, he offered a small nod that might have been acknowledgment.

Beth was still tracing her patterns on the table, but now when she glanced up at him, there was something almost approving in those unsettling pale eyes.

Even Corvus, who had perfected the art of looking at people like they were particularly uninteresting specimens, seemed to be paying actual attention when Adom shifted in his chair.

Hah, for all their celebrated intellectual prowess, mages operated on remarkably straightforward principles: demonstrate superior magical violence, receive professional respect.

The academic elite, it turned out, had the social complexity of particularly scholarly schoolyard bullies.

The great doors at the far end of the chamber swung open with their grinding of ancient hinges.

Gaius entered without any explanation for his lateness, moving with that unhurried pace that somehow managed to convey complete authority. He settled into his chair at the head of the table, adjusting his robes, and there was something in his slight smile that suggested he was perfectly aware of how the room's dynamic had shifted.

"Now then," the archmage continued, reaching for the stack of documents that had been waiting for him, "let's proceed with this month's assignments. I trust everyone has reviewed their previous mission reports?"

A chorus of affirmative murmurs went around the table.

Adom found himself genuinely listening as Gaius began distributing tasks. Xerion was being sent to investigate magical disturbances along the northern border—something about unauthorized enchantments appearing on military equipment. Beth received a divination request from the Treasury Council, trying to predict the economic impact of new trade agreements.

The assignments continued around the table with the usual mix of research projects, investigative work, and diplomatic consultations. Nothing particularly exciting, but all of it important to the empire's continued functioning.

When Gaius's attention finally turned to him, Adom straightened slightly.

"Magus Sylla," the archmage said, consulting his notes, "I have a research assignment that will require considerable travel. Ancient runic systems, specifically those found in pre-imperial settlements beyond our current borders. There have been reports of unusual magical signatures associated with certain archaeological sites, and we need someone with your particular expertise to investigate."

Adom kept his expression neutral. This was his cover. His official reason for leaving the empire and searching for Morgana.

"The timeline?" he asked.

"Flexible, but I'd prefer you depart as soon as possible. Within the week, if you can manage it. These foreign archaeological sites have a tendency to disappear if we wait too long—either claimed by local authorities or picked clean by treasure hunters." Gaius set down his papers and fixed Adom with that familiar, measuring look. "This will count as a major research project toward your candidacy advancement. Substantial credit value, assuming you produce useful results."

Around the table, the other magi were listening with interest. Thorne leaned forward slightly, his massive frame creaking in the ornate chair.

"Pre-imperial runes," the elementalist rumbled. "Hadn't realized there were significant sites still unexplored."

"There are always discoveries to be made," Gaius replied smoothly. "Particularly in regions that have been... politically inaccessible until recently."

"Will you be working alone?" Kyrian asked, and there was none of the dismissive undertone that would have colored such a question an hour ago. Just curiosity.

Adom glanced at her, noting the change in her demeanor. "I'll assess the situation once I reach the first site. If the scope requires additional expertise, I'll request support."

Draven nodded thoughtfully. "Wise approach. Foreign research can be unpredictable."

The casual acceptance of his judgment felt strange.

"Any particular regions of focus?" Nox asked.

The question came without any trace of the hostility that had characterized their previous interactions. If anything, the battle mage sounded genuinely interested in the academic aspects of the assignment.

"I'll start with the coastal settlements," Adom replied. "Work inland from there depending on what I find."

"Sound methodology," Corvus observed. "Coastal sites tend to have better preservation due to the salt air."

Gaius nodded approvingly. "Excellent. I'll have the travel authorizations and funding prepared by tomorrow. You'll have access to Imperial diplomatic channels if needed, though I suspect most of your work will be in regions where such formalities are less... structured."

The archmage moved on to the final few assignments.

"That concludes our business for this month," Gaius announced, gathering his papers. "Unless there are urgent matters requiring immediate attention?"

The silence that followed was comfortable rather than tense.

"Very well. Thank you all for your continued service to the empire. May your endeavors prove fruitful."

Chairs scraped against stone as the magi began to rise. But instead of the usual rapid exodus that characterized the end of these meetings, several of them lingered.

"Interesting research opportunity," Merlin commented quietly as he passed Adom's chair. "I'd be curious to hear what you discover about those runic systems."

"I'll include detailed notes in my reports," Adom replied.

Beth paused beside his chair, eyes studying him with that unsettling intensity. "Safe travels," she said simply. "The paths ahead are... complex."

Which could have meant anything, coming from a diviner.

Even Nox offered a brief nod as he made his way toward the exit. "Good hunting, Magus Sylla."

The casual use of his title, spoken without irony or condescension, felt like a small victory.

Within minutes, the chamber had emptied and Adom rose from his chair and made his way toward the exit, already mentally preparing for the journey ahead. He had a week to arrange his affairs, gather supplies, and begin the most important mission of his career.

Time to find a lost princess and potentially change the course of an empire.

The grandfather clock continued its steady rhythm behind him.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

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."

Chapter 154. Fyre

Magus.

The title was less about magical prowess and more about political positioning within the labyrinthine structure of the Imperial Magisterium.

While the rank certainly required demonstrated competence—specifically achieving master-level proficiency in at least one of the seven fundamental schools of magic—the real qualification was something far more nebulous and infinitely more valuable: access.

One could reasonably think of the Magisterium as an exclusive club where the membership fees were paid in decades of your life, carefully cultivated relationships, and an almost pathological devotion to bureaucratic procedure.

Most mages spent their entire careers playing an elaborate game of political krozball, jumping from one administrative hoop to the next, collecting stamps of approval from increasingly pompous officials who had themselves spent decades collecting similar stamps from their own pompous superiors.

The average timeline from apprentice to master was fifteen years, assuming you didn't accidentally offend someone important, get caught in a political scandal, or make the mistake of demonstrating too much competence too quickly.

From master to senior positions within the hierarchy, another ten to twenty years of carefully orchestrated brown-nosing and strategic committee memberships. From there to magus, if it happened at all, required both exceptional circumstances and the kind of political backing that most people could only dream about.

Adom had compressed that entire journey into roughly five years, which was rather like completing a marathon by taking a flying broom to the finish line.

The flying broom, in this case, was his strategic partnership with Archmage Gaius Emris.

Both regressors shared knowledge that made most political maneuvering seem like children arguing over toys in a sandbox. They knew how the current trajectory would end—the collapse that waited if nothing changed, the darkness that would consume everything men had spent centuries building.

Gaius understood his own limitations in this timeline. Age, established political enemies, the accumulated weight of expectations that came with actually being in charge of things. He was unlikely to live long enough to see the necessary changes through to completion.

To prepare for the World Dungeon.

Adom represented a different approach. Younger, less encumbered by existing political obligations, and positioned to make moves that Gaius himself could never attempt without triggering approximately seventeen different political crises.

The partnership was born from shared purpose. Gaius provided access to the examinations, training facilities, and political connections that would otherwise have taken decades to acquire. Adom provided the skills and competence to actually capitalize on those opportunities.

Because access alone meant absolutely nothing without the ability to back it up, and the Magisterium was littered with the careers of well-connected individuals who had discovered this truth rather painfully.

Adom's appointment to magus rank had come exactly one year ago, making him the youngest person to hold the position in over two centuries. The controversy within Magisterium circles had been immediate, sustained, and absolutely delicious to observe from the outside.

Senior masters who had been waiting decades for advancement opportunities found themselves passed over in favor of someone who had barely figured out how to tie his own boots when they'd started their careers.

The criticism wasn't entirely wrong about the timeline being unprecedented, but it missed the strategic necessity driving the decision. This wasn't about rewarding a promising student—it was about positioning someone capable of making changes that conventional political processes would never allow, mostly because conventional political processes were designed specifically to prevent anyone from making changes.

The ten current magi served as more than the Archmage's representatives; they were the pool from which future Archmage would be selected, assuming they survived long enough and didn't get caught in any scandals involving inappropriate use of magic or unfortunate incidents with summoned creatures.

By fast-tracking Adom's advancement, Gaius was ensuring that someone with the knowledge and determination necessary to prevent catastrophe would be available when succession became inevitable.

The position of magus carried authority that was primarily political rather than magical.

They could override local magisterium officials, commandeer resources, and make policy decisions that affected thousands of lives, all while maintaining the kind of cheerful bureaucratic smile that made people wonder if they should be worried. The magical competence was important, but it was the political authority that made the rank significant.

Within this framework, only three entities could overrule a magus's direct orders within Magisterium matters: the Archmage, the Emperor himself...

Or another magus.

The figure who had just interrupted Adom's disciplinary action was making a very clear statement about which category he belonged to.

He stepped fully into the showroom, standing tall on his broom as if the enchanted wood were solid ground beneath his feet. His hands were clasped behind his back. A staff floated beside him, spinning slowly in a controlled orbit, while his pointed hat and robes marked him as someone who had invested considerable resources in equipment designed to enhance magical performance.

"Magus Sylla."

The voice carried across the showroom without being raised. Calm, professional, expectant.

Adom looked up from the struggling officials and smiled. "Magus Merlin."

The man on the broom inclined his head slightly. His eyes swept over the scene below—five Magisterium officials pressed flat against the stone floor by what was clearly a gravity enchantment, their faces various shades of red and purple as they fought for breath.

"Would you mind releasing them?" Merlin asked politely. "I believe they'll start dying if this continues much longer."

Adom cancelled the spell with one gesture.

The effect was immediate. The crushing weight vanished, and all five officials gasped like drowning men suddenly breaking the surface. Klaus Horn rolled onto his side, clutching his chest and making small whimpering sounds. The young adept with the injured wrist cradled his arm against his body while tears streamed down his face. The others simply lay there, breathing in ragged, desperate gulps.

One of them vomited. The sound echoed unpleasantly in the stone-walled showroom.

Merlin observed this with cold detachment. His broom descended slowly until his feet touched the floor, though he remained standing on the enchanted wood rather than stepping off it. The floating staff continued its lazy orbit around him.

"Well," he said, looking around the room. "I gather things didn't go quite as planned."

Adom glanced toward Filli and the apprentices, who were still pressed against the walls with expressions of barely controlled panic. Tomás had blood dried on his split lip, and there were still fragments of his broken bracket scattered across the floor near the counter.

"Not particularly, no."

Merlin's gaze moved to Klaus Horn, who was still making those small choking sounds while trying to push himself upright. The man's perfectly groomed beard was now matted with dust and what appeared to be his own saliva.

"Senior Adept Horn," Merlin said conversationally. "I trust you're finding this educational?"

Horn managed to lift his head enough to look at the second magus. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, and his voice came out as little more than a croak. "Sir... we were... official business..."

"Yes, I'm sure you were." Merlin's tone remained perfectly neutral. "Perhaps you'd like to explain to me what official business required striking a civilian apprentice?"

Horn's mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound emerged.

Adom stepped forward slightly. "Senior Adept Horn and his team arrived demanding immediate consultation with Master Kern. When informed that she operates by appointment only, they became... insistent. The situation escalated when young Tomás attempted to explain the scheduling system."

"Escalated how?"

"Horn struck him. Then used offensive magic against civilians when I attempted to intervene."

Merlin nodded slowly, as if this confirmed something he'd already suspected. He looked directly at Horn, who was now attempting to sit upright with limited success.

"Senior Adept Horn, you are aware that assault of civilians constitutes grounds for immediate dismissal from the Magisterium?"

Horn's voice was barely audible. "Sir... we had orders..."

"Orders to strike apprentice smiths?"

"No sir, but—"

"Orders to use combat magic in civilian establishments?"

"Sir, we were told the matter was urgent—"

Merlin raised one hand slightly, and Horn's mouth snapped shut. Not magically—the man simply recognized the gesture for what it was.

"Magus Sylla has already rendered judgment in this matter," Merlin said calmly. "I see no reason to dispute his assessment. You struck an innocent young man who was doing his job properly. You used offensive magic without justification. You failed to identify a superior officer and continued to escalate after being given opportunities to de-escalate."

He paused, studying Horn's expression.

"Frankly, I'm surprised Magus Sylla was as lenient as he was. I might have simply had you arrested."

Horn looked like he wanted to say something, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Merlin stepped down from his broom—finally—and walked over to where Filli and his apprentices were still clustered against the wall. The staff continued floating beside him, maintaining its steady rotation.

"Master Fili," he said, offering a slight bow. "I apologize for this incident. I had sent these men ahead to arrange a consultation while I finished another matter. I clearly should have accompanied them personally."

Fili blinked several times, apparently still processing the fact that two magi were having a polite conversation in his showroom while five officials groaned on the floor nearby.

"I... that's... you don't need to apologize, sir."

"I'm afraid I do." Merlin's expression was genuinely regretful. "These men were acting under my orders, which makes their conduct partially my responsibility. The fact that they exceeded those orders doesn't absolve me of sending them without proper supervision."

He turned to look at Tomás, whose split lip had stopped bleeding but still looked painful.

"Young man, are you seriously injured?"

Tomás touched his lip gingerly. "No sir. Just... just bruised, mostly."

"I'm very sorry this happened to you. It was completely inexcusable." Merlin reached into his robes and withdrew a small crystal vial filled with pale blue liquid. "This should help with the swelling and pain. And please accept my personal guarantee that nothing like this will happen again."

He handed the vial to Tomás, who accepted it with obvious confusion.

"Thank you, sir."

Merlin nodded, then turned his attention back to the officials, who were slowly managing to get themselves into sitting positions. The one who had vomited was wiping his mouth with his sleeve and looking deeply embarrassed.

"Gentlemen," Merlin said, his tone becoming noticeably more formal. "You will return to headquarters immediately. You will report to Disciplinary Magistrate Helena within the hour—not three days, as Magus Sylla generously allowed. You will accept whatever punishment she deems appropriate without appeal or complaint."

Klaus Horn made one last attempt at salvaging the situation. "Sir, if we could just explain—"

"No." The word was quiet but absolute. "You've done quite enough explaining for one day."

Adom watched the magus continue his circuit around the forge, checking on each of the apprentices individually. The man had a way of making people feel heard without actually saying much—a nod here, a quiet question there, making sure no one else had been hurt during the confrontation.

Newt Merlin.

The Merlin family tree read like a condensed history of Sundarian magical achievement. They were one of the five founding houses of the empire, which meant their bloodline had been accumulating power, influence, and strategic marriages for over three millennia. Most of the really impressive mages in the imperial records had either been Merlins themselves or had married into the family at some point.

Before Adom's appointment at eighteen, Merlin had held the record as the youngest magus ever appointed. He'd been fifty-six at the time, which wasn't particularly old by magical standards. Human mages averaged around a hundred and fifty years if they didn't do anything spectacularly stupid with experimental spells or political enemies. Merlin was somewhere in his sixties now, still decades away from anything resembling old age.

Among the nine other magi currently serving under Archmage Gaius, Adom had mentally sorted them into three categories. Six of them were openly hostile to him. The reasons varied—some believed his rapid advancement was pure nepotism, others thought he was too young and inexperienced for the responsibilities, a few seemed personally offended that someone had broken a centuries-old precedent simply by existing.

Then there were the neutral ones.

They maintained polite professional distance, neither supportive nor antagonistic. They treated him with the basic courtesy required by rank while making it clear they weren't particularly interested in friendship.

Merlin was the only one who fell into a third category. Not quite neutral, but not hostile either. He'd been actively kind to Adom, which according to Gaius was a very good sign indeed.

He was also the current favorite for succession when Gaius eventually stepped down.

In Adom's original timeline, Merlin had been among those killed during the assassination of Archmage Gaius. A waste of a decent man and a competent leader, cut down in the political chaos that had preceded the empire's collapse.

Merlin finished his conversation with Marina, the stocky apprentice, and walked back toward where the officials were still attempting to organize themselves into something resembling dignity. Klaus Horn had managed to get to his feet, though he was swaying slightly and his face was still an unhealthy shade of gray.

"Can you walk?" Merlin asked him.

Horn nodded, then immediately regretted the motion as it seemed to make his dizziness worse.

"Good. Then walk. All of you. Back to headquarters. Now."

The five officials shuffled toward the door like beaten dogs. Horn paused at the threshold and looked back, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something.

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Horn's mouth snapped shut, and he hurried after his subordinates.

The showroom fell quiet except for the distant sound of hammering from the back forge, where someone had apparently decided that work would continue despite the recent excitement.

"Well," Merlin said, turning back to Adom. "That was refreshing. I heard Master Kern has quite the reputation," he glanced around the showroom. "I was hoping to place an order myself, but I understand she's rather particular about scheduling."

"She is," Adom confirmed. "Worth the wait, though."

"I'm sure." Merlin stepped back onto his broom, which rose smoothly until he was hovering at eye level again. "I'll make a proper appointment next time. Speaking of which, I'll see you at tomorrow's meeting before our new mission assignments?"

Adom nodded. "Wouldn't miss it."

They shook hands—Merlin leaning down from his broom to do so—and then the older magus was gliding toward the door, his staff still orbiting lazily around him.

"Always a pleasure, Adom."

"Likewise, Newt."

The door closed behind him, and the showroom felt suddenly much larger without the presence of two magi and five groaning officials filling it. The apprentices began to relax, returning to their various tasks with the kind of careful normalcy people adopted after witnessing something they'd probably be talking about for months.

Adom turned back to Filli, who was standing by the counter looking like he'd forgotten something important.

"So," Adom said. "What exactly did you want to show me?"

Filli's eyes widened. "Oh! Right!" He smacked his forehead with his palm. "With all the excitement, I completely—yes, you need to see this. Come with me."

He headed toward the back of the shop, gesturing for Adom to follow. As they walked through the main forge area, past the glowing furnaces and the rhythmic hammering of the other smiths, Filli began talking excitedly.

"So you remember that celestium metal shipment I received a few months ago from Wangara? Beautiful stuff, but tricky to work with. And I still had some starfallen metal left over from that commission job. Now, the original Wam and Bam are still perfectly functional, don't get me wrong, but..."

Adom was listening carefully.

Filli would eventually become known as Fyre the Great, one of the most innovative metalworkers in imperial history. Adom had learned to pay attention when the man got excited about something, because it usually meant he was on the verge of another breakthrough.

"I've been experimenting," Filli continued, leading them down a narrow hallway toward his personal workshop. "You know how you keep having to bring Wam and Bam back for repairs? Every time you use that thunder shrimp attack of yours, the energy discharge damages the enchantment matrices. The metal itself holds up fine, but the magical components keep burning out."

Adom nodded. It was an ongoing problem. His attacks were powerful, but they tended to be hard on equipment that wasn't specifically designed to channel that much raw energy.

"Well, I started thinking about that. And then I remembered something about how starfallen metal interacts with celestium under certain temperature conditions. There's this crystallization process that happens if you get the timing exactly right..."

They reached the workshop door, and Filli paused with his hand on the handle. His eyes were practically glowing with excitement.

"The thing is, I think I've created something entirely new. A metal alloy that's never existed before. I'm calling it valiant, because honestly, you'd have to be either very brave or very stupid to try what I tried."

He opened the door and ushered Adom inside.

The workshop was smaller than the main forge but much more cluttered. Workbenches covered every available surface, loaded with tools, partially completed projects, and what appeared to be several dozen failed experiments. The air smelled of metal polish and ozone.

"The problem with your current gauntlets," Filli said, walking over to a covered workbench in the center of the room, "is that they're built for someone with normal human strength and normal magical output. But you're not exactly normal, are you?"

Adom laughed. "I've been told that once or twice."

"Right. So I designed these for someone who hits like a force of nature and channels mana and Fluid like it's going out of style."

He pulled away the cloth covering the workbench.

The new gauntlets were beautiful. The base metal was a deep silver that seemed to shift between mirror-bright and matte depending on the angle of the light. Black accents ran along the knuckles and finger joints in patterns that looked almost organic. Intricate runes had been etched into the metal, so fine and detailed they must have taken weeks to complete. Tiny crystals were embedded at strategic points—on the knuckles, along the wrists, and at the base of each finger—glowing with a soft blue light that pulsed gently like a heartbeat.

"Filli," Adom breathed. "These are incredible."

"The valiant alloy can handle magical channeling that would melt ordinary metal," Filli explained, practically bouncing on his toes. "The crystals store excess energy instead of letting it discharge randomly. And the rune work—well, let's just say I've been studying some very old texts."

Adom reached out and activated his identification skill.

[Identify]

The system response appeared in his vision, and his eyes widened.

[Item: Wam and Bam (Class SSS)
Type: Enchanted Battle Gauntlets
Properties:

• Courage Metal Construction: Virtually indestructible under normal combat conditions. Resistant to magical overload and energy discharge.

• Mana Amplification: Increases magical attack potency by 300%.

• Energy Storage: Can store up to 10,000 units of excess mana, releasing it on command or during critical strikes.

• Self-Repair: Minor damage automatically heals over time using stored mana.

• Adaptive Resonance: Attunes to wielder's magical signature for optimal performance.]

"Fili..." Adom said quietly.

Filli grinned. "I was hoping you'd be pleased."

Adom paused, feeling like he should say something profound about the breakthrough, about the innovation, about what this meant for magical metallurgy as a whole. Instead, what came out was:

"About that name, though. I think you could do better."

Filli blinked. "Right?! Valiant seemed cool at first, but it keeps reminding me of that mouse friend of yours."

Adom laughed. "Exactly what I was thinking. So, what will you name it?"

Filli fell silent, his brow furrowing in concentration. Adom waited, watching the wheels turn in the young smith's head.

"What about..." Filli said slowly, then stopped. He was quiet for another long moment. "There was this dwarven hero I always admired growing up. Fyre Ironheart. He lived about eight hundred years ago, during the Third Age. They say he was the one who first figured out how to forge with dragonfire, and that he created the weapons that ended the Goblin Wars. He's considered the father of all modern blacksmithing techniques."

Filli's voice grew more animated as he spoke. "The stories say he could forge metals that didn't exist in nature, that he could pull the essence of stars down into his anvil. Most smiths have a little shrine to him in their workshops. I've got one over there." He gestured toward a corner where a small carved figure sat among the tools.

Adom smiled gently. Would you look at that. "Fyre metal," he repeated, testing how it sounded. "I like it."

Chapter 153. Idiot

Thum. Thum. Thum.

The hammering echoed down Craftsman's Row before Adom even rounded the corner. Three hammers working, each with its own rhythm. The sound had gotten considerably louder since his last visit six months ago.

Thum-thum. Thum. Thum-thum.

He stopped in front of the new storefront. The sign hanging above read "Kern & Filli's Forge" in carved letters filled with gold leaf. Much more impressive than the cramped shop they used to operate back in the days. This building was easily twice the size, with wide windows displaying everything from horseshoes to ceremonial daggers. Multiple chimneys sent streams of smoke into the afternoon sky.

The hammering continued as Adom approached the heavy wooden door. When he pushed it open, a bell chimed once, somehow audible over the metalwork from the back rooms.

Inside, the space opened into a proper showroom. High ceilings, organized weapon displays, rows of polished blades hanging along one wall. Tools lined another: hammers, tongs, files, measuring instruments arranged with precision. The air carried that familiar mix of hot metal, coal smoke, and quenching oil. Leather too, from the various wrappings and sheaths scattered about.

A young man behind the wooden counter looked up from his work. He was wrapping a sword hilt with leather cord, the strips overlapping in careful spirals around the grip. His hands were stained black with soot.

"Oh, hey Adom."

"Erik!" The voice came from across the room, sharp with irritation. A broader man, maybe thirty, paused in organizing a rack of hammers to give the younger smith a pointed look. "He's a magus now, not just Adom."

The rhythmic hammering from the forge continued without pause. Thum-thum. Thum. Thum.

Adom chuckled. "It's fine, really. You can call me by my name. No titles needed here."

Erik scratched his head, leaving a fresh smudge of soot in his brown hair. He blinked at Adom, then at the older smith. "What's the difference anyway?"

The man with the hammers turned around fully. His expression suggested he was dealing with a particularly slow apprentice. "A magus is an official high-ranked member of the Magisterium. Usually working under direct orders from the Archmage himself." He emphasized each word. "It's a big deal."

"Oh." Erik's eyes widened. He set down the leather cord and stared at Adom with new interest. "And you're what, seventeen?"

"Nineteen, actually."

"But all the high-ranked mages I've ever seen were..." Erik gestured vaguely with his sooty hands. "In their forties. Gray beards and everything."

Adom laughed. "I suppose I got lucky with my timing."

The hammering from the forge suddenly stopped. In the relative quiet, boots approached on stone, and a voice boomed from the back room.

"You guys better not be slacking off out there, or else there'll be extra bellows duty for everyone tonight!"

Heavy footsteps. Then a head poked out from the doorway leading to the forge. The face was streaked with sweat and ash, curly red hair tied back with a leather cord. When those green eyes landed on Adom, the entire expression transformed.

"Adom!"

Erik pointed triumphantly. "See? Master Filli's calling him by his name too."

The older smith's jaw tightened. "Master Filli's his friend!"

Filli stepped fully into the showroom, wiping his hands on a leather apron that had seen better days. His stocky frame carried the telltale build of his mixed heritage—broader shoulders than most humans, but taller than a full dwarf. Soot streaked his face in uneven lines.

"What are you guys talking about?"

Erik practically bounced on his feet. "We were just explaining to him about how Adom's a magus now, and the difference between that and regular mages, and—"

"Oh, and we mentioned how you're the first and only smith to graduate as Master Kern's disciple," the older smith added quickly, shooting a meaningful glance at Erik. "The youngest master smith too. Also nineteen, just like him."

Adom caught the deflection immediately. The older smith was clearly trying to redirect Filli's attention away from whatever slacking off he'd been about to scold them for.

Filli's entire face lit up. He straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest slightly. "Well, I mean, Master Kern did say I had exceptional natural talent for metalwork. The way I could sense the metal's properties was apparently quite rare, even among experienced smiths. And then there was that time with the enchanted steel where I managed to identify the exact composition just by touch, which she said took her years to learn, but I picked it up instantly."

He started laughing out loud.

The older smith immediately started laughing too. Erik looked confused. "Gren, why are you laughing?"

Gren's elbow connected with Erik's ribs.

"Ow! Why did you—"

Filli was still laughing, completely oblivious to the exchange. Erik's eyes darted between them, realization dawning on his face. He started laughing too, the sound forced and awkward.

Adom observed the scene unfold. When your boss laughs, you laugh. It was one of those fundamental rules of workplace survival that never failed to amuse him.

Filli was remarkably vulnerable to compliments. There should probably be a sort of name for people like him, Kim, and Valiant, who had such short attention spans in everyday life, but immense focus when doing their tasks.

Actually... not Valiant. That mouse was never focused. Yeah, maybe he should be in another category.

"Filli," Adom interrupted gently.

His friend stopped mid-sentence and blinked at him. Then his expression shifted, eyebrows drawing together in mock offense. "You know what? I shouldn't even be talking to you right now."

"Oh?"

"You came back from your mission three months ago." Filli crossed his arms, but there was no real anger in his voice. "Three months, Adom. And what did I get? A single crystal call. 'Hey, I'm back, talk soon.' That was it."

"To be fair, it was a very nice message," Adom offered.

"While we were in the same city! Instead of coming to visit me and master Kern like a normal person would." Filli shook his head in exaggerated disappointment.

Adom sighed. "You're absolutely right. I should have come by much sooner. I apologize." He ran a hand through his hair. "A lot has been going on recently. The Magisterium has kept me extremely busy with various assignments, and there's been this whole situation with—well, I can't really talk about most of it."

Filli's mock stern expression cracked immediately. "Oh. Well, when you put it like that..." He uncrossed his arms and grinned. "I suppose I can forgive you this once. Come on, come in! I wanted to show you something anyway."

"That's actually what I came for."

Filli's face fell like a child who'd just been told his birthday was canceled. "Wait. You didn't come to see me?"

Adom couldn't help but smile at the expression. "Well, that too."

"Hmm." Filli tilted his head, studying Adom's face. "Well, I suppose business and pleasure can overlap sometimes."

Adom cleared his throat. "Speaking of business, why don't you show me around the place? I see there's been quite an upgrade since last time."

"Right! Come on." Filli's entire demeanor shifted, the wounded friend replaced by the proud craftsman. He gestured toward the back of the forge. "Wait until you see what we've got set up now."

They walked deeper into the building, past the organized displays and into the working areas. The heat hit them first—waves of it radiating from multiple forges. The main workspace was enormous compared to the already large quarters Adom remembered from just six months ago. Three separate forge stations, each with its own bellows and anvil. Workbenches lined the walls, covered with projects in various stages of completion.

"Tomás!" Filli called out to a lanky young man who was carefully filing the edge of a dagger. "Come! Come meet my friend!"

The apprentice looked up, squinting through the heat haze. He was maybe sixteen, with the kind of lean build that suggested he'd grown six inches in the past year and hadn't quite figured out what to do with the extra height yet.

"This is Adom," Filli announced. "The magus I've mentioned. The Ghost."

Tomás's eyes widened. He set down his file and wiped his hands on his apron before extending one toward Adom. "An honor, sir."

"Just Adom is fine." He shook the young man's hand, noting the calluses already forming across his palms. "How long have you been working here?"

"About four months now. Master Filli's been teaching me proper hammer technique."

"And he's got natural talent," Filli added, beaming like a proud parent. "Show him that bracket you finished yesterday."

As Tomás hurried off to retrieve his work, Filli led Adom further into the forge. Two more apprentices worked at the other stations—a stocky girl around Tomás's age who was heating a piece of iron to cherry red, and an older boy, maybe nineteen, who was carefully adjusting the fit of a sword guard.

"Marina and Jorik," Filli said, pointing to each in turn. "Marina's been here about three months. Jorik just started last month, but he's got good instincts for detail work."

Adom nodded to each of them. The growth was remarkable. When he'd last visited six months ago, Filli had been working with just two apprentice, and Master Kern was still handling most of the complex commissions herself. Now he was running his own operation with five apprentices, and the workspace had doubled in size.

All because of a single interview.

Five years ago, some journalist had asked him where he'd gotten his gauntlets forged. Adom had mentioned Kern's shop, hoping it might bring her a few more customers. He hadn't expected it to transform the entire operation.

"Congratulations, by the way," Adom said as they paused near the main forge. "On becoming the new master. I should have said that earlier."

Filli's chest puffed out slightly. "Well, Master Kern said I was ready. Though she still checks in pretty regularly to make sure I'm not burning the place down."

"How is she adjusting to retirement?"

"Oh, she didn't retire." Filli picked up a pair of tongs and adjusted the position of a piece of steel heating in the coals. "She postponed it for another twenty years."

Adom laughed. "Of course she did. Though, doesn't that mean she'll be..." He paused, glancing around the forge. He'd been about to say 'too old to work,' but wasn't entirely sure if Kern was somewhere within earshot.

Filli noticed his hesitation and turned around from the forge. "Oh, you didn't know? Master's a third elven. She's actually over a hundred years old."

"Really?" Adom blinked. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, most people don't realize. She doesn't make a big deal about it." Filli shrugged. "Says age is just a number when you've got good technique and steady hands."

That explained a lot about Kern's seemingly inexhaustible energy and her perfectionist approach to craftsmanship. It also meant that Filli, with his dwarven heritage, was working under someone with elven blood. Adom found that particularly interesting. The two races had a complicated history—not openly hostile, but they rarely collaborated on anything. Their approaches to craftsmanship were fundamentally different. Dwarves favored strength and durability, while elves pursued elegance and precision.

"So you've got elven technique mixed with dwarven instincts," Adom mused. "That's quite a combination."

"Master Kern says it makes me unpredictable in the best possible way." Filli grinned. "Though she also says I need to work on my patience. Apparently I rush the finishing work sometimes."

The sound of steel scraping against steel echoed from one of the side rooms, followed by a sharp clang. Nothing unusual for a forge. Then Marina's voice cut through the ambient noise.

"Master Filli! There's—"

Her words were drowned out by a crash. Something heavy hitting the floor. Then voices—multiple voices—raised in what sounded distinctly like argument.

Adom and Filli exchanged glances.

Another crash. This one followed by the unmistakable ring of steel being drawn from sheaths. Multiple blades, from the sound of it.

"What the hell?" Filli dropped his tongs.

Shouts erupted from the front of the building. Jorik's voice, high with alarm: "Hey! You can't just—"

The sound of running feet. More steel singing as weapons cleared their housings.

Filli was already moving toward the front of the shop, Adom close behind. The apprentices had frozen at their workstations, tools still in hand, staring toward the source of the commotion.

As they reached the doorway leading back to the showroom, the sounds of conflict grew clearer. Harsh voices giving orders. The scrape of boots on stone. And underneath it all, the tense quiet that preceded violence.

They stepped into the showroom and Adom's expression immediately darkened.

Tomás was on the floor near the counter, his left cheek swollen and already darkening to purple. The bracket he'd been so eager to show off lay scattered in pieces beside him. Above him stood five figures in the dark blue uniforms of Magisterium officials, their silver badges catching the light from the forge.

The lead official—a man in his thirties with the kind of perfectly groomed beard that suggested he spent more time behind a desk than in the field—was pointing down at the fallen apprentice with obvious frustration.

"—told you three times already! We need to speak with Master Kern immediately. This is official Magisterium business, not some social call you can schedule for next month!"

Tomás tried to push himself up on his elbows, his voice shaky. "Sir, I explained that Master Kern doesn't take walk-ins anymore. The shop's too busy. You need an appointment, and the earliest we have is—"

"Don't lecture me about appointments, boy!" The official's patience had clearly evaporated hours ago. "When the Magisterium requires consultation, we don't wait in line behind housewives wanting their kitchen knives sharpened!"

Adom had dressed in simple civilian clothes today: brown tunic, dark trousers, nothing that would immediately mark him as a magus.

He'd even used a minor illusion to hide the distinctive white streak in his hair, wanting to avoid the usual attention that came with it. Maybe he shouldn't have done that today.

He walked forward slowly, his footsteps deliberate on the stone floor.

"Back off."

The officials turned toward him. The leader's eyes swept over Adom's civilian attire with irritation. "Great. Another customer. Look, whatever you need can wait. We're conducting official business here."

Instead of answering, Adom knelt beside Tomás and helped the young man to his feet. The apprentice wobbled slightly but managed to stay upright.

"Thank you, sir," Tomás whispered.

Adom brushed the dust from the boy's shirt and shoulders, then raised his hand slightly.

[Wind]

A gentle current of air swirled around them, carrying away the remaining debris from Tomás's clothes and hair. The wind was precise, controlled, unmistakably magical.

The officials straightened.

Their hands producing small sparks of mana, but uncertainty flickered across their faces. They recognized the display for what it was—a demonstration of magical ability by someone who clearly knew what he was doing.

Authority, Adom had observed, often attracted those least suited to wield it. Not through malice, necessarily, but through the simple fact that those who desperately sought power were usually compensating for their own inadequacies. The man before him displayed all the classic symptoms—the need to dominate every interaction, the inability to accept that his authority had limits, the reflexive escalation when his expectations weren't immediately met.

He tried to prevent the inevitable collision by identifying himself.

"I am M—"

"Who the hell are you?" the leader snapped, cutting him off completely. "Another smith trying to interfere with official business?"

Dude, I was just about to tell you, Adom thought. But listening required a certain humility that this man had clearly abandoned years ago.

But Adom was the oldest here. An 85 years old elder. And as such, he had to lead younger mages by example.

He tried again, keeping his voice level. "If you would allow me to—"

"SILENCE!"

The man's voice exploded with a surge of mana that sent a shockwave through the room. Erik stumbled backward into a display rack. Gren grabbed the counter for support. The windows rattled in their frames.

Adom stood perfectly still as dust swirled violently around them, stirred up by the magical outburst.

How fascinating.

After all the philosophical musings about power and authority, after all the complex psychological analysis of bureaucratic frustration and institutional failure, the man standing before him could be reduced to a single, unforgiving assessment: he was exactly what people in positions of power should never be.

An idiot.

Sadly, this was why so many people feared mages. Not because of their abilities, but because of what those abilities revealed about human nature when the usual constraints were removed. Power didn't corrupt so much as it exposed what had always been there, waiting beneath the surface.

It certainly did not help when people needed fuel to justify the Mage Wars.

The dust settled slowly. The leader stood with his chest puffed out, clearly expecting everyone in the room to cower before his display of magical authority. His four subordinates shifted nervously behind him, caught between their training and their growing awareness that their commander was making a mistake.

One of them, a younger official with adept's insignia, cleared his throat hesitantly. "Sir, perhaps we should—"

"Should what, Adept?" The leader's voice carried a warning edge.

"Well, sir, the appointment system isn't actually unreasonable. Master Kern's reputation has grown considerably in recent years. Most high-end smiths operate by appointment only."

The adept was trying to provide his superior with a graceful exit. The tragedy was that pride so often made people reject the very lifelines that could save them.

"Are you questioning my judgment?"

"No sir. Just suggesting that maybe we could schedule a proper meeting instead of—"

"Instead of what? Doing our jobs?" The man's frustration was becoming more apparent. "We've been sent here on direct orders to consult with Master Kern about a commission. A time-sensitive commission. And these apprentices keep telling us to come back in six weeks like we're ordering decorative horseshoes."

And there it was—the root of the problem. The man was under pressure from his own superiors, probably facing consequences if he failed to secure this consultation quickly. Fear was driving the aggression, just as it usually did. He'd been placed in an impossible situation and was taking it out on the nearest available targets.

Understanding the cause, however, didn't excuse the effect.

Adom cancelled the illusion on his hair, the white streak becoming visible against the raven dark. Before any of the officials could even process what they were seeing, let alone mistake it for an attack—

[Gravity]

The effect was immediate and merciless.

The lead official's knees buckled first. His perfectly groomed confidence crumpled as an invisible force pressed down on him like the weight of a mountain. He tried to take a step forward, perhaps still thinking he could maintain some semblance of authority, but his legs betrayed him. The enhanced gravity field didn't discriminate, it caught all five officials in its grip.

One by one, they collapsed.

The younger adept with the insignia went down sideways, his arm shooting out to break his fall, but the increased weight made even that simple motion sluggish and painful. His hand hit the stone floor with a wet slap, and he cried out as his wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

Another official, broader than the rest, fought the pull longer than his companions. His face reddened with effort as he struggled to remain upright, muscles straining against the relentless downward force. For a moment, it looked like he might succeed through sheer stubbornness. Then gravity reminded him who was in charge. His legs gave out with a sound like snapping twigs, and he hit the floor with enough force to rattle the weapons on the nearby display rack.

The remaining two officials didn't even try to resist. They dropped like stones, their faces pressed against the cold stone, breathing in short, labored gasps as the weight compressed their lungs.

The spell was remarkably precise—a localized gravity field that affected only the circle where the officials stood. Filli and the apprentices remained untouched, though they pressed themselves against the walls, staring wide-eyed at the display of power. Even Tomás, still shaky from his beating, had managed to scramble out of the affected area before the spell took hold.

The lead official tried to speak, his mouth working soundlessly as he fought for breath. His perfectly groomed beard was now pressed against the floor, collecting dust and debris. The silver badge that had seemed so important moments ago was pinned beneath his chest, digging into his ribs with each labored breath.

Adom stopped just outside the affected area, close enough that the officials could see his boots if they managed to lift their heads even slightly. The white streak in his hair caught the light from the forge as he looked down at them with detached interest.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself, since you seemed so disinclined to listen earlier." He started. "I am Magus Adom Sylla of the Imperial Magisterium of Sundar. Senior Operative under direct command of Archmage Gaius Emris. Authorized agent of the High Council. Bearer of the Seal of Extraordinary Circumstances."

The lead official's eyes bulged as he tried to process this information while simultaneously fighting for each breath. Recognition dawned slowly across his features.

"Under Article 12 of the Magisterium Code," Adom continued, his tone remaining conversational despite the gravity of his words, "the mistreatment of civilians by official personnel constitutes grounds for immediate disciplinary action. Under Article 15, failure to recognize the authority of a superior officer constitutes insubordination. Under Article 23, the use of offensive magic against non-combatants constitutes assault under magical law."

He paused, studying the pinned officials. Maybe he was being too harsh.

But they needed the lesson.

"You've managed to violate all three in the span of approximately ten minutes. Quite an achievement, really."

The lead official's face had turned an alarming shade of purple, whether from the pressure of the gravity field or from rage, it was difficult to tell. He was making small choking sounds as he tried to speak.

"But more importantly," Adom said, his voice dropping slightly, "you struck an innocent young man who was simply doing his job. You terrorized workers who posed no threat to you. You used offensive magic, unprovoked, in a civilian establishment."

His eyes hardened.

"That kind of behavior has no place in the Magisterium. In fact, it has no place anywhere civilized people gather."

The struggling sounds from the officials grew more desperate. The gravity field was precise enough not to kill them, but it was certainly making its point about the vast difference in their respective capabilities.

"Now then," Adom said, crouching down so he was closer to eye level with the lead official. "I'm going to need your name and rank for the official report. I realize speaking might be... challenging at the moment, but I'm afraid paperwork waits for no one."

The man's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping on dry land. Small, strangled sounds emerged, but nothing resembling actual words.

Adom tilted his head slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Could you speak up?"

More choking sounds. The man's eyes were watering now, whether from strain or humiliation was anyone's guess.

"Open your eyes," Adom said quietly.

The official's eyelids were squeezed shut, as if closing them might somehow make this entire situation disappear. He kept them firmly closed, perhaps hoping this was all some terrible nightmare.

Adom's voice didn't change in volume, but the mana in its tone made the very air seem heavier.

[I said open your eyes.]

This time, the man's eyes snapped open immediately. Terrified.

"Good. Now, your name and rank. Take your time, but do speak clearly."

The official's lips moved frantically. After several false starts, he managed to wheeze out: "S-Senior... Adept... Klaus... Horn..."

"Senior Adept Klaus Horn," Adom repeated thoughtfully. "Well, former Senior Adept, I should say."

Horn's eyes widened even further, if such a thing were possible.

"By the authority vested in me as a Magus of the Magisterium, I hereby relieve you of your rank and position, effective immediately." Adom said without hesitation. "Furthermore, you are hereby restricted from weaving any spell of third level or higher complexity. Violation of this restriction will result in complete severance of your connection to the magical registry, followed by criminal prosecution for unauthorized practice of advanced magic."

The man's face had gone beyond purple now, approaching something closer to gray. Small, desperate sounds emerged from his throat.

"Additionally, you will report to Disciplinary Magistrate Helena within three days to answer formal charges of assault, insubordination, and abuse of authority. Your four subordinates will receive written reprimands and mandatory retraining in civilian interaction protocols, assuming they can demonstrate they were following your orders rather than acting of their own volition."

Adom straightened up, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve.

"I trust this has been educational for all involved. This will now b—"

"Stop."

The voice came from the doorway leading to the forge. It was quiet, measured, and carried the kind of authority that made everyone in the room freeze instantly.

Gamble King Chapter 34. The Deeper North

The cave swallowed sound.

Not metaphorically. Literally. Whatever was going on at the entrance filtered out the world beyond until even the wind became a memory. The only sounds were the crackle of their small fire, the gentle bubble of snow melting in Marcus's battered tin pot, and the soft scrape of Max's knife against wood as he worked new fletching onto his damaged arrow.

The cave itself was disappointingly ordinary. Gray stone walls that curved back into darkness, a ceiling high enough that you couldn't touch it even standing on someone's shoulders, and a floor worn smooth by centuries of travelers seeking shelter. The rune-marked entrance let in just enough light to see by, though sunset turned everything the color of old blood.

Bubbles's lamb sizzled over the flames, fat dripping into the fire with small pops and hisses. The smell should have been mouth-watering after a day of hard travel. Instead, it mixed with the lingering memory of burnt mirrorkin and created something considerably less appetizing.

Nobody had spoken for the better part of an hour.

They kept looking at Bro.

The small white spider sat perched on Max's shoulder with what could only be described as patient dignity, occasionally tilting his head to observe Max's arrow work. His tiny form caught the firelight in ways that made the skull pattern on his abdomen seem to shift and move.

Dan hadn't stopped staring since they'd entered the cave.

Marcus kept glancing over, then looking away quickly, like he was afraid sustained eye contact might provoke something.

Even Bubbles, who'd spent weeks around the spider without comment, seemed to be seeing him differently now that flame-breathing had entered the equation.

Max finished tying off the new fletching and tested the arrow's balance. The gray goose feathers weren't as good as what he'd had before, but they'd do. He slid the arrow back into his quiver and finally looked up at his traveling companions.

"If Bro was dangerous," he said, "you'd have known by now."

The words hit the silence like a stone dropped into still water. Suddenly everyone was talking at once.

"Is that really a spider?" Dan asked.

"How did you get a beast like that?" Marcus demanded.

"Is it some kind of dragon?" Bubbles said.

"Dragons don't come that small," Dan protested.

"Maybe it's a baby dragon," Marcus suggested.

"Baby dragons don't exist," Bubbles said. "They're minor aspects, not from this world at all. They manifest or get summoned here, already formed. You can't just find a small one wandering around."

"How do you know that?"

"Everyone knows that."

"I didn't know that."

"Well, you should have—"

"He's not an it," Max interrupted. "He's a he. And he's not a beast."

They all stared at him.

"He's a..." Max paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound completely insane."Well. He's not a beast."

Bro straightened on Max's shoulder, his tiny form practically radiating pride. He spread his wings briefly—a flash of translucent membrane that caught the firelight—then folded them again and somehow managed to make his dragon-skull pattern more prominent.

Dan leaned forward, squinting in the flickering light. "Now that I look at it—him—those patterns really do look like a dragon skull."

"That's what I thought when I first saw him," Max said.

"So he is a dragon?" Marcus asked.

"I think he used to be. Maybe. It's complicated."

"How is being a dragon complicated?" Dan demanded.

"Because he's also a spider."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No," Max agreed. "It really doesn't."

Bubbles was studying Bro with the kind of intense focus he usually reserved for maps and supply lists. "When did you find him?"

"He found me. Dropped down from my ceiling one evening while I was practicing magic."

"And he could breathe fire then?"

"From the moment I met him," Max said. "First thing he did was scorch my ceiling."

"How much fire are we talking about?" Marcus asked.

"Enough to leave a black mark on it."

As if to prove the point, Bro hopped down from Max's shoulder and scurried across the cave floor to the pot of boiling water. He stood on his hind legs and peered into the steam, then looked back at Max with an unmistakably questioning expression.

"He wants to know if the tea's ready," Max said.

"How can you possibly know that?" Dan asked.

"Look at him."

They all looked. Bro was still standing beside the pot, head tilted at an angle that somehow perfectly conveyed polite inquiry.

"That's... actually pretty obvious," Bubbles admitted.

Max pulled the small pouch of tea leaves from his pack and added a pinch to the water. The smell of dried herbs and honey began to compete with the lamb for dominance of the cave's atmosphere.

Bro scurried back to Max's shoulder, apparently satisfied with this development.

"So he's intelligent," Marcus said. It wasn't really a question.

"Very intelligent."

"How intelligent?"

"He understands everything we're saying right now."

Dan's eyes widened. "Everything?"

"Every word."

Bro turned to look directly at Dan and performed what could only be described as a tiny bow.

"Oh, shit," Dan breathed. "He actually understood that."

"I told you he did."

"But spiders don't—dragons don't—" Dan gestured helplessly. "Things like this don't happen."

Marcus was still staring at Bro. "Can he understand us when we're not talking to him directly?"

"Can you understand people when they're not talking to you directly?" Max asked.

"Well, yes, but—"

"Same principle."

Bro seemed to find this conversation amusing. His tiny form began to glow softly, not the orange warning light from before, but something warmer, yellowish.

"Why is he glowing?" Dan asked nervously.

"Because he's happy."

"Happy?"

"You're paying attention to him. He likes attention."

As if to confirm this, Bro's glow brightened slightly.

"Actually," Bubbles said, settling back against the cave wall, "that's not quite right about dragons manifesting fully formed."

The others turned to look at him. Even Bro seemed interested, his tiny head swiveling toward Bubbles with what looked like curiosity.

"My grandfather told me the real story when I was young. Dragons are minor aspects, yes. Destruction, authority, sometimes greed or wrath. But when they cross into our world, they cannot just appear as full dragons. The barriers between realms will not allow something that powerful through." Bubbles poked at the fire with a stick, sending sparks spiraling up into the darkness. "So they find a living creature and... take it over. Slowly, bit by bit."

"Take it over how?" Dan asked.

"They inhabit the body. Change it from within. The creature starts small, but the dragon's essence reshapes it over time. First juvenile size, then larger, then larger still. Dragons never stop growing, you know." Bubbles paused, staring into the fire. "Once they form, to kill them for good, you need to destroy their heart. The heart that was retrieved in Dragonmeet by Harek was from a juvenile dragon like that, Feynir. I think he was killed since the time of Bjorn."

Feynir. Max knew that name. Feynir the Red Dragon, chapter 2038 of the Chronicles of Bjorn.

An aspect of pride, lust and greed who had made a habit of kidnapping women and hoarding treasures. He had taken the current king's only daughter—Princess Lyralei, Aelara's cousin, who happened to be Bjorn's lover.

She had died in captivity, and Bjorn had hunted the dragon down in a fit of rage. Three days and three nights of battle before Feynir finally fell. Max remembered writing a lengthy rant about that particular storyline back in his forum days.

So that was the soul that had entered Bro, then?

The author had treated dragons like any other creature—big, magical, dangerous, but never explained where they came from or how they worked.

Did that mean Bro would eventually grow into a full dragon?

....Into Feynir?

"The creature they enter," Max said carefully, "would it have the dragon's personality eventually?"

Bubbles shrugged. "I suppose they would? I do not know that for certain, but it would make sense, no? The dragon takes over totally from the start, so the personality is already there. Though it is strange. Your spider seems... submissive."

Right. If Feynir was taking over the spider, he would never be this submissive. Dragons were not submissive creatures as it was totally against their nature. Pride, dominance, the need to rule and hoard and destroy. Bro was nothing like that.

Somehow, this seemed to be a special case.

He looked down at the small spider still glowing contentedly on his shoulder. Bro caught his gaze and performed another tiny bow, clearly pleased with the attention.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Bubbles was wrong. A little research on that matter would be needed after this year.

Max found himself smiling despite the implications. "Well," he said, "the meat looks ready. Why don't we eat first, then have the tea after?"

"Good idea," Marcus said, already reaching for his knife. "I'm famished."

Max pulled out his pouch of tea leaves again. "Gerth gave me these. Said they help with recovery after long days of travel. Should leave us fully rested when we wake."

"Gerth knows about travel recovery?" Dan asked.

"Gerth knows about everything that keeps people alive and working."

They carved portions from the lamb and settled into the business of eating. The meat was better than it had smelled—properly seasoned, cooked through but still tender. After a day of cold travel and mirrorkin encounter, hot food felt like a small blessing.

Bro hopped down to investigate the meal, standing on his hind legs to peer at the proceedings with obvious interest.

"Does he eat meat?" Marcus asked.

"He prefers it," Max said, tearing off a small piece and offering it to the spider.

Bro accepted the morsel with dignity and began consuming it with what could only be described as enthusiasm.

"That's the strangest thing I've seen today," Dan said. "And today included a shapeshifter."

They ate in comfortable quiet, the cave's sound-dampening effect making their small meal feel cut off from the world beyond.

Outside, night was falling over the northern wilderness. Inside, surrounded by warm firelight and the smell of cooked meat, it was possible to forget about the long journey still ahead.

The tea would come later, when they were ready to sleep.

***

Bro had woven himself a small web bed at the entrance of the cave. Proper positioning for guard duty while his Great Master rested.

Not that He needed rest, of course – such a powerful being surely had deeper reasons for this ritual. Everything the Great Master did had meaning.

The day had been most enlightening.

When the Great Master had bestowed upon him the name "Bro," Bro had felt a surge of rightness. Yes. This was who he was. Not some ancient thing called Feynir - that name felt foreign, like ill-fitting silk. Bro was correct. Bro was his true self. Names were important things, after all. They defined the essence of a being.

The Great Master understood this, naturally.

The mirrorkin encounter had been handled with typical magnificence by his Lord. And the sage, Bubbles, had provided useful information, though Bro found his theories about dragon souls rather crude and incomplete.

Dragons were prideful, dominating creatures who bowed to none. This was fundamental truth. Dragons hoarded treasures and commanded lesser beings through fear and power. Dragons burned kingdoms and demanded worship.

Yet Bro knew, with absolute certainty deeper than bone, that he was Bro - loyal companion to the Great Master.

He served willingly. He found joy in his Master's approval. He had no desire to hoard or dominate or burn. The sage's theories suggested this should be impossible, that the dragon's nature should overwhelm all else.

But truth was truth, and Bro was Bro.

Perhaps the Great Master's power was so overwhelming that even ancient dragon essences bent to his will. Or perhaps Bro was simply special. Either way, the contradiction did not trouble him.

His identity was clear.

During his contemplations, movement caught his attention. Far outside the cave, a silhouette stood watching them. Female form, by the shape. At first, he thought treachery, after all, what manner of creature prowled in darkness save those with wicked intent?

His web tensed, ready to launch him toward the threat. But the creature remained still. Motionless. Waiting.

Closer observation revealed more details. Human female, entirely unclothed despite the bitter cold. Her hair hung forward, concealing her features completely.

Most peculiar was her skin – it glowed with pale luminescence, like moonlight given form. The sight stirred unease in Bro's core. Malevolence radiated from her like heat from forge-fire.

Yet she did not approach. Clearly, the Great Master's presence deterred her. Wise of her. His Lord's power was beyond mortal comprehension.

Bro maintained his vigil throughout the night, observing the strange watcher. She never moved. Never spoke. Simply stood in the distance, that eerie glow emanating from her flesh. When the first pale light of dawn touched the horizon, she vanished as if she had never been.

Most curious indeed.

***

The first pale rays of dawn filtered through the cave entrance, pulling Max from a surprisingly restful sleep. The tea Gerth had given him really was something special - he felt more refreshed than he had any right to after sleeping on stone.

"Good morning," he said quietly, sitting up and stretching. The fire had burned down to glowing embers during the night.

"Morning," Marcus replied, already awake and rolling up his bedroll. "Sleep well?"

"Better than expected. That was a good night." Max looked around the cave with satisfaction. Warm, dry, safe - exactly what they'd needed after the mirrorkin encounter.

Dan stirred next, followed by Bubbles, who emerged from deeper in the cave where he'd made his sleeping spot. Soon they were all moving about, packing their gear and preparing for another day of travel.

"Anyone hungry?" Marcus asked, pulling strips of beef jerky from his pack. "Not much, but it'll get us started until we can find something better."

They gathered around the dying fire, sharing the dried meat and passing around waterskins. Max pulled out his map and spread it on the ground, the others leaning in to study their route.

"We're still together for the next three days," Max said, tracing the path with his finger. "Then Marcus branches off here, toward the northeastern settlements."

"That's right," Marcus confirmed.

"Dan leaves us the day after that," Max continued, "and Bubbles the day after that. Then it's just me and Bro heading into the deep north."

Bubbles nodded.

They finished their meager breakfast and began the process of breaking camp. Max scattered the embers and made sure the fire was completely out, while the others shouldered their packs and checked their gear.

Bro scuttled down from his web near the entrance, looking alert and well-rested despite having kept watch all night. He climbed up to his usual perch on Max's shoulder.

"Ready?" Max asked, adjusting his pack straps.

The others nodded, and they stepped out into the crisp morning air, leaving the cave's warmth behind for another day on the road.

The deeper northern wilderness stretched ahead of them like something carved from winter itself. For five days, they walked through landscapes that seemed carved from winter itself—pine forests that stretched to the horizon, valleys carved by ancient glaciers, ridgelines that cut sharp lines against pale skies.

Max had never seen anything like it.

In the mornings, frost turned every surface into crystal. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their branches heavy with snow that fell in soft whispers when the wind picked up. At midday, when the sun broke through the clouds, the whole world blazed white and gold.

"Beautiful," Bubbles said on the second day, stopping to catch his breath at the crest of a particularly steep hill. "Makes you understand why the tribes consider this sacred land."

"Sacred and trying to kill us," Marcus replied, adjusting his pack straps. "Look at those storm clouds."

Dan squinted at the horizon where dark clouds gathered like an approaching army. "We'll reach the next shelter before they hit us. Probably."

They did. Barely.

The marked caves and blessed groves that dotted their route provided reliable sanctuary each night. Stone alcoves carved with Hedrig's rune, ancient trees whose trunks had been hollowed and blessed, abandoned watchtowers that still held their protective wards.

Each shelter felt like stepping into a pocket of safety in a world that wanted them dead.

The sounds started on the first night.

Max lay on his bedroll, listening to something howl in the distance. Not a wolf—he knew what wolves sounded like. This was deeper, more resonant, like stones grinding together.

"What is that?" Dan whispered.

"Don't know," Marcus replied. "Don't want to know."

The howling was answered by something else. A shriek that made the hair on Max's arms stand up even through his wool sleeves.

"The wards will hold," Bubbles said quietly. "That's why we use the marked shelters."

"Yeah," Max said. "That's why."

But sleep came slowly that first night.

By the third night, they'd grown accustomed to the symphony of inhuman sounds that echoed through the darkness. Howls, shrieks, things that sounded almost like human voices calling for help. Max learned to wrap his cloak around his head and focus on the crackling of their small fire.

During the days, they walked. And walked. And walked some more.

The rhythm of it was almost meditative after a while. Boot steps crunching through snow, the whisper of wind through pine branches, the occasional crack of ice settling somewhere in the forest. They talked less as the days wore on, but when they did, the conversation flowed easily.

"So Garrett Thorne," Marcus said on the second day, pronunciation carefully exaggerated. "That's quite the grand surname for a farmer's boy."

"It's an old name," Bubbles replied defensively. "Goes back generations."

"Oh, I'm sure it does. Very distinguished."

Dan snorted. "What's next? Are you going to tell us your great-great-grandfather was a knight?"

"He was a successful farmer," Bubbles said with dignity. "Which is harder than being a knight, if you ask me. Knights just hit things with swords. Farmers have to make things grow."

"Fair point," Max said. "Though I notice you're trying to become a knight yourself."

"Well, yes. But that's different."

"How?"

"Because I'm terrible at farming."

Marcus laughed. "There's honesty for you."

"My father despaired of me completely," Bubbles continued. "Couldn't tell wheat from weeds, killed every plant I touched, couldn't even milk a cow properly."

"How do you mess up milking a cow?" Dan asked.

"You'd be surprised how many ways there are to do it wrong."

"Such as?"

"Well, first you have to catch the cow..."

The conversation devolved into increasingly ridiculous stories about agricultural failures, with each of them trying to top the others' tales of incompetence. It made the miles pass quickly.

Max used the walking time to think about magic.

Each evening, while the others prepared their meal and bedded down for the night, Max pulled out the spellbooks he'd copied from Oberyn Blackwater's collection. Lightning spells, specifically. He'd memorize the incantations during the day, then practice the hand movements and focus exercises by firelight.

The progress was minimal.

On the second night, he managed to generate a small spark between his fingers. It lasted maybe half a second and left his hand tingling for an hour.

"What was that?" Bubbles asked, looking up from his bedroll.

"Nothing useful," Max replied, closing the book with a sigh.

But he kept trying. Every night, another attempt. Another small failure.

The landscape around them grew wilder with each passing day. The trees were larger here, older, their trunks thick enough that it would take four men holding hands to circle them. Snow lay deeper in the hollows, and the paths became less distinct.

"We're getting into the real north now," Dan said on the fourth day, stopping to examine tracks in the snow. "Look at the size of these prints."

Max crouched beside him. The tracks were strange—cloven hooves, but larger than any deer he'd ever seen. Deep gouges in the frozen ground suggested something much heavier than a normal animal.

"What makes tracks like that?" Marcus asked.

"Nothing good," Dan replied, shouldering his pack. "We should move."

They moved.

That evening, Max sat by their fire sketching in a leather-bound journal he'd brought along. Drawing used to be a hobby for him. He'd filled notebooks with fantasy art, trying to capture the images that lived in his imagination.

Now he was living in those images.

He sketched the pine forest they'd walked through that morning, the way shadows fell between the massive trunks. The ice formations they'd seen hanging from cliff faces like frozen waterfalls. The strange, twisted trees that grew near the blessed groves, their branches forming patterns that seemed almost intentional.

"You're good at that," Bubbles said, peering over his shoulder at the sketch.

"Thanks. It's been a while since I had time to draw."

"What's that supposed to be?" Marcus asked, pointing at a half-finished sketch on the previous page.

Max looked down at his attempt to draw Bjorn as he'd always imagined him—broad-shouldered and fierce, with intelligent eyes and scars that told stories. "Bjorn of Ursa."

"Bjorn looks different than I pictured him," Dan observed.

"That's the thing about stories," Max replied, adding shading to the figure's cloak. "Everyone sees them differently."

The wilderness around them was full of wonders that no story had adequately captured. On the third day, they'd seen a grove where every tree had silver bark that chimed softly in the wind. On the fourth, they'd witnessed aurora dancing across the afternoon sky in impossible colors.

Magic was real here in ways that made Max's small lightning sparks seem pathetic by comparison.

But Dan was growing increasingly tense as they traveled deeper north.

"Something's been following us," he said on the morning of the fourth day, crouched beside a stream where they'd stopped to refill their water skins.

"Following us how?" Marcus asked.

"Tracks. Always about a mile behind, keeping pace." Dan pointed to marks in the soft earth beside the water. "Cloven hooves, but massive. And they're staying too close."

"Deer don't usually track humans," Bubbles said.

"This isn't a normal deer." Dan's expression was grim. "Something much larger. And it's not running from us."

They'd been more careful after that. Dan ranged ahead during the day, checking for signs, while Marcus watched their back trail. Whatever was following them stayed just out of sight, but the tracks kept appearing.

"It's testing us," Dan explained as they made camp that evening. "Seeing if we'll make a mistake, get careless."

"What kind of mistake?" Max asked.

"Get separated. Leave someone behind. Travel at night." Dan poked at their fire with a stick. "Patient predators wait for opportunity."

"How long will it follow us?"

"Until we leave its territory. Or until it decides we're worth the risk." Dan's smile was grim. "Let's hope for the former."

They reached the first junction on the afternoon of the fifth day.

The path split here, one branch continuing north while another angled toward the northeast. According to their maps, this was where Marcus would leave them, heading toward the settlements where his assigned hermit waited.

They made camp early, wanting time for a proper farewell.

"Been good traveling with you lot," Marcus said as they sat around their fire that evening. "Better company than I expected when this whole thing started."

"Speaks well of our low expectations," Dan replied. "Amazing what you can bond over when you're all equally likely to die horribly."

"Cheerful as always," Max said.

"I prefer 'realistic.'"

"Well, I'll miss your sunny disposition," Marcus said. "And your ability to spot tracks before whatever made them spots us."

"Just remember what I taught you about reading the ground," Dan said. "Could save your life."

Max had grown fond of all three of his traveling companions over the past days. Marcus's dry humor and steady competence. Dan's expertise and cheerful pessimism. Bubbles's endless curiosity and unshakeable optimism.

They felt like real friends now, not just people thrown together by circumstance.

"Promise me something," Marcus said, looking around the fire at each of them. "When this year is over, when we're all back at Frosthold, we'll share a drink and swap lies about how dangerous our hermits were."

"Mine actually is dangerous," Max pointed out.

"Well, you'll have the best stories then."

They woke before dawn to clear skies and bitter cold. The fire had burned down to glowing coals, and frost covered everything in a crystalline shell.

Marcus packed his gear efficiently, checking his map one final time before shouldering his pack.

"This is it then," he said.

They gathered at the path junction, breath steaming in the cold air. The moment felt heavier than Max had expected.

"Marcus Ironhold," Bubbles said, extending his hand. "Good luck out there."

"And to you, Garrett Thorne of the distinguished farming Thornes." Marcus clasped the offered hand. "Try not to kill any plants during your Proving Year."

"I'll do my best."

"Stay safe out there," Dan said, gripping Marcus's shoulder. "Don't trust anyone completely, but don't assume everyone's an enemy either."

"I'll remember that."

Finally, Marcus turned to Max.

"Harek," he said simply. "Try not to die. I'd hate to lose drinking money to Jormund's bet."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They clasped hands briefly.

Marcus turned and walked away without looking back, his figure growing smaller as he followed the northeastern path toward whatever fate awaited him.

Max watched until Marcus disappeared around a bend in the trail.

When he turned back to the others—

Dan was lying face-down in the snow.

Max blinked. Dan's pack was still on his shoulders, his walking stick still gripped in one hand. But something about the way he was lying looked wrong.

"Dan?" Bubbles called. "What are you doing?"

Max stepped closer. Dan wasn't moving. There was blood spreading in the snow around his head. A lot of blood.

The back of his skull was caved in, brain matter scattered across the white ground like gray porridge.

Before Max could even react, something massive slammed into him from behind.

He felt the the tips of a sharp wood punch through his back and emerge from his chest in twin fountains of blood. The pain was immediate and absolute, like being struck by lightning made of agony.

The impact sent him sliding forward along the antler tines until his back pressed against the creature's skull. He could feel his ribs cracking, his lungs filling with blood.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Bubbles screaming.

Max managed to turn his head. The creature stood over Dan's body, roughly deer-shaped but wrong in every detail. Too large, too tall, antlers that branched and twisted like bare winter trees now slick with Max's blood.

The thing shook him off its antlers like a dog shaking water. Max hit the snow hard, blood pouring from the holes in his chest and back.

Huff... huff...

The creature rose up on its hind legs like a man, reaching down to grasp its front hooves. With a wet tearing sound, the hooves came free, revealing human-like hands underneath. It wiggled its fingers at Max and... smiled.

The fuck? Was what Max wanted to say, but could only gurgle in pain.

Bro erupted in flames on Max's shoulder.

A jet of orange fire engulfed the creature's head. It shrieked and threw itself backward, rolling in the snow, beating at the flames with its newly freed hands.

When the fire died, the thing looked at the small white spider and its smile turned to a snarl of pure rage. It started toward them.

Bro flamed it again.

This time the creature had enough. Still burning, it turned and loped away into the forest on its human-like feet, screaming in rage and pain.

Max tried to speak but only managed to gurgle. Blood filled his throat, his lungs, everything. He was drowning from the inside.

His vision darkened. The world faded.

[Number of rerolls remaining: 10]

***

The In-Between was starting to feel like an old friend. Which was deeply concerning, all things considered.

Max floated in the familiar void, consciousness detached from pain, blood, and the general inconvenience of having antlers punched through his torso. The numeral 10 pulsed gently before him.

He'd just lived through a horror movie.

The kind of thing that started with a group of friends on a nice trip and ended with most of them dead in increasingly creative ways. Peaceful morning, saying goodbye to Marcus, walking down a snowy path, and then—

Wham. Dan face-down in the snow with his skull caved in.

No warning. No dramatic music. No chance to react. Just instant, brutal death.

And the thing that had done it... Max tried to process what he'd seen. Deer-shaped but wrong. Too tall, too intelligent. The way it had stood up like a person and removed its hooves like they were gloves, revealing human hands underneath.

That casual smile as it looked at him.

The memory made his disembodied consciousness shudder.

But the creature wasn't completely unknown. He'd seen something like it before, in one of the books he'd brought along for his Proving Year. The bestiary Tredor had recommended—a collection of northern monsters and their weaknesses.

Max focused on the memory. Pages and pages of detailed illustrations and clinical descriptions. Creatures that hunted in packs. Things that mimicked human voices. Beasts that fed on specific emotions.

And something that looked like a deer but wasn't.

Dan had first mentioned the tracks on the fourth day. Said something had been following them since the third day, staying about a mile back. Patient predator, he'd called it. Testing them.

Max considered his options. He could go back to the beginning of their journey and prevent the encounter entirely. But that would burn through multiple rerolls just to avoid one threat, and who knew what other dangers waited ahead? His rerolls weren't infinite. He needed to use them strategically.

Better to go back just far enough to be prepared. The morning after Dan had first noticed the tracks, when they knew something was following them but still had time to plan.

The numeral 10 pulsed again, patient as a heartbeat.

Max focused his awareness on the number, pressing against it with his consciousness. It flashed bright, then shattered into fragments of light.

The void collapsed around him.

[Number of rerolls remaining: 08]

***

Fifth day. One day before the attack.

Max opened his eyes to gray stone and the fading warmth of dying embers. Early morning light filtered through the cave entrance, pale and cold. Someone was already stirring—Dan, rolling up his bedroll efficiently.

"Morning," Marcus said, poking at the fire to coax it back to life. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough," Max replied, sitting up and immediately reaching for his pack.

Bro scuttled over from his web near the entrance, climbing to his usual perch on Max's shoulder with a tiny chirp of greeting.

"Morning, Bro," Max said absently, pulling items from his pack with deliberate purpose.

"Looking for something?" Bubbles asked, emerging from deeper in the cave.

"This," Max said, producing the leather-bound bestiary. He opened it and began flipping through pages with obvious intent.

The others watched with growing curiosity as Max searched through illustrations of increasingly disturbing creatures.

"Educational reading?" Dan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You mentioned tracks yesterday," Max said, still turning pages. "Large cloven hooves, following us. I want to check something."

Dan's expression sharpened. "You think you know what's making them?"

"Wendigo," Max read aloud. "A malevolent entity found in the deepest reaches of the northern wilderness. Though it bears the semblance of a great elk or stag, learned men warn that this appearance conceals a cunning and terrible intelligence."

Dan leaned forward, studying the image. "The hooves match what I saw in the tracks."

Max continued reading. "The creature is known to observe its prey for many days before striking, learning their habits and weaknesses. It possesses the ability to conceal human-like hands beneath what appear to be natural hooves, allowing it to manipulate objects and terrain in ways no true beast could manage."

"Well, that's unsettling," Marcus said dryly.

"Gets worse," Max said. "Scholars who have studied surviving accounts note the wendigo's particular cruelty—it prefers to attack when its prey is most vulnerable, often targeting moments of separation or distraction to maximize terror among survivors."

Bubbles peered at the illustration with a stern face. "So it's not just following us. It's studying us."

"Waiting for the right moment," Dan confirmed grimly. "When we're distracted, separated, or vulnerable."

"Like when someone leaves the group," Max said, looking meaningfully at Marcus.

Marcus's face went pale. "You think it's waiting for tomorrow? When I split off?"

"I think it's smart enough to know that smaller groups are easier targets," Max replied.

Max turned the page, reading the notes on combat. "Recorded weaknesses include sensitivity to flame, which causes the creature great pain and forces temporary retreat. Extreme cold beyond its natural tolerance may slow its movements. Multiple attacks to the same location have been observed to cause lasting harm, suggesting it can be killed through persistent effort."

"Fire," Dan mused. "We can work with fire."

"We have Bro," Max said, glancing at the small spider on his shoulder. "He breathes fire."

"A spider's worth of fire against something that size?" Marcus shook his head. "Might not be enough."

Max closed the book, considering. There was something else he remembered from those brief moments before the antlers punched through his chest. When he'd looked into the creature's intelligent eyes, he'd seen something floating above its head. He wasn't completely certain, but it had looked like the number 4.

Four rerolls. If he could kill the thing, he'd get those back. More insurance for whatever other horrors waited ahead in his Proving Year.

"I have a plan," he said.

Chapter 152. Parent-Teacher Conferences

The mission was given. The die was cast. Now, the game needed players.

Adom sat behind his desk in his office, a stack of student progress reports spread before him alongside his appointment schedule. Parent conferences. Every three months, before the break periods, titular professors met with student families to discuss progress and address concerns.

But his mind wasn't on academic evaluations. It was on people.

Damus was the obvious first choice. House Lightbringer carried significant weight in Imperial politics, and while Duke Jasper maintained the careful neutrality that kept powerful families alive, there were cracks in that facade. Blood ties to the emperor meant little when those ties came with constant political pressure and increasingly unreasonable demands. Jasper had been growing visibly frustrated with Imperial policy over the past few years, though he was far too experienced to voice those frustrations in public.

The duke's son, however, was a different matter entirely. Damus had inherited his father's political instincts but not his patience. He'd been making carefully worded comments about Imperial overreach for months now, testing the waters, seeing how far he could push without crossing into outright sedition.

When the time came to choose sides, Adom was reasonably confident he could bring House Lightbringer into the fold. Assuming, of course, that he could present them with a viable alternative to the current mess.

Karion Dimitri presented a more complex challenge. House Dimitri had built its considerable wealth and influence by staying scrupulously neutral in political conflicts, maintaining their warrior traditions while carefully avoiding entanglement in broader Imperial politics.

Their wealth came from two dungeons gifted to them by the 109th Emperor, a grant meant to last until the end of times. The steady flow of magical resources and rare materials from those dungeons had made them one of the most financially secure houses in the empire, but it also meant they had little incentive to rock the boat.

But neutrality only worked when all sides respected it. The emperor's recent policies had been squeezing the merchant classes harder each year, and even House Dimitri's considerable resources couldn't insulate them from the broader economic damage. Karion had been carefully noncommittal during their recent conversations, but Adom had caught glimpses of genuine concern beneath the diplomatic surface.

The trick would be convincing him that supporting Morgana's claim represented a path to stability rather than revolution. Frame it as a return to proper order rather than a radical change, and House Dimitri might be willing to throw their considerable resources behind the effort.

Then there was Naia. As the daughter of the Tirajin ambassador, she represented a potential bridge to foreign support that could prove invaluable if things escalated to open conflict. Ever since the war with Farmus and its allies began, Tirajin had been growing increasingly uncomfortable with Imperial border policies, and their military capabilities were nothing to dismiss lightly.

More importantly, Naia herself had proven remarkably adept at navigating complex political situations. She understood how to read people, how to present information in ways that achieved desired outcomes, how to build coalitions from competing interests. Skills that would be essential once they started trying to build broader support for Morgana's cause.

These three friends weren't just potential allies. They were crucial pieces in the larger game that was about to unfold. Which was why he needed them with him when he left the empire's borders. Better to have these conversations face-to-face, away from Imperial surveillance, where they could speak freely about options and implications.

And since he was already making a team...

Sam was already a given. No question there.

Gus brought druidic abilities that could prove invaluable for travel in unknown territories. And Mia's alchemical expertise might be the difference between success and disaster if they encountered hostile magical effects.

Emma was one of the most skilled healers he'd encountered, and a few years of additional experience had only sharpened her abilities. In a mission that might involve significant physical danger, having someone who could patch people up quickly and efficiently was essential.

Eren, though... that was more complicated. The young man was the Archmage's disciple, which meant any decision to include him would need explicit approval. Taking someone else's student into potentially lethal situations without permission would be a serious breach of protocol.

He'd have to discuss that particular decision with the Archmage before finalizing the team roster.

Just like that, Adom had his expedition members mapped out. An expedition that had been decided three months ago, though it felt like the conversation with Kim and the Archmage had happened yesterday.

Funny how time worked. You could spend weeks feeling like nothing was happening, and then suddenly everything accelerated and you realized you'd been building toward this moment for longer than you'd consciously understood.

"Professor Sylla?"

Adom looked up from his desk to find one of his students standing in the doorway, flanked by two adults who were obviously her parents. The woman shared her daughter's sharp features and intelligent eyes, while the man carried himself with the sort of careful posture that suggested military background.

He'd been aware of their arrival, but the weight of his mental planning had kept him focused on more pressing matters.

"My apologies," he said, standing and gesturing toward the chairs arranged in front of his desk. "Please, come in. I was just reviewing some notes."

The first set of parents arrived precisely on time, which should have been Adom's first warning.

Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood sat down across from his desk at exactly the same moment. Mrs. Blackwood clutched a leather portfolio thick enough to contain either extensive notes or a small weapon.

"Professor Sylla," Mr. Blackwood began, speaking to him as if he were a particularly young-looking substitute teacher. "We have some concerns about Marcus's progress."

Adom glanced at his notes. Marcus Blackwood. Solid student, turned in assignments on time, participated in class discussions without being disruptive. Most teachers would be grateful to have thirty students exactly like him.

"Marcus is doing well," Adom said. "His runic comprehension is above average, and his practical applications show steady improvement."

Mrs. Blackwood opened her portfolio and extracted a sheet of parchment covered in neat handwriting. "We've prepared a list of supplementary exercises we'd like you to implement. Marcus needs to be challenged more rigorously if he's going to qualify for advanced placement next year."

Adom looked at the list. It contained enough additional homework to occupy a student for several extra hours each day. The academic load would turn learning into a grinding endurance test.

"Mrs. Blackwood," he said carefully, "Marcus is already performing at the top ten percent of his class. Adding this much extra work might actually harm his understanding of the fundamentals."

"Harm?" Mr. Blackwood's eyebrows rose. "Professor, with respect, you look barely old enough to have graduated yourself. Perhaps you don't fully understand the competitive nature of academic advancement."

There it was. The age comment he'd been expecting since the semester started.

"I understand it perfectly," Adom replied, keeping his voice level. "I also understand that overloading students often produces the opposite of the desired result. Marcus is learning well at his current pace."

Mrs. Blackwood smiled sharply. "Perhaps we should discuss this with the department head. Someone with more... experience."

Adom leaned back in his chair. He could feel his patience beginning to fray, but he kept his expression neutral. "That's certainly your prerogative. Though I should mention that my teaching methods have been reviewed and approved by both the Archmage and Headmaster Merris."

The mention of those names had the desired effect. Mr. Blackwood's posture shifted slightly, and Mrs. Blackwood's grip on her portfolio loosened.

"Of course," Mrs. Blackwood said, her tone becoming noticeably more diplomatic. "We're simply concerned parents who want the best for our son."

"I understand completely," Adom said. "And I want the best for Marcus too. Which is why I'm not going to assign him enough extra work to burn him out before winter break."

The Blackwoods left with polite smiles and obvious frustration. Adom made a mental note to keep an eye on Marcus for signs of additional pressure at home.

The next appointment went smoother. Mrs. Chen arrived alone, settled into her chair, and listened attentively while Adom explained her daughter Lin's progress.

"She's doing excellent work," he said. "Creative problem-solving, asks good questions, helps other students when they're struggling. I'm particularly impressed with her approach to defensive rune sequences."

Mrs. Chen smiled. "Lin has always been interested in protection magic. Ever since she was small, she wanted to keep everyone safe."

"It shows in her work. She has real intuition for structural reinforcement patterns."

"Professor," Mrs. Chen said, leaning forward slightly, "may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You're very young to be teaching at this level. That must be challenging."

Adom braced himself for another lecture about experience and qualifications.

Instead, Mrs. Chen continued, "Lin was so excited when she learned you'd be her professor. She said having a teacher closer to her own age might make it easier to ask questions without feeling foolish."

"I hope that's true," Adom said, genuinely pleased. "I try to remember what it felt like to be learning this material for the first time."

"It must help that you went through the same programs so recently. You understand the pressure they're under."

Mrs. Chen left with a warm handshake and thanks. Adom found himself hoping more parents would share her perspective.

They didn't.

The Hendersons arrived twenty minutes late and immediately began apologizing for everything their son had ever done, was currently doing, or might conceivably do in the future. Tommy Henderson was actually a decent student, but his parents had apparently convinced themselves he was one step away from academic disaster.

"We know Tommy can be a handful," Mrs. Henderson said before Adom could speak. "If he's causing problems, please don't hesitate to assign detention. Or extra assignments. Or whatever punishment you think appropriate."

"Tommy isn't causing problems," Adom said. "He's a bit chatty during lectures, but he's engaged with the material and his test scores are solid."

Mr. Henderson looked skeptical. "Are you sure? His previous teachers always had complaints."

Adom glanced at his notes again. Tommy participated enthusiastically in class discussions, sometimes got excited and interrupted others, but showed genuine curiosity about runic theory. His energetic engagement could be channeled productively.

"I think Tommy learns better when he can discuss concepts out loud," Adom said. "I've been having him work through problems verbally sometimes. It helps him organize his thoughts."

The Hendersons exchanged glances as if he'd suggested their son might actually be intelligent.

"He's really not failing?" Mrs. Henderson asked.

"He's not even close to failing. He's in the middle of the grade distribution and improving steadily."

They left looking confused but relieved. Adom made another note, this one about checking whether Tommy's previous teachers had been giving him appropriate encouragement.

Lord Kestwick arrived with an entourage.

Not metaphorically. He'd brought two advisors, a secretary, and what appeared to be a personal guard. They arranged themselves around the office as if he was holding court rather than discussing his daughter's academic progress.

"Lord Kestwick," Adom said. "Thank you for coming."

"Professor Sylla." Lord Kestwick spoke as if he was conferring a great honor by acknowledging Adom's existence. "I trust Lyanna is performing adequately."

Lyanna Kestwick was performing considerably better than adequately. She was one of his strongest students, particularly talented with complex geometric rune patterns that most students struggled with until their seventh year.

"Lyanna is doing outstanding work," Adom said. "Her understanding of advanced runic mathematics is exceptional."

Lord Kestwick nodded as if this was exactly what he'd expected to hear. "The Kestwick family has always excelled in academic pursuits. Lyanna is continuing that tradition."

One of the advisors leaned forward and whispered something in Lord Kestwick's ear.

"My advisor reminds me that you're remarkably young for a professor," Lord Kestwick said. "The Ghost of Xerkes, correct? We followed your... exploits... with interest."

Adom tensed slightly. When nobles started talking about following your exploits with interest, it usually meant they were considering whether you might be useful to them.

"I'm here to teach runicology," Adom said carefully. "Lyanna has real talent in that area."

"Indeed. Tell me, Professor, what are your thoughts on practical applications of runic magic in military contexts?"

There it was. Lord Kestwick wasn't interested in his daughter's education. He was interested in whether the Ghost of Xerkes might be willing to develop weapons for House Kestwick.

"I focus on theoretical foundations and defensive applications," Adom said. "Military applications aren't part of the standard curriculum."

Lord Kestwick's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. Though I imagine someone with your... background... might be interested in consulting opportunities."

"I'm quite busy with my teaching responsibilities."

The conversation continued for several more minutes, with Lord Kestwick probing delicately for any sign that Adom might be available for hire. Adom deflected each attempt while trying to keep the discussion focused on Lyanna's actual academic progress.

Lord Kestwick gathered his entourage and moved toward the door, then paused and turned back.

"One more thing, Professor," he said. "I've been doing some research on my daughter's new teacher. Fascinating to discover you're related to Lord Howl Lionheart."

Adom blinked. "He's my grandfather. Though we've been estranged. My mother never kept contact."

"Ah, yes. Family politics can be... complicated." Lord Kestwick's expression shifted to something more genuinely interested. "I knew Howl quite well, actually. We served together on several Imperial committees decades ago. He used to talk about his daughter occasionally, wondered what became of her after she left. And he was curious about what his grandson might look like."

"I see."

"You have his eyes, you know. Same intensity. Same intelligence behind them." Lord Kestwick smiled, and for the first time it seemed genuine. "He'd be proud, I think. His grandson is quite the fine young man."

"Well, thanks," Adom said.

Lord Kestwick nodded and left with his entourage.

Adom stared at the closed door for a moment. He'd never really thought about his grandfather as family. Never thought about him at all, actually. His mother had forbidden even uttering her family name from when he was very young. She'd left when her father threatened to kill her if she married his father. They'd had no contact ever since, and Adom had never really cared.

How very strange, then, that the old man had been keeping an eye on him.

Oh well.

The afternoon wore on. Parents who treated him as a celebrity and asked for autographs. Parents who lectured him about discipline and proper educational standards. More parents who seemed surprised that their children were capable of learning anything at all.

Mr. Aldric arrived drunk and spent fifteen minutes complaining that his son Stefan wasn't being challenged enough, despite Stefan's recent tendency to fall asleep during lectures. Mrs. Brightwater brought a list of questions about the curriculum that demonstrated she'd confused runicology with herbalism. The Cromwell family showed up with their son in tow and proceeded to have a loud argument about his future career plans while Adom sat there wondering if he should intervene.

By the time evening approached, Adom was beginning to understand why some professors avoided parent conferences altogether.

Then he heard a knock on his door. A distinctive one.

Three sharp raps, followed by a pause, then two more. Confident but not impatient.

Adom looked up from his notes about the Hendersons and felt something shift in his chest. He knew that knock. Had heard it countless times in his previous life, usually when he was buried in research and losing track of time. Lysandra had always knocked exactly like that before entering his workspace to drag him to meals or remind him about war meetings he'd forgotten.

But that was years in the future. They hadn't even met, yet.

"Come in," he called, setting down his quill and trying to keep his voice steady.

The door opened slowly. A woman stepped into the room, scanning his office setup methodically. Dark hair streaked with premature silver. Sharp green eyes that catalogued the arrangement of his books, the positioning of his desk, the way he'd organized his runic reference materials.

She moved like someone accustomed to walking into rooms and immediately understanding how they worked. How the people in them worked too.

Behind her, a second figure hesitated in the doorway. Vivian, clutching a small notebook and clearly wishing she could disappear into the wall.

"Professor Sylla," the woman said, stepping forward and extending her hand. "I'm Lysandra Kallistrate."

Adom stood, his chair scraping against the floor. He reached out to shake her hand, trying to process the surreal experience of meeting someone who had been his mentor and colleague for years. Someone who, right now, had no idea who he was beyond his reputation as the Ghost of Xerkes.

"I believe you've met my daughter," she continued.

Her handshake was firm, professional. The same grip he remembered from dozens of formal introductions in his previous life, when she'd presented him to other researchers or military officials as her assistant.

Except now he was the professor, and she was the parent visiting during conference hours.

"Yes," Adom managed. "Vivian is one of my strongest students. Please, have a seat," he gestured to the chairs. Lysandra settled herself comfortably while Vivian perched on the edge of her chair, still clutching her notebook.

"Vivian has been telling me wonderful things about your classes," Lysandra began. "She's particularly excited about the advanced applications you've been covering."

Adom glanced at Vivian, who had turned slightly pink. "She has real talent for spatial runic relationships. Most students struggle with three-dimensional projection patterns, but she grasps them intuitively."

"She's always been good with abstract concepts," Lysandra said. "Though I have to admit, some of the work she's brought home has been quite impressive. More advanced than I expected for someone her age."

"I believe in challenging students when they show they're ready for it. Vivian's ready."

Lysandra nodded approvingly. "Good. Too many teachers hold students back out of caution." She paused, studying him. "You're quite young to be teaching at this level, but you clearly know your material."

"Thank you."

"Actually," Lysandra continued, "I'm familiar with some of your published work. Your paper on runic resonance frequencies was quite insightful. Not many people understand the mathematical relationships involved."

"You've read my research?" He asked, as if he hadn't published them two months ago just to attract her attention.

"I've read most of your papers, actually. Your approach to theoretical frameworks is... refreshing." Lysandra leaned forward slightly. "I'm working on some research myself into defensive runic layering systems. Ways to stack protective enchantments without causing interference patterns."

"That's complex work," Adom said. "The energy distribution calculations alone must be challenging."

"Exactly. I could always use another brilliant mind to bounce ideas off of." She smiled. "Someone with your theoretical background might find it interesting."

"Actually," Adom said carefully, "I've been working on something related. Optimization patterns for runic efficiency. Perhaps we could discuss our research sometime."

Adom knew Lysandra. Where to poke. What to say. Would she take the bait?

"I'd like that very much. When were you thinking?"

There.

"I'll be traveling for a few weeks on research," Adom said. "But perhaps when I return? We could schedule something."

"Perfect. I should be free around then as well." Lysandra stood, extending her hand again. "Thank you, Professor. For everything you're doing for Vivian. And for the potential collaboration."

Vivian finally spoke up. "Thank you, Professor Sylla."

Adom shook Lysandra's hand, then nodded to Vivian. "Keep up the good work."

They left, and

Adom sat in the silence of his empty office, staring at the clock on the wall. The brass hands showed half past seven, and the last echoes of footsteps had faded from the corridors outside.

His mind went blank for a moment. Just... quiet. The weight of the day's conversations, the careful political calculations, the surreal experience of meeting Lysandra again—all of it seemed to settle into stillness.

He sighed deeply, the sound filling the empty room.

Three weeks. The students would have three weeks to breathe, to rest, to forget about runic theory and geometric applications and all the pressures their parents seemed determined to pile on them. Three weeks of freedom before the winter term began.

And three weeks for him to find Morgana.

His team was already mapped out in his mind. Sam, of course. Damus, Karion, and Naia—if he could convince them to join. Gus with his druidic abilities, Mia with her alchemical expertise, Emma with her healing skills. Maybe Eren, if the Archmage approved.

The last confirmed sighting had been in Silvandros, deep in elven territory. Morgana had been purchasing weapons there—elven steel was renowned throughout the known world, and their shipwrights crafted vessels that could navigate the most treacherous waters.

If she was gathering supplies for whatever came next, Silvandros would be the logical place to do it. That had been two weeks ago, according to the intelligence reports he received from his network.

Getting to Silvandros meant taking the road through the Thornwood Passes, winding mountain paths that cut through dense forest and rocky terrain. The journey would take them past ancient watchtowers and through valleys where morning mist clung to the trees like ghostly fingers. They'd cross the Windmere Bridge, assuming the recent storm damage hadn't made it impassable, then follow the elven trade routes into their territory proper.

From there, he'd have to start asking questions. Two weeks was a long time for a trail to go cold, but Morgana had a tendency to make impressions on people. Someone would remember her. Someone would have seen which direction she'd headed when she left.

She was giving him quite a lot of work to do.

Adom leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a small smile. Three weeks of real adventure ahead. After months of academic politics and parent conferences, the prospect felt almost liberating.

He'd always wanted to visit the elven lands, actually. In his previous life, he'd never gotten the chance—the wars had destroyed most of their cities before he could make the journey. The dangers of mountain trolls and unstable bridges were there, certainly, but nothing he couldn't handle with his current abilities.

It was time.

Chapter 151. Scheming Fiend

"We need to kill the emperor."

Both Adom and the Archmage were looking at Professor Kim, eyes wide, shock evident on their faces.

Kim stared back at them, completely unfazed. "What? It's true. You both know it's true."

The silence that followed was heavy. Adom's pulse picked up slightly. He glanced at the Archmage, who looked back at him with the same measured expression. Then they both turned their attention back to Kim.

The Archmage's foot began a quiet rhythm against the floor. Tap tap. Tap tap. Adom had never seen the Archmage do the tap tap thing before. This was serious.

And the thing was, Kim was absolutely right.

Adom had been thinking about it for three days now. Ever since the changeling incident had made it crystal clear that their current approach to the emperor problem wasn't working. The whole mess could have been avoided if they'd dealt with the root cause instead of constantly playing defense against the symptoms.

He suspected the Archmage had been having similar thoughts, based on the way the old man had been staring at his tea during their previous meetings and making noncommittal humming sounds whenever someone mentioned Imperial policy. There was a particular quality to the Archmage's silences lately that suggested he was working through scenarios in his head. Unpleasant scenarios that involved permanent solutions to temporary problems.

But there was a significant difference between thinking something and saying it. Kim had just crossed that line with the casual confidence of someone ordering breakfast. He'd taken the thought they'd all been carefully not voicing and dropped it on the table like an explosive crystal.

The silence stretched on.

Outside the tower windows, Adom could hear the steady rhythm of waves against the rocky shore below. The wind moved through the stone corridors with a low whistle, carrying the salt smell of the sea. Normal sounds of their isolated existence, completely removed from the world where people lived normal lives, unaware that three individuals were sitting in a room discussing regicide over afternoon tea.

Kim shifted in his chair, apparently unbothered by the weight of what he'd just suggested. "Look, we can all pretend I didn't say it, if that makes you more comfortable. We can go back to talking around the issue and using euphemisms like 'removing him from power' or 'neutralizing the threat.' But at some point, someone needs to acknowledge what we're actually discussing here."

Adom glanced at the Archmage again, who was still conducting his thorough examination of his teacup. The old man's face was carefully neutral, but there was something in his posture that suggested Kim's words had hit their mark.

Half-measures weren't going to cut it this time. They'd tried the diplomatic approach, the subtle approach, the wait-and-see approach. None of it had worked.

A warning wouldn't accomplish anything useful. The emperor had been receiving warnings for years, from various sources, about various things. He collected them like some people collected stamps. Official protests from neighboring kingdoms, strongly worded letters from concerned citizens, formal complaints from trade guilds whose members were getting squeezed by new taxes. All of it ended up filed away in some Imperial archive, carefully catalogued and completely ignored.

The emperor would nod politely, thank them for their concern, assure them that their input was valued, and then proceed to do exactly what he'd been planning to do anyway. Another strongly worded letter would just end up in the same filing cabinet as all the others, and next week there would be another incident involving Imperial overreach and poorly thought-out policies.

Economic pressure was a non-starter.

The emperor controlled the treasury, the major trade routes, and most of the significant merchant guilds. Trying to pressure him financially would be like trying to drown a fish. He could raise taxes, impose tariffs, seize assets, or simply debase the currency by mixing cheaper metals into the coins if he felt like it.

Any economic weapon they could bring to bear, he could counter with superior resources and legal authority.

Political maneuvering was equally useless. The Imperial Council was packed with loyalists and yes-men who would agree with the emperor if he declared that water was dry and fire was cold. Half of them owed their positions to Imperial favor, and the other half were too terrified of losing those positions to risk disagreeing with anything the emperor said.

Any attempt to work within the system would get bogged down in bureaucracy, committee meetings, and procedural delays. By the time they managed to navigate the maze of Imperial administration, the emperor would have implemented whatever disastrous policy they were trying to prevent, and they'd be back to dealing with the consequences instead of the cause.

Military action was theoretically possible but practically suicidal. The Imperial Army was large, well-trained, and generally loyal to whoever was signing their paychecks. Even if they could somehow convince a significant portion of the military to switch sides, the resulting civil war would probably kill more people than the emperor's policies ever had. And that was assuming they could win, which was far from guaranteed.

Throughout his reign, the emperor had survived three assassination attempts, one palace coups, and one full-scale rebellion in the past decade. He wasn't staying in power through luck or incompetence. He was genuinely good at the political survival game, which made him all the more dangerous as an opponent.

Which left them with the direct approach: Remove the emperor from the equation entirely, install someone more reasonable in his place, and hope the transition went smoothly enough to avoid complete chaos.

It wasn't a particularly pleasant option. It certainly wasn't the sort of thing any of them had imagined themselves discussing when they'd gotten into their respective fields. But it was the only approach that actually had a realistic chance of working.

Kim was still watching them, waiting to see if either of them would voice what they were all thinking. The Archmage had finally looked up from his teacup, but his expression was unreadable.

Adom realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out slowly, considering the weight of what they were contemplating. Once they started down this path, there would be no going back. No plausible deniability, no middle ground, no room for second thoughts.

And so...

"Yeah," Adom finally said, "the emperor has to go."

The Archmage finally set down his teacup.

"The thought has been haunting me for years," he said quietly. "Ever since the crown prince incident. Then the grain embargo two years ago. Then that business with the mining guilds last year." He paused, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "I find myself lying awake at night, running through scenarios. None of them pleasant."

Adom watched the old man's face. There was something almost relieved about his expression now, as if he'd been carrying a burden and had finally set it down.

"But the succession presents... complications," the Archmage continued. "Significant ones. We're not talking about removing a corrupt official or replacing an incompetent administrator. We're talking about breaking a bloodline that has ruled for centuries. The legitimacy question alone could tear the empire apart."

Kim leaned forward in his chair. "So we don't worry about legitimacy. The Magisterium takes control. Temporary emergency measure, of course. Just until we can establish a more... rational system of governance."

The Archmage's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ah. I see where this is going."

"Think about it," Kim said, warming to his theme. "We have the magical expertise, the administrative experience, the respect of the educated classes. We could actually run things properly for once, instead of watching from the sidelines while everything falls apart."

"A technocracy."

"Exactly. Rule by competence instead of accident of birth. We take some time, maybe a few years, design a proper system. Find someone aligned with our goals, someone who actually understands how governance should work—"

"No." The word came out flat and final.

Kim blinked. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no, that's not happening." The Archmage's tone remained mild, but there was steel underneath it. "Do you have any idea how that would be received? The mages staging a coup? We'd have every noble house in the empire declaring war on us within a week."

"They couldn't win—"

"They wouldn't have to win. They'd just have to make the empire ungovernable." The Archmage shook his head. "The moment we take direct control, we become the enemy. Every failed harvest, every bandit raid, every trade dispute becomes our fault. Every ambitious lord with a claim to anything becomes a potential rebel leader. People already fear mages, Kim. Let us not add fuel to that fire."

Kim's jaw tightened. "So we're supposed to just accept the current system? Watch everything burn because we're afraid of political complications?"

"I'm suggesting we be strategic about this. If we want lasting change, we need legitimacy. We need someone with a genuine claim to the throne."

"Like who? Princess Marene?" Kim's voice carried a note of disdain. "She's exactly like her father, only more ambitious. Give her power and she'll be twice as destructive."

"Agreed. Marene would be..." The Archmage paused, searching for the right words. "Problematic."

"And Prince Ghorin's a coward," Kim continued. "Last I heard, he was practically living in Lord Varmond's pocket. Half the court thinks Varmond's already pulling his strings."

Adom shifted slightly in his chair. The name Varmond carried uncomfortable associations. The man had connections to several foreign interests, none of them particularly friendly to the empire's current borders.

"Also true," the Archmage acknowledged. "Ghorin would be a puppet ruler within a year. Possibly less."

"So what's left?" Kim spread his hands. "The ex crown prince is not viable. We're back to the technocracy option. At least we'd be competent puppets."

"The Magisterium has many strengths," the Archmage said patiently. "Governing is not among them. We're scholars, Kim. Researchers. We understand theory, not practice. Put us in charge of the empire and we'd probably have three different committees arguing about the optimal taxation rate while the treasury emptied and the provinces rebelled."

Kim opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. His fingers drummed against the arm of his chair in a rapid, irregular pattern.

"Besides," the Archmage continued, "the moment we take power, we stop being neutral arbiters. We become political actors. Every decision we make becomes suspect. Every magical innovation gets viewed through the lens of political advantage. The trust we've built up over centuries disappears overnight."

"So we do nothing?" Kim's voice rose slightly. "We sit here discussing the problem while the emperor burns down everything we've spent our lives building?"

"I didn't say we do nothing. I said we need legitimacy."

"From where?" Kim demanded. "The emperor's children are disasters. The noble houses are either corrupt or compromised. The military's loyal to whoever pays them. Where exactly are we supposed to find this magical legitimate ruler who'll solve all our problems?"

The argument was starting to heat up.

Adom could see the signs—Kim's increasingly rapid gestures, the way the Archmage's voice was getting quieter and more precise. They were approaching the point where reasonable discussion would give way to entrenched positions and hurt feelings.

Which was unfortunate, because they were both missing something important.

Adom had been thinking about this for three days now. Not just about whether they should remove the emperor, but about what came next. The succession question. The legitimacy problem. The political complications.

And there was something they weren't considering. Someone they weren't considering.

He'd been hesitating to bring it up because it would change everything. Once he said it, they'd be committed to a very specific path forward. No more theoretical discussions about whether action was necessary. They'd be talking about who to approach, when to act, how to manage the transition.

But watching Kim and the Archmage argue in circles, he realized they weren't going to reach a solution on their own. They were both too focused on the obstacles to see the opportunity.

"Morgana Vi Savarnis is still alive," he said quietly.

The argument stopped mid-sentence. Both Kim and the Archmage turned to look at him, their expressions shifting from heated debate to sudden, intense focus.

The silence that followed was complete.

They didn't ask questions. They didn't demand explanations. They just waited, staring at him.

Adom settled back in his chair. "About six years ago, I freed a puma in the Dregs."

He paused, considering how much detail to include. The whole story would take time, and most of it wasn't relevant to their current problem.

"I saw her in a cage during some gang conflict. People shooting at each other, general chaos. I freed her during all that mess." He shrugged, very happy to skip the details. "She followed me afterward without me knowing. Took me days to realize I had a shadow."

The Archmage's eyebrows rose slightly. "A puma following you through the city seems like something you'd notice immediately."

"Well, that's the thing. She wasn't always a puma. Turned out she was cursed and could shift between a regular black house cat and her full puma form."

Kim's eyes started to widen. "You mean to tell me that cat from back then was—"

"Yes." Adom nodded. "It was Morgana."

"By Law's beard." Kim sat back in his chair as if he'd been physically pushed.

The Archmage leaned forward slightly. "How?"

"How what?"

"How did the emperor's niece, presumed dead for fifteen years, find herself in such a situation?"

"She didn't want to explain it to me. Still doesn't, as far as I know. I only figured out who she was about five years ago, when I was reading a journal paper saw a photograph of the imperial family from when she was a child. Same face, just older."

The Archmage's fingers drummed once against the table. "And you said nothing."

"What was I supposed to say?" Adom shook his head. "Besides, it wasn't my secret to tell."

Kim was still processing. "The people that had her caged—"

"A sort of criminal merchant group called the Silver Circle. They no longer exist."

"So what happened after you freed her?" the Archmage asked.

"I brought her to the Veyshari. They agreed to examine the curse and managed to lift it."

Kim whistled low. "And after they broke it?"

"She stayed for a few more weeks to recover, then left. Said she wanted to see the world after all this time."

"Where is she now?" Gaius asked.

"I don't know."

Kim looked like he wanted to shake Adom until more information fell out.

"She took to the sea," Adom continued. "With the Veyshari."

"But you stayed in contact?" the Archmage pressed.

"For a while. She used to send me and Sam letters fairly regularly. Nothing political, just travel stories. Descriptions of places she'd been, people she'd met. She seemed to be enjoying herself." Adom's expression darkened slightly. "But the letters stopped coming about a year ago."

"Stopped how?" Kim asked. "Did she say she was ending correspondence, or did they just—"

"They just stopped. Either she moved on without leaving a word, or..." He left the sentence hanging.

The implications settled over the room. There wasn't really a need to elaborate.

"Have you tried to locate her?" Gaius asked.

"I have some contacts in the merchant marine. They've been asking around, but discreetly. So far, nothing concrete. A few possible sightings in various port cities, but nothing we could confirm."

Kim was leaning forward now, his earlier agitation replaced by intense focus. "But she's definitely alive? As of a year ago?"

"As far as we know. The last letter was dated about thirteen months back. She was in Veridian at the time, working as a translator for some trading company." Adom paused, his expression thoughtful. "Though I think she might be building an army."

Kim's eyebrows shot up. "An army?"

"It's just... there's been talk. For the past year or so, merchants have been reporting strange things. Mercenary companies going quiet, private armies just disappearing. And it's always in the same places she was writing from." Adom rubbed his jaw. "Could be coincidence, but the timing matches up too well."

"What kind of talk?" the Archmage asked.

"Stories about a woman gathering forces. Buying out entire mercenary outfits, recruiting from disbanded military units, that sort of thing. Nobody's gotten a good look at her, but wherever she goes, sellswords start vanishing from the usual hiring markets."

Kim leaned forward. "And you think it's her?"

"I don't know for certain. Her letters were all perfectly normal. Complaints about the weather, descriptions of local food, stories about interesting people she'd met. Nothing that would suggest she was doing anything more dangerous than sightseeing." Adom shrugged. "But the pattern's there. She writes from a port city, and a few weeks later, half the mercenaries in the area have found new employment with some mysterious benefactor."

The Archmage went very still. "Her father's death was shrouded in mystery."

"What?" Adom looked at him sharply.

"Morgana disappeared seventeen years ago now, on the night her father, General Soren died. The emperor's younger brother."

"I thought she was just... lost. During some accident or something." Adom said, not liking where this was going.

"General Soren had been gathering support among the military houses. Too much support, according to some. Apparently, the night everything went wrong, his compound was surrounded by his own men, armed and ready to march on the capital." The Archmage paused. "Then a young diplomat arrived under a flag of truce. Smooth talker, very persuasive. He convinced the rebels to lay down their weapons, promised them pardons and gold if they abandoned their general."

"The current Chancellor," Kim said quietly.

"The very same. Back then he was just an ambitious young man with a talent for words." The Archmage's expression darkened. "The rebels left. Every last one of them. The general found himself alone in his compound with nothing but his family and a handful of household guards."

"And then?" Adom prompted.

"Then he went mad. At least, that's the official story. When the Star Knights arrived hours later, they found him standing in the main hall, covered in blood. His wife's body was sprawled across the dining table, stabbed so many times the wood beneath was soaked through. His two sons were on the floor nearby, throats cut so deep their heads hung at wrong angles." The Archmage's fingers had gone completely still. "The general was screaming, ranting about traitors and conspiracies. He attacked the knights with his bare hands when they tried to approach. They had to cut him down."

Kim had gone pale. "I remember when the news reached us. Thought it was tragic at the time, but now that I have a child of my own..." He shook his head. "The idea of a father doing that to his family. It's monstrous."

"They say he lost his mind when he realized he'd been abandoned. Couldn't bear the shame of it, so he took his rage out on the people closest to him before the madness consumed him entirely." The Archmage paused. "A child's burned body was found in the ruins of the family quarters. Presumed to be princess Morgana."

The room had gotten very quiet.

"But if she is alive..." The Archmage's eyes focused on something in the distance. "If she somehow escaped that night and saw what really happened... then perhaps the general wasn't mad at all. Perhaps he was defending his family against assassins who came after the rebels conveniently left. Perhaps the blood on his hands wasn't from murdering his wife and children, but from trying to save them."

The implications settled over them like a heavy blanket.

"So she's seeking revenge on the perpetrators maybe?" Adom asked, though he was starting to suspect he already knew the answer.

"The emperor gave the order. The Chancellor cleared the way. The Star Knights arrived just in time to find a convenient madman to blame." The Archmage's voice was flat. "Very tidy. Very believable."

"Oh."

The Archmage rose from his chair. The movement was deliberate, measured, and it changed the entire atmosphere of the room. Kim straightened automatically. Adom found himself doing the same without quite knowing why.

"We find ourselves in a rather precarious position," the Archmage said, his voice taking on a different quality. "We need to remove an emperor who has proven himself unfit to rule. The circumstances surrounding General Soren's death may not be as straightforward as the history books would have us believe."

He walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. There was a storm brewing outside now, rain lashing against the glass.

Adom watched him move and felt his pulse quicken. He'd seen this before. The formal posture, the careful words, the way the Archmage's entire demeanor shifted when he was about to hand out an assignment that would ruin someone's comfortable life.

Usually it happened to other people.

"If the emperor orchestrated his brother's murder, if he used the Chancellor to clear the field and then had his own family butchered to cover his tracks..." The Archmage turned back to face them. "The laws of the empire are quite clear on fratricide. Particularly when committed without just cause."

He's about to say it... Adom thought.

The Archmage's eyes fixed on him. "Magus Adom Sylla."

There it was.

Adom looked at the old man.

"By the authority vested in me as Archmage of the Imperial Magisterium, by the ancient laws of the empire, and by the sacred duty we bear to preserve truth and justice as decreed by Magus Law Borealis himself, I hereby charge you with a mission of the utmost importance."

Kim had gone very still.

"You are to travel beyond our borders. You are to search wherever necessary. You are to find princess Morgana Vi Savarnis, daughter of the late General Soren, and you are to bring her back alive." The Archmage paused. "You may assemble a team if you deem it necessary. Choose wisely."

Adom's mouth had gone dry, but not from surprise. He'd known this was coming the moment the Archmage had started connecting dots. "What's my cover story?"

"You're already registered as a candidate for the Archmageship. This will count as an official mission for the Empire. Substantial credit value, assuming you succeed." The Archmage's tone was almost conversational now. "Your cover is researching ancient magical artifacts and lost magical traditions in foreign lands. Close enough to the truth that you won't trip yourself up, and it gives you reason to travel extensively and ask unusual questions."

Clever. Academic research missions were common enough that nobody would question his presence in most places, and the credit incentive meant he had official backing for whatever resources he needed.

"If the princess escaped that night seventeen years ago, she's the only witness to what truly happened. The only person who can testify to whether her father died a kinslayer or a victim." The Archmage stepped closer. "The only person who can tell us if our emperor is a murderer."

"And what happens then?" Adom already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it said.

"Our ultimate goal, should circumstances permit, is to install princess Morgana Vi Savarnis as the 438th Ruler of the great Sundarian Empire." The Archmage replied. "To restore the proper order as intended by the founders."

There it was. Treason, laid out as casually as a dinner invitation.

"You're asking me to start a civil war."

"I'm asking you to prevent one. The current emperor's reign grows more unstable by the month. Better to replace him with someone who has legitimate claim than wait for the empire to tear itself apart." The Archmage moved back to his desk. "You'll have access to imperial funds and transportation. Maintain your scholarly cover, but understand that once you leave our borders, you'll be operating entirely on your own judgment."

Adom looked at Kim, who was staring at him with something that might have been pity. Or terror. Probably both.

"How long do I have?"

"As long as it takes. Though I'd suggest you move quickly. Other candidates for the Archmageship won't be idle while you're gone." The Archmage sat back down, already reaching for other papers. "Find her, Magus Sylla. Bring her home. And hope that when you do, she's willing to help us fix what her uncle broke."

Adom stood there for a moment, processing the weight of what had just been placed on his shoulders. The irony wasn't lost on him. A few years ago, he'd helped stop the crown prince from staging a coup against this very same emperor. He'd been one of the people who'd kept the current ruler in power, convinced at the time that stability was more important than change.

Now here he was, being officially tasked with overthrowing the man he'd once protected.

Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

When this was all over, he'd either be sitting in the Archmage's chair with more political influence than he'd ever imagined, or he'd be remembered in the history books as just another scheming fiend who'd tried to topple an empire and failed spectacularly.

There really wasn't much middle ground.

Chapter 150. Morning

Adom was tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired in the way that only came from having your entire day derailed by other people's poor life choices.

This morning he'd woken up in a decent mood. He'd been looking forward to his first lecture as a professor, had prepared some genuinely interesting material, and had been planning to spend the evening at the beach with Eren and Sam for the first time in months, and introduce them to Bennu.

Simple pleasures. Normal things.

Instead, here he was at a black market auction after midnight, chasing stolen research artifacts while babysitting a changeling spy who'd gotten himself in over his head. Never a dull moment, apparently.

"Here," Cass said as they approached the warehouse, producing three masks from somewhere in her cloak. "Put these on before we get any closer."

Adom examined the mask she handed him. It was well-made, covering the upper half of his face, but what caught his attention were the tiny runes etched into the material around the eye holes and temples.

"Identity concealment?" he asked.

"Among other things. The runes scramble facial recognition magic, alter voice patterns slightly, and generally make it much harder for anyone to figure out who you actually are." She was already putting on her own mask, which was decorated with silver thread in a pattern that somehow made her look both elegant and vaguely threatening. "Standard precaution for this sort of thing."

"Right," Adom said, securing his mask in place.

Cass handed the third mask to Jorik, who took it with the expression of someone trying to process too much information at once. "Your codenames for tonight are Sapphire, Obsidian, and Amber. Don't let your real names slip. These people have good memories and long reaches."

The warehouse entrance was more sophisticated than Adom had expected. What looked like a simple doorway from the outside turned out to be the first of several security checkpoints designed to keep unwanted visitors out and wanted visitors honest.

The first guard was a mountain of an orc who checked their invitation tokens like someone who'd seen every possible type of fake credential.

The second checkpoint involved walking through what felt like a magical scanner that probably catalogued everything from their approximate wealth level to whether they were carrying any obviously dangerous weapons.

The third was staffed by someone who looked like an accountant but moved like a knife fighter, and who asked polite questions about their bidding intentions while evaluating whether they seemed likely to cause problems.

Cass handled all of it. She had the right tokens, knew the right answers, and carried herself with confidence that suggested she belonged here. Adom and Jorik just followed her lead and tried to look like they weren't completely out of their element.

"Your bodyguard is already inside," the final checkpoint guard mentioned to Cass as he waved them through. "Reserved your usual spots."

Adom caught sight of John as soon as they entered the main auction space. The golem was sitting perfectly still in the third row, taking up what looked like four seats with his considerable bulk.

He was wearing his secret armor made by Fili and Kern—different from his usual gear, designed specifically for occasions like this. The plates gleamed with a mirror finish, and every joint moved smoothly.

Speaking of Fili, Adom made a mental note that he'd need to visit the young Stoneblood soon. The dwarf had sent word that he had something to show him, apparently. Knowing Fili, it was probably either a breakthrough in golem enhancement or a new armor maintenance technique that he was excited to demonstrate.

John had been Cass's personal bodyguard for the past three years, ever since Adom had decided that running a major merchant guild might involve more physical danger than either of them was comfortable with. The golem was silent, efficient, completely loyal, and had never once asked awkward questions about why his assignments sometimes involved unusual locations at unusual hours.

"Well," Cass said as they made their way toward their reserved seats, "this brings back memories."

The auction space itself was impressive in its own way. The warehouse had been transformed into something that resembled a legitimate auction house, complete with proper seating, adequate lighting, and a raised platform where items could be displayed for bidding. The main difference was that everyone was wearing masks.

Every single person in the room had their face covered, from simple cloth masks to elaborate decorative pieces that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary. It gave the whole scene a surreal, carnival-like atmosphere.

"Right," Adom said. "Didn't end up working very well last time we were at an auction together."

"Yes, well," Cass said quietly as they settled into their seats next to John's imposing form. "I hate to be the herald of bad news, but it seems like this time might not go smoothly either."

She pointed toward a display area near the front of the room where several items were arranged on velvet-covered tables. A small placard read "Recently Sold Items - Collection Available Tomorrow."

Among them, clearly visible even from their seats, was a crystalline artifact about the size of a dinner plate, covered in intricate magical inscriptions that seemed to shift and move in the auction house lighting.

Adom recognized it immediately. He'd described that exact piece to Cass when he'd called for her help, had explained its function and why it was absolutely critical that it not end up in the wrong hands.

"Oh, for God's sake," he muttered.

They were too late. The first batch of his stolen research had already been sold.

The auctioneer was already calling out lot numbers and descriptions for the next round of bidding. His voice carried clearly through the space, professional and engaging.

"Lot thirty-seven," he announced, "a matched set of enhancement crystals, origin unknown, estimated potency rating of seven point four. Bidding starts at fifteen hundred gold."

Adom watched hands go up around the room as bidders signaled their interest. The whole process moved with surprising efficiency, each item spending no more than a few minutes on the block before being sold to the highest bidder.

It was almost like watching a legitimate auction, except for the masks, the location, the complete lack of paperwork, and the fact that half the items being sold were probably stolen.

"Who bought my research?" Adom asked quietly, nodding toward the display area.

"We'll find out when the auction ends," Cass replied. "They don't exactly publish buyer lists in real time."

Adom settled back in his chair and watched the show continue. The auctioneer had moved on to lot thirty-eight, some kind of enchanted weaponry set. His voice carried across the room with ease, calling out bids and increments while hands rose and fell throughout the audience.

"Lot thirty-nine," the auctioneer announced. "A theoretical framework crystal, origin academic, estimated complexity rating of nine point two. Bidding starts at eight thousand gold."

Adom's jaw tightened. He recognized the description. That was his work.

Cass raised her hand smoothly. "Eight thousand."

"Nine thousand from the gentleman in the red mask."

"Ten thousand," Cass said.

The bidding continued.

Adom watched his years of research get passed back and forth between strangers like a commodity. The red mask dropped out at eleven thousand. Someone in an elaborate feathered mask took it to twelve. Cass won it at twelve thousand five hundred.

"Lot forty. A prototype enhancement matrix, origin unknown, estimated potency rating of eight point seven."

Another piece of his work. Cass bid on that one too, eventually winning it for eighteen thousand gold.

The pattern continued. Lot forty-seven was a crystalline array he'd spent two months perfecting. Fifty-one was another theoretical framework, more advanced than the first.

Each time, Cass bid with the same calm efficiency. Each time, Adom watched his own work get bought back with his own gold.

The changeling next to him sat perfectly still throughout the entire process. He didn't speak, didn't fidget, didn't do anything to draw attention. Just watched the auction proceed.

"Lot fifty-four. A matched set of enhancement crystals, theoretical grade, estimated potency rating of seven point four."

More of his research. Cass won those for twenty-two thousand gold.

By the time the auctioneer called lot sixty-one, Adom had stopped doing the math in his head. The numbers were getting too large and too depressing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes tonight's auction. Collection arrangements can be made at the front desk. Thank you for your participation."

The crowd began to move. People stood, stretched, made their way toward the exits or toward the collection area. The whole process had taken nearly three hours, and Adom felt every minute of it in his bones.

"Well," he said as the noise level in the room began to rise, "that was expensive. But probably cheaper than me having to come back here and put dirt in people's eyes to get my stuff back the hard way."

Cass almost smiled at that. "Your way would have been messier."

"How much did we spend?"

"Just under two hundred thousand gold."

Adom rubbed his temple. Two hundred thousand gold. It wasn't going to bankrupt him or anything close to it, but it still stung. Money he could have spent on actually useful things instead of buying back his own stolen research. Money that wouldn't have needed to be spent at all if some changeling hadn't decided to break into his tower and help himself to whatever looked valuable.

"Can you find out who bought the crystal? The one from the display case? Maybe see if they'd be willing to sell it back?"

"I'll be right back." Cass stood, and John immediately rose with her. They made their way toward the front of the auction space, where several well-dressed individuals were conducting quiet conversations with auction house staff.

Which left Adom alone with the changeling.

The silence stretched between them. Around the room, people continued to file out or cluster in small groups, conducting business in low voices. Someone laughed at something. Someone else was arguing about collection fees.

Adom found his foot tapping against the floor.

Just a small motion, barely noticeable, but he couldn't seem to stop it. His leg bounced with restless energy. Frustration and exhaustion and the lingering adrenaline from the day's events.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The changeling shifted in his seat. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

More time passed. A group of people near the front of the room were examining one of the larger artifacts, pointing at various details and speaking in hushed tones. The auctioneer was speaking with someone in an expensive-looking cloak about payment arrangements.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Where is my brother?"

Adom's foot stopped moving. He turned to look at the changeling, who was staring down at his hands.

"I told you he was safe, didn't I?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then what's the problem?"

The changeling was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I wanted to apologize. For what I did. I know it doesn't make anything better, but I needed to say it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I broke into your workshop. I'm sorry I took your research. I'm sorry I got you involved in this mess. I know you didn't ask for any of this."

Adom's foot started tapping again. Faster this time.

"Save your words," he said. "Your apology won't make anything come back."

The changeling flinched as if he'd been slapped.

Adom sighed. His foot kept moving against the floor, a steady rhythm of barely contained irritation.

"Look, I understand where you're coming from. Hell, I'd have done much worse if my little sister was in the same situation. But I'm the victim here. I don't want to be an asshole by telling you to fuck off, so please. Let's just not talk right now."

The changeling's mouth closed. He stared down at his hands again, his shoulders hunched forward slightly.

Adom went back to watching the crowd. Tapping his foot. Counting the seconds. Waiting for Cass to return with hopefully good news about his stolen artifact.

The auction house was slowly emptying out. Most of the bidders had either collected their purchases or made arrangements for later pickup. The staff were beginning to clear away the display tables and pack up equipment.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The changeling didn't speak again. He sat perfectly still, hands folded in his lap, staring at nothing in particular.

Several more minutes passed before Adom heard the familiar sound of John's armored footsteps approaching. He looked up to see Cass making her way back through the dwindling crowd, the golem following close behind.

Adom looked at Cass as she approached. Even with the mask covering most of her face, fifteen years of working together had taught him to read the subtle signs. The slight tension in her shoulders. The way she held her head. The measured pace of her walk.

He sighed and stood up.

"How many of them are there?"

"I counted five mercenaries. Professional grade, not street thugs. The buyer might be highborn. Expensive taste in bodyguards."

"Where?"

"They'll probably leave through the north entrance and take Merchant's Row toward the Upper District. Standard route for anyone heading to the fancy neighborhoods."

Adom nodded. "Could you please take care of our friend here? I'll be back tomorrow, after dealing with all this."

"I'm not your butler," Cass said flatly. "Stop being moody."

Adom didn't turn around. He was already mentally cataloging what he'd need for a quick intercept mission. Nothing too flashy. Something efficient.

"I'm counting on you to take the guy to his brother. Valiant's already briefed."

"I don't understand why you trust that little mouse."

"Thanks, Cass!"

And he was gone.

*****

A few moments later...

Adom positioned himself in the middle of Merchant's Row, right where the cobblestones met the smoother paving of the Upper District approach. The street was wide enough for two carts to pass comfortably, lined with expensive storefronts and well-maintained lamp posts. At this hour, most of the shops were closed, their windows dark behind ornate security grilles.

He could really go for a frosty right now.

One of those new thick, creamy ones from the Weird stuff store with the crushed mint leaves on top. Maybe some of Eren's mom's cookies too. Those soft, buttery things she made with the candied orange peel. Actually, now that he thought about it, Old Mari's meat pie would hit the spot perfectly. The cheesy ones with the tomato sauce and baked in applewood oven.

His stomach rumbled quietly. He'd been so focused on the auction that he'd forgotten to eat dinner.

The sound of hoofbeats on cobblestones pulled him from his culinary musings. A cart approached from the north, pulled by two well-groomed horses and flanked by mounted guards. Professional mercenaries. Heavy armor, quality weapons, disciplined formation.

The cart was impressive. Dark wood reinforced with iron bands, small windows covered by thick curtains, wheels built for both speed and durability. Important cargo.

"You there!" called one of the mounted guards. "Clear the road!"

Adom didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there watching them approach.

The cart slowed, then stopped about twenty feet away. Two of the guards dismounted, their armor clanking as they hit the ground. Big men, both of them. They'd learned to fight before they'd learned to think, and had gotten very good at the former.

"Did that woman send you?" the larger of the two called out as they approached. "We told her to fuck off. You think we were joking?"

Silence. Adom watched them with the patience of a cat observing mice.

"Don't play dumb." The guard was close enough now that Adom could see the professional quality of his equipment. Enchanted mail, expensive sword, boots designed for both riding and fighting. "Whoever's paying you isn't paying you enough to die over this."

The second guard had moved to flank him. Standard intimidation tactic.

"Hey. I'm talking to you!" the first guard snapped, his voice rising. "Answer me!"

Nothing. Adom might as well have been a statue.

The guard's face flushed red beneath his helmet. "Move," he snarled, reaching out to grab Adom's shoulder. "Now."

The moment his gauntleted hand made contact, Adom struck. A simple palm strike to the center of the man's chest. The guard flew backward like he'd been hit by a battering ram, crashed into the side of a building, and slumped to the ground unconscious.

[Flow Prediction]

The second guard was already moving, drawing his sword as he lunged forward. Adom sidestepped, caught the man's wrist, and twisted. The sword clattered to the cobblestones. A quick elbow to the temple and the second guard joined his friend in unconsciousness.

Something felt off, though. The mana part of his Axis wasn't flowing as smoothly as it should. There was a dampening effect in the air, subtle but noticeable. Anti-mana artifacts. Probably hidden in the cart.

The remaining mounted guards were shouting orders, spurring their horses forward. Adom crouched, placed his hands flat against the cobblestones, and pushed Axis into the ground. The stones erupted upward in a perfect line, creating a jagged barrier between him and the charging horses. The animals reared, throwing their riders. One guard managed to stay mounted, wheeling his horse around for another approach.

Adom gestured sharply with his left hand. The air around the mounted guard suddenly became thick as honey. The man's horse slowed to a crawl, its legs moving but making no progress, like it was trying to run underwater. Adom walked over, reached up, and pulled the guard from his saddle. A gentle application of pressure to the right nerve cluster and the man went limp.

The fourth guard had recovered from his fall and was advancing on foot, a two-handed sword gleaming in the lamplight. Professional technique, excellent form. Under normal circumstances, he might have been a challenge.

These weren't normal circumstances.

Adom flicked his fingers and the cobblestones around the guard's feet turned liquid. The man sank up to his ankles, then his knees, struggling against the suddenly malleable stone. Adom solidified the ground again, trapping the guard in place, then walked over and applied the same nerve pressure technique. The sword fell from nerveless fingers.

The fifth guard was still in the cart, probably guarding the cargo. Adom could hear movement inside, urgent whispers, the sound of someone fumbling with what was probably a weapon.

First things first. He needed to deal with those dampening artifacts.

Adom circled the cart slowly, extending his senses. There. Three separate sources of interference, strategically placed to create an overlapping field. Two were mounted on the underside of the cart itself. The third was probably inside.

He crouched down and examined the first artifact. A crystal about the size of his fist, held in place by a metal housing and connected to the cart's frame by copper wires. Clever design. It would be difficult to remove without the proper tools.

Good thing he didn't need proper tools.

Adom gripped the metal housing and twisted. The copper wires snapped like thread and the entire assembly came free in his hands. He crushed the crystal between his fingers, letting the fragments fall to the cobblestones. He did the same to the second external artifact, ripping it from its mounting with brute force.

His Axis flow immediately improved. The dampening effect was still there, but much weaker now.

The horses were getting nervous, stamping and snorting as they sensed the magical disturbance. Adom approached them slowly, speaking in low, calming tones. Once they'd settled, he carefully detached them from the cart and led them to a safe distance. No point in them getting hurt if things got messy.

The cart door opened and the fifth guard emerged, sword already drawn. This one was different from the others. Smaller, faster, economy of movement and serious training. Probably the team leader.

"Professional courtesy," the guard said, settling into a fighting stance. "Walk away now and we'll call it even."

Adom said nothing. Just watched.

"Then you'll have to go through me."

Hah.

The guard attacked without further warning, his blade cutting through the air in a series of precise, efficient strikes. Fast. Very fast. Adom had to actually work to avoid the attacks, flowing around them like water around stones.

The guard was using Fluid too, channeling it through his body. Each strike left brief trails of energy in the air, and Adom could feel the displaced force as the blade passed near him.

Time to end this.

Adom caught the guard's wrist on the next strike, holding it steady while he placed his other hand against the man's forehead. A gentle application of Axis to the right pressure points and the guard's eyes rolled back. He caught the unconscious man before he could fall and laid him carefully on the ground.

Now for the cart itself.

The door was heavy wood reinforced with iron, secured by an expensive lock. Adom placed his hand against the wood and pushed Fluid into its grain. The fibers separated, creating a hole just large enough for him to step through.

The interior was luxurious. Padded seats, small reading lamps, a fold-down desk. And huddled in the far corner, a man in expensive clothes who was trying very hard to look invisible.

"Please," the man said, his voice shaking. "I don't know who you are or what you want, but I have money. Lots of money. We can work something out."

Adom spotted the third dampening crystal immediately. It was mounted on the wall near the man's seat, still glowing with stored energy. He walked over and crushed it with his bare hand.

He didn't need to, really, this was already easy enough.

But he felt extra petty today.

The man flinched at the sound of breaking crystal. "Don't hurt me. Please. I have a family. Children."

Adom extended his hand.

"What? What do you want?"

Understanding dawned in the man's eyes when Adom looked toward the chest.

"The crystal?"

Adom nodded.

"Take it! Take it! It's in the chest, right there. Just please don't kill me."

The chest was small but well-made, probably worth more than most people's houses. Adom opened it with his bare hands, the lock mechanism crumpling under the pressure of his enhanced strength.

Inside, nestled in silk padding, was his crystal.

A piece of compressed quartz about the size of a chicken egg, etched with intricate runes. The central rune was his own design. The healing matrix he'd been developing for Sam's mother, who had been in a coma for years now.

Adom pocketed the crystal and headed for the hole he'd made in the door.

"Wait!" the man called after him. "That's it? You're not going to rob me? Kill me?"

Adom paused at the threshold.

"Tell your friends not to buy stolen goods."

He stepped through the hole and back onto the street. The guards were still unconscious but breathing. They'd wake up with headaches and bruised egos, but nothing permanent.

The horses were standing patiently where he'd left them, completely calm now. He walked over and patted the nearest one on the neck.

Then he was gone, melting into the shadows between buildings.

*****

20 minutes later...

Adom slipped through the back entrance of their building, his footsteps silent on the worn wooden floors. Cass was waiting in the main room, still masked, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

"How did it go?" she asked, straightening up when she saw him.

"It was good."

She tilted her head slightly. "That was faster than I thought it would be."

Adom nodded, already moving toward the stairs. "The changeling?"

"At Valiant's. Safe."

Cass studied him for a moment, taking in the way his shoulders sagged slightly, the careful way he was moving. "You look tired. You should go to sleep."

"Yeah, I will." He paused at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the railing. "Just need to do something first."

*****

The waves rolled against the shore in steady rhythm, foam hissing as it spread across the wet sand before retreating with a soft sucking sound. The air carried salt and seaweed, crisp and clean in the pre-dawn darkness.

Adom walked barefoot along the water's edge, his boots tied together and slung over one shoulder, hands clasped behind his back.

Bennu hopped excitedly beside him, his small talons leaving delicate prints in the sand. 

"The sand feels so different than I imagined!" Bennu chirped, stopping to dig his claws into the cool grains. "And the waves! They just keep coming! How do they know to do that?"

"They don't know," Adom said. "They just do."

"But something has to tell them, right? Like how I know to breathe fire?"

"Different forces. The moon pulls them. Gravity."

Bennu tilted his head, processing this. "The moon? But it's so far away."

"Far doesn't always mean weak."

The phoenix absorbed this wisdom while pecking at a piece of driftwood. Everything fascinated him. The way the sand shifted under his feet. The sound the waves made when they hit the rocks further down the shore. The smell of kelp drying in tangled heaps above the high tide line.

"Adom, why does the air taste different here than in the city?"

"Less smoke. More salt."

"I like it." Bennu spread his wings and flapped them experimentally, stirring up a small cloud of sand. "It makes me want to fly higher."

"Don't get too far ahead."

"I won't! I promise!"

Adom chuckled.

The eastern horizon was starting to lighten, painting the sky in gradual shades of deep blue and purple. They were cutting it close. Sam and Eren would already be at their usual spot, probably wondering where he was.

The three of them had started meeting here about two years ago, after Sam had mentioned wanting to see more sunrises. It had become routine. Every few days, they'd make the trek down to this particular stretch of beach where the rock formations created a natural amphitheater facing east. The sunrise here was something special. For about ten minutes, just as the sun cleared the horizon, there would be this cloud formation that caught the light in all the right ways. Streams of color that looked almost solid, like someone had painted ribbons across the sky.

Adom spotted the familiar silhouettes ahead, two figures sitting on their usual boulder. Sam and Eren, right where they should be.

"Oh!" Bennu exclaimed, stopping mid-hop. "There are people there! Humans!"

He looked up at Adom with bright, curious eyes. "Is that okay? Should we go somewhere else?"

"No, they're fine. They're the friends I told you about."

"The ones who bring food?"

"Sometimes."

Bennu's feathers ruffled with excitement. "Really? I get to meet them? Can I talk to them?"

"If you want to."

"Of course I want to! I've been waiting to meet other people for so long!"

As they approached, Sam looked back over his shoulder. He nudged Eren, who turned as well. Both of them straightened up when they saw Adom wasn't alone.

"You're late," Eren called out.

"Long day and night," Adom replied. "But hey, I'm here. Just as I promised."

Sam was staring at Bennu with barely concealed amazement. "Adom, is this..."

"Bennu!" the phoenix announced proudly, hopping forward. "I am Bennu! You must be Sam! And you must be Eren! I heard you a few times from inside my egg!"

Sam's mouth fell open slightly. Eren just blinked.

"It's very nice to finally meet you both," Bennu continued, completely oblivious to their shock. "Adom has told me so much about you. Well, not that much, because Adom doesn't talk very much, but he told me you're good friends and that Sam is very smart and Eren makes excellent jokes."

Adom cleared his throat. "I wanted you all to meet each other."

"A phoenix," Sam said quietly, like he was afraid speaking too loudly might make Bennu disappear.

"The last time I saw one was in a book," Eren added.

"Books are nice," Bennu said agreeably. "Though I imagine they're not very accurate about what we actually act like."

As Adom settled onto the sand next to his friends, he noticed a familiar container sitting between them. "Is that Old Mari's meat pies?"

"The cheesy ones, yeah," Sam confirmed, still staring at Bennu.

Eren reached into his pack and pulled out a small wrapped bundle. "Mom's cookies. Still warm."

Sam fumbled around behind him and produced two bottles, condensation still beading on their sides. "Two frosties. Eren said you had someone to present to us, but I would have never guessed it would be a phoenix. We got an extra anyway." He looked at Bennu uncertainly. "Do you... do you want some?"

"Did you say meat pie?" Bennu's head swiveled toward the container with laser focus.

Sam looked at Adom questioningly.

"He likes salty more than sweet," Adom explained.

Sam carefully opened the container and offered Bennu one of the small, golden pastries. The phoenix accepted it delicately in his beak, then immediately devoured half of it in one enthusiastic bite.

"This is incredible!" he mumbled around the mouthful. "Is this what this food always tastes like?"

"Not always," Eren said, relaxing slightly. "But Mari's pretty good at what she does."

Both Sam and Eren were trying very hard to act casual, but Adom could see the barely restrained excitement in their eyes. They wanted to ask a thousand questions, wanted to examine Bennu's feathers and hear him talk more and probably take notes about everything. But they were holding back, probably not wanting to overwhelm either Bennu or Adom.

The sky was lightening faster now, deep purple giving way to pink and orange. The horizon was starting to glow.

"Almost time," Sam said, settling back against the rock.

"Time for what?" Bennu asked, still working on his meat pie.

"Watch," Adom said simply.

The sun crested the horizon like a slow explosion, sending streams of gold across the water. And then, just as it always did, the cloud formation began. Wisps of moisture high in the atmosphere caught the early light and transformed it, bending it into incredible colors. Bands of red and orange and purple stretched across the sky like someone had taken a paintbrush to the heavens.

Bennu stopped eating entirely, his beak hanging open as he stared upward. "What... what is that?"

"Morning," Eren said with a grin.

The display lasted exactly as long as it always did. Eight minutes of beauty, and then the sun climbed higher and the clouds shifted and it was just a regular sunrise again.

Bennu was still staring at the sky, his feathers practically glowing in the early light. "That was... I don't have words for that."

"Good thing it happens regularly," Sam said, offering him the rest of the meat pie.

Maybe this wasn't so bad after all, Adom thought, taking a sip of his frosty and breathing in the salt air. The cool bottle felt good in his hands. The sand was warm where the sun hit it. His friends were here, Bennu was happy, and for the first time in today, nothing was trying to kill him or steal from him or complicate his life.

He could get used to mornings like this.

Gamble King Chapter 33. Nature Calls

The path wound through pine stands that grew denser with each mile, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally dumped itself on the travelers below with wet, vindictive thuds.

Max and his temporary companions had settled into the rhythm of travel, boots crunching through the packed snow, breath forming small clouds that dissipated quickly in the air.

They'd been at it for about two hours now.

"I heard Grimjaw eats people," Dan said, breaking the comfortable silence they'd maintained so far. "When they fail his tests."

Marcus snorted. "That's horseshit. If he ate them, where would the stories come from?"

"Maybe he doesn't eat all of them. Maybe he just nibbles."

"Nibbles?" Marcus's voice climbed with disbelief. "What is he, a bloody rabbit?"

"I'm just saying what I heard."

Bubbles adjusted his pack straps, glancing sideways at Max. "Where exactly did you hear this?"

"My cousin's friend knows a man who got Grimjaw in the sorting three years back," Dan said. "Made it all the way to the hermit's cave. Found bones scattered around the entrance. Human bones."

"And your cousin's friend's man saw these bones personally?" Marcus asked.

"Well, no. He ran away before that. But he heard them rattling in the wind."

"Bones don't rattle in the wind unless they're hanging from something," Bubbles observed. "Were they hanging from something?"

Dan frowned, clearly not having considered this detail. "Maybe."

Max listened with half his attention while the other half churned over what Jormund had told him earlier. A squire named Aldric the Wise had somehow defeated Grimjaw twenty-one years ago. The description had been specific: hair standing on end, clothes burned in odd patterns, the smell of lightning but wrong somehow. Sweet and metallic.

The boy had died in the process, burnt out from the inside. But he'd managed to leave Grimjaw unconscious for three days.

Magic. Had to be magic.

"My father says Grimjaw was a knight once," Marcus said. "Before whatever he did to get exiled. Means he knows proper swordwork."

"What did he do?" Dan asked.

"Nobody talks about it. Must've been something particularly nasty."

Max's fingers absently touched the leather satchel where he'd tucked his notes from Oberyn Blackwater's books. He'd spent a considerable amount of time copying down key passages about everything he found interesting.

Including atmospheric chemistry and electrical phenomena.

If Aldric had used lightning against Grimjaw, maybe Max could develop something similar. Something that wouldn't burn him out in the process.

"I heard he collects the weapons of everyone who fails," Dan continued. "Has them mounted on the walls of his cave like trophies."

"Where's your cousin's friend's man's sword then?" Marcus asked. "If he ran away before even meeting Grimjaw?"

"Maybe Grimjaw tracked him down later. For the sword."

"You're saying Grimjaw left his cave, tracked a fleeing squire through the wilderness, killed him for his sword, then went back home?"

Dan considered this. "When you put it like that, it does sound unlikely."

"It sounds stupid."

"Maybe the sword thing is different from the eating thing," Dan said defensively. "Maybe he only collects weapons from people who actually reach him."

"But if he eats the people, why would he need their weapons?"

"Decoration?"

Bubbles cleared his throat. "Maybe we could discuss something else."

"Why?" Marcus asked. "It's not like knowing is going to hurt."

"Because most of what you think you know is tavern gossip passed through six different people before it reached you," Bubbles said patiently. "And because Harek has enough to worry about without listening to stories about Grimjaw eating people."

Max glanced at his friend. "I'm fine."

"Are you though? Because you've been quiet since we left."

"I'm always quiet."

"No, you're not. You usually have opinions about everything." Bubbles studied Max's face. "What are you thinking about?"

Max considered how much to share. "Something Jormund told me yesterday. About how Grimjaw was captured."

"What about it?"

"A squire defeated him. Just one squire, acting alone."

Marcus whistled low. "Now that's a story I haven't heard."

"Jormund said the boy died in the process, but he managed to take Grimjaw down." Max kicked at a clump of snow. "Makes you wonder what he did differently."

"Maybe he got lucky," Dan suggested.

"Maybe he was just better than the rest of us," Marcus added.

"Or maybe he knew something we don't," Max said quietly.

Bubbles was watching him. "You have an idea."

"Not yet. But I'm working on it."

"Well, whatever it was, it can't have been that complicated," Marcus said. "He was just a squire. Same as us."

"Same as us and probably just as scared," Dan agreed. "Makes you think, doesn't it? If one terrified boy could do it..."

"Let's talk about something else," Bubbles said again, more firmly this time.

"Why? This is useful information."

"Because Harek needs to focus on survival, not on stories about dead heroes." Bubbles's voice carried an edge of irritation. "Half of what you've heard is probably lies anyway."

"But the other half—"

"The other half doesn't matter if it gets him killed trying to recreate something he doesn't understand."

Marcus held up his hands. "Fine, fine. No more Grimjaw stories."

"Good."

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds their footsteps and the occasional crack of branches settling under snow. Max found his mind drifting back to the notes he'd copied. If he could generate a controlled electrical discharge, something focused and precise rather than the raw lightning that had killed Aldric...

"Oh, also," Dan said suddenly, "you don't have to succeed this year, you know."

Max looked up from his thoughts. "What?"

"The Proving Year. You get three attempts if you fail. Nobody expects you to get it right the first time, especially with Grimjaw."

"Three attempts?"

"Most people take two," Marcus confirmed. "Some need all three. There's no shame in it."

"Particularly not with your draw," Dan added. "Everyone saw you pull Grimjaw's name. Everyone heard the reaction. If you come back empty-handed, people will just nod and say 'of course, it's Grimjaw.' Then next year you draw again, probably get someone reasonable."

Max frowned. The idea of planning to fail didn't sit well with him. "That's not really how I approach things."

"I'm just saying, you don't have to put pressure on yourself. This year could be reconnaissance. Learn what you can about surviving in the deep north, then come back and draw a different name."

"What are the odds of drawing Grimjaw twice?"

"Practically impossible," Marcus said. "There's maybe two hundred different hermits scattered across the north. You'd have to be cursed by the gods themselves to pull his name again."

"Better than being dead," Dan added.

Bubbles shot Dan a look that could have frozen the already-cold air. "Could we perhaps discuss literally anything else?"

"I'm just trying to be helpful."

"You're being the opposite of helpful."

"How is it not helpful to point out that he has options?"

"Because—"

"Oh, fuck," Dan said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the path. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The other three turned to look at him. Dan was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his face scrunched up in obvious discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Bubbles asked.

"I need to shit. Right now."

Marcus blinked. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now. That rabbit stew from last night is making demands."

"Can't you hold it?"

"Does it look like I can hold it?" Dan gestured at his own uncomfortable posture. "I'm about to soil myself in front of all of you."

Marcus looked around at the snow-covered landscape. "Where exactly are you planning to do this?"

"Behind those trees over there. Just... give me a moment."

"We should keep moving," Marcus said. "We've got a schedule to maintain."

"My bowels don't care about your schedule."

"Well they should. We're not going to reach the next shelter before dark if we stop for every bodily function."

Dan's expression grew desperate. "Look, I can either handle this now like a civilized person, or I can handle it in my trousers while we're walking. Which would you prefer?"

Max sighed, watching the young man's obvious distress. The whole conversation was ridiculous, but Dan clearly wasn't going to be able to continue otherwise.

"Go take your shit," Max said tiredly. "We'll wait."

"Thank you," Dan said with genuine relief, already moving toward the treeline. "I promise it won't take long."

"Famous last words," Marcus muttered.

"I can hear you!" Dan called back as he disappeared behind a particularly large pine.

The remaining three stood in the path, breath steaming in the cold air, listening to the sounds of Dan crashing through the underbrush with urgent purpose.

"This is going to be a long journey," Marcus said.

Max pulled his cloak tighter and settled in to wait. Silence settled over them. The only sounds were the whisper of wind through pine branches and the distant, muffled noises of Dan's ongoing struggle with his digestive system.

A particularly loud grunt echoed from behind the trees.

Max shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware that he was standing in the middle of a snowy path with people he didn't know all that well. Bubbles, sure—they'd grown close over the past few months.

But Marcus and Dan?

Marcus Ironhold was technically family. Third cousin, maybe fourth, through some complicated web of marriages that stretched back generations. House Ironhold held lands in the eastern valleys, controlled some iron mines that supplied Frosthold's armories. Marcus had the typical Ironhold look—stocky build, brown hair, hands that looked like they'd been shaped by years of working metal.

"Nngh. Bloody hell."

The three of them pretended not to hear that.

It occurred to Max that despite spending weeks training alongside the other squires, he'd never really gotten to know most of them. Bubbles had forced his way into Max's awareness through sheer persistence, farming work and good humor.

The others had remained pleasant strangers: faces he recognized, names he knew, but not much beyond that.

"Fuck. Come on."

Marcus cleared his throat and studied the horizon with intense concentration. Bubbles examined his boots like they contained some sort of secrets.

Another particularly resonant fart drifted through the trees.

Max decided conversation was preferable to listening to Dan's internal warfare.

"So, uh... Marcus," he said. "We're related a bit, you and I, right?"

Marcus looked grateful for the distraction. "Aye. Your great-grandmother was sister to my great-great-grandfather. Or something like that. The family trees get tangled when you go back far enough."

"How are your parents? Your father still running the eastern mines?"

"He is. Business has been good lately. The new deposits they found last spring are yielding well." Marcus glanced toward the trees where Dan was presumably still conducting his battle. "Mother's been asking when I'll visit again. Keeps sending letters."

A particularly creative string of curses emerged from Dan's location.

"That's nice of her," Max said quickly. "Family's important."

"She always liked you, actually. Said you had potential if you could just..."

Marcus trailed off, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Just what?"

"Well. Stop spending all your time in taverns and brothels."

Bubbles frowned. "I thought there were no brothels in Frosthold. Didn't the High Lord ban them when he took power?"

Marcus snorted. "Officially, sure. But there's still places if you know where to look. Hidden away, discrete like. Even Harek knows them."

Max rolled his eyes.

"What made you change?" Marcus asked, studying Max's face. "I mean, one day you're gambling and throwing coins around like they meant nothing, next thing anyone hears, you're working farms and training with Gregory like your life depends on it."

"Maybe it does depend on it."

"But what happened? What made you realize you needed to be different?"

Max considered how to answer that. He couldn't exactly explain that he was a completely different person inhabiting Harek's body.

"I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe I just got tired of being disappointed in myself."

"Disappointed?"

"When you spend your days drinking and your nights in brothels, and you wake up feeling like shit about who you are... eventually you either change or you accept that you're worthless. I didn't want to accept it."

Marcus nodded slowly. "That's... honest."

"Oh, sweet mercy."

Another grunt from the trees, followed by more slurs.

"How much longer can this possibly take?" Bubbles muttered.

"Maybe we should check on him," Marcus suggested.

"Maybe we should not," Max replied quickly.

They fell back into silence, each lost in their own thoughts while Dan continued his epic struggle with last night's rabbit stew.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they heard the sound of someone crashing back through the underbrush.

"Whoo," Dan called out as he emerged from behind the trees, looking relieved but slightly pale. "That was an adventure."

"Feel better?" Bubbles asked dryly.

"Like a new man. Sorry about that, lads. Sometimes nature calls and you've got to answer."

"We noticed," Marcus said. "The whole forest noticed."

Dan grinned sheepishly. "Right then. Where were we?"

"About to continue our journey," Max said, already turning back toward the path.

"Good, because I'm ready to—"

"Thank you for waiting."

They all turned.

Another Dan stood at the edge of the clearing, brushing snow from his cloak and looking exactly as relieved as the first Dan. Same clothes, same face, same slightly embarrassed expression.

Same everything.

The silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then another.

"The fuck?" Marcus breathed.

Max's bow was in his hands before conscious thought kicked in, arrow nocked and drawn in one fluid motion. Bro materialized on his shoulder, tiny form already beginning to glow orange.

Bubbles had his sword half-drawn. Marcus was fumbling for his weapon, his face gone pale with shock.

Both Dans stared at each other, identical expressions of confusion spreading across identical faces.

"Mirrorkin," Bubbles said, horrified. "It's a mirrorkin."

Max kept his arrow trained on the second Dan while his mind raced. He'd read about these things. Creatures that could take human form, sow confusion, turn groups against each other until they destroyed themselves.

"Nobody move," Bubbles continued, his sword now fully drawn. "Dan, stay exactly where you are."

"Which Dan?" both Dans asked simultaneously.

"The first one. The one who just came back from—" Bubbles caught himself. "Just... both of you stay still."

"I'm me!" the first Dan said, his voice cracking with panic. "I swear on my mother's grave, I'm Dan, born in Westmarch, son of Tam the blacksmith!"

"No, I'm Dan!" the second one protested. "That thing is lying! I was taking a shit behind those trees and when I came back—"

"You lying bastard!" the first Dan snarled. "I was the one taking a shit!"

"Both of you shut up," Marcus snapped, his own weapon finally clear of its sheath. "This is exactly what these things do. They make us doubt, make us turn on each other."

The second Dan's face twisted with frustration. "Listen to me! I know things only the real Dan would know. Marcus, remember last month when you lost that bet about the serving girl at the Wandering Crow? You had to clean my boots for a week!"

"That's... that's right," Marcus said uncertainly.

"Because it touched me!" the first Dan shouted. "Everyone knows mirrorkin only need to touch you once and they have all your memories! It's lying!"

"That's exactly what a mirrorkin would say!" the second Dan protested. " How and where the fuck would I touch you? You touched me and now you're pretending to be me!"

"I told you both to shut up!" Marcus shouted.

"Harek," Bubbles said frantically, "can you tell them apart?"

Max studied both figures. They were identical down to the smallest detail. Same clothes, same mud stains, same everything. But floating above the second Dan's head, invisible to everyone else, was a small number: 1.

The Dan they were with from the beginning had no number over his head.

"Dan," Max said to the first one, "step aside."

"Harek, be careful," Bubbles warned.

"What? No!" the first Dan's eyes went wide. "You can't seriously believe—"

"And you!" the second Dan pointed an accusing finger at his duplicate. "You stole my face, you bastard! Give it back!"

"I'll give you something back, all right!" the first Dan lunged forward.

The second Dan met him halfway, both of them grappling in the snow, identical faces twisted with rage.

Max drew back his bowstring another inch. The arrow point tracked the struggling figures as they rolled and cursed and threw wild punches at each other.

"I can't get a clear shot," Marcus muttered.

"Don't shoot either of them!" Bubbles commanded. "We need to figure out which—"

Max released.

The arrow took the second Dan in the eye socket with a wet thunk that echoed off the trees. The creature's head snapped back, and for a moment, everything went perfectly still.

"Sweet fucking gods!" Marcus breathed.

The second Dan's body convulsed once, twice, then went limp. The first Dan scrambled away from the corpse, his face pale with shock.

"Bro," Max said quietly. "Burn him."

At two meters away, Bro was right at the edge of his range, but close enough.

One second, the small white spider glowed brightly; the next, a jet of orange flame engulfed the target.

The thing that had looked like Dan began to scream.

It wasn't a human sound. It was something higher, more desperate, like metal being torn apart or glass breaking under pressure. The body writhed and twisted as the flames consumed it, and the scream went on and on until Max's ears rang with it.

Then, abruptly, the screaming stopped.

Where the second Dan had been, there was now only a puddle of brown, viscous goo that steamed in the cold air.

The silence stretched for several heartbeats. The real Dan stared at the puddle, then at Max, then back at the puddle.

Marcus was the first to speak. "What the fuck was that?"

"Did that spider just breathe fire?" Bubbles asked, staring at Bro.

The real Dan's voice came out as barely a whisper. "H-how did you know I was the real one?"

Max shouldered his bow and patted Bro. "I took a bet."

In the corner of his vision, text flickered briefly: [NUMBER OF REROLLS REMAINING: 10].

The others didn't need to know that.

Max walked over to the puddle of brown goo. The arrow shaft protruded from the mess at an odd angle, the fletching singed and blackened from Bro's flames.

He grabbed the shaft and pulled. It came free with a wet sucking sound that made Marcus wince. The arrowhead was clean—whatever the mirrorkin had become, it didn't seem to stick to metal or wood.

Max examined the arrow briefly. The shaft was still solid, the point undamaged. He'd need new fletching, but it was salvageable.

He wiped the arrow on a patch of snow, then slipped it back into his quiver.

"We need to move," he said, shouldering his bow. "Get to the closest safe zone before sunset. It's definitely not safe here."

The others stared at him for a moment. Dan was still pale, probably realizing how close he'd come to being the one with an arrow through his eye.

"Right," Bubbles said finally. "Lead the way."

They fell into step behind Max, moving faster than before. Nobody spoke. The only sounds were their boots crunching in the snow and the wind through the trees.

Behind them, the brown puddle began to freeze in the cold air.

Chapter 149. Interrogation

Midnight.

The evening guards made their way toward the portal platform in the loose, unhurried formation that characterized the end of a shift. They'd been on duty since sunset, and while nothing particularly exciting had happened, eight hours of standing around in armor still left its mark. A few stretched their shoulders as they walked. Others unbuckled pieces of gear that had been digging into uncomfortable spots all evening.

The midnight rotation was already emerging from the portal, looking fresh and alert. The portal itself hummed with the low, steady vibration that indicated it would remain stable for another few minutes.

Long enough for the guard exchange to complete.

Gaston Vel, one of the evening guards, spotted a familiar face among the incoming group and raised his hand in greeting. "Jorik! There you are. How'd your day off treat you?"

Jorik Thane looked up, adjusting the strap of his equipment pack. He was average height with brown hair and the kind of unremarkable features that made him blend into crowds without effort. "Day off? Can't complain. Slept until noon, visited the market, tried not to think about coming back here."

"Living the dream," Gaston said with a grin. "Hey, weird question, but did you do anything unusual today? Besides the sleeping and market thing."

Jorik's expression shifted slightly, becoming more guarded. "Unusual? Not really. Why?"

"Magus Adom Sylla was asking about you earlier. Asked if you were working today, seemed to be checking on something specific about you." Gaston shrugged. "Probably just making sure he had the schedules straight, but it was a little odd. He asked about you by name."

"He asked about me specifically?" There was something in Jorik's voice that didn't quite match casual curiosity. A tightness around the edges.

"Yeah. 'Is Jorik Thane working today?' that sort of thing. When I said you were midnight rotation, he seemed satisfied." Gaston adjusted his own pack. "Like I said, probably just schedule confusion. You know how mages get with details sometimes."

Jorik nodded, but his eyes had gone distant. "Right. Schedule confusion."

"Everything alright?" Gaston asked, noticing the change in his colleague's demeanor. "You look like someone just told you the mess hall ran out of decent food."

"Fine," Jorik said quickly. "Just tired from the day off. You know how it is—sometimes doing nothing is more exhausting than working."

Gaston laughed. "Too true. Well, enjoy your shift. Try not to let the ocean breeze put you to sleep."

"Yeah. Thanks."

The portal platform was clearing out as the evening guards finished their brief handoff conversations and headed toward the glowing archway. Gaston clapped Jorik on the shoulder before joining the line of guards waiting to step through the portal. The magical gateway cast shifting patterns of blue and silver light across the stone platform, and the air around it carried that peculiar taste that came with concentrated magical energy, like copper pennies and lightning storms.

Jorik watched the evening guards disappear one by one through the portal.

His conversation with Gaston had left him unsettled in a way he couldn't quite shake. Why had the magus been asking about him specifically? It could be innocent—schedule checking, routine security verification, the kind of administrative tasks that mages sometimes handled personally.

But it could also be something else entirely.

When the last of the evening guards had vanished and the platform was empty except for the midnight shift, Jorik took a step toward the portal himself. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe he should just report the conversation to his handlers and let them decide if it was significant.

He took another step toward the shimmering archway.

And stopped.

The portal was still active, still humming with power, but something had changed. A shadow fell across the entrance that hadn't been there a moment before.

Magus Adom stood directly in front of the portal, hands clasped behind his back, looking like he'd been waiting there for quite some time. His robes hung perfectly still despite the magical wind that swirled around active portals, and his expression was calm, patient, and completely unreadable.

Jorik blinked, took a half-step backward, and looked around the platform. The other midnight guards were already moving toward their assigned positions, chatting quietly among themselves as they settled in for the night shift. None of them seemed to have noticed the magus's sudden appearance, or if they had, they didn't find it particularly unusual.

When Jorik looked back at the portal, Adom was still there, still watching him with that same patient expression.

"Guards!" The voice belonged to Archmage Gaius, who had emerged from the tower entrance and was approaching the group of newly arrived guards. "Welcome to another night shift. I trust your evening meals were satisfactory?"

The midnight guards straightened slightly as the Archmage approached. Gaius had a way of commanding respect without demanding it—his presence alone was enough to make people want to stand a little taller and speak a little more clearly.

"Yes, Archmage," they replied in unison.

"Excellent. The evening shift reported no incidents of note, so I expect you'll have a peaceful night." Gaius's gaze swept across the assembled guards. "Remember, the research currently in progress is of the utmost importance to Imperial security. Vigilance remains our watchword, even during quiet periods."

"Understood, sir," the guards responded.

"Very good. Carry on."

Gaius nodded approvingly and began to move away from the group, heading back toward the tower. As he did, Adom stepped away from the portal entrance and approached the guards with an easy, casual stride. His expression had shifted into something that might have been a friendly smile.

"Jorik Thane?" Adom said, stopping a few feet away from the guard who had been speaking with Marcus.

Up close, he was younger than Jorik had expected. Taller, too. And fit—fit enough that he might have been a knight.

"Yes, sir." Jorik's response was immediate and properly respectful, but there was a tension in his posture that hadn't been there during the conversation with his evening shift colleague.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Magus Adom." The smile remained in place, warm and apparently genuine. "I've been working in the tower for several years now, but I realize I've never taken the time to speak with the guards individually. An oversight on my part."

"An honor to meet you, sir."

"The honor is mine. You and your colleagues have been keeping us safe while we focus on our research." Adom glanced around the platform, noting the positions of the other guards as they began to spread out to their assigned posts. The night air was cool and carried the familiar scent of salt from the ocean surrounding the island. "I was wondering if you might walk with me for a moment. There are a few security matters I'd like to discuss."

Jorik's eyes flicked toward the tower, then back to Adom. The request was perfectly reasonable—guards were regularly pulled aside for individual briefings, equipment checks, or clarification of procedures. It happened often enough that none of the other midnight shift guards would pay any particular attention to the interaction.

But something about the timing felt off.

The specific question about his schedule earlier, followed immediately by this personal introduction and request for a private conversation. It could be coincidence, but Jorik had been trained to be suspicious of coincidences.

"Of course, sir," he said after what felt like a long pause but was probably only a second or two. "Is there a particular concern I should be aware of?"

"Nothing urgent," Adom replied, his tone remaining conversational and unthreatening. "Just some routine matters that are better discussed away from the main guard posts. Standard security protocols."

"Certainly, Magus. Lead the way."

"Excellent." Adom gestured toward a path that led away from the central platform, toward the more secluded area near the island's eastern shore where the sound of waves would provide natural cover for conversation. "Shall we?"

They began walking together across the stone pathways that connected the various sections of the research facility. Adom kept his pace leisurely, his hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world like someone taking a pleasant evening stroll after a long day of scholarly work. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed, and the distant sound of waves against the rocky coastline provided a peaceful backdrop to their movement.

"How long have you been stationed here, Jorik?"

"About six weeks, sir."

"And how are you finding the work? I imagine it's quite different from other guard assignments."

"It's... quiet," Jorik said carefully, choosing his words carefully. "Which is good for maintaining focus on security protocols."

"Indeed. Quiet is exactly what we need for this type of research." Adom glanced sideways at his companion, studying his profile in the dim light cast by the magical illumination scattered throughout the facility. "Tell me, what do you think of the tower itself? Impressive architecture, isn't it?"

"Very impressive, sir."

"Have you ever been inside?"

The question was casual, almost offhand, but Jorik's step faltered slightly before he caught himself. "Inside? No, sir. That's not part of our standard patrol route."

"Of course not. Security protocols exist for good reasons. Very important to maintain proper boundaries between research areas and security zones." Adom nodded thoughtfully. "I was just curious about your perspective. Sometimes guards notice things that researchers miss—unusual sounds, changes in the building's magical resonance, variations in normal patterns. An outside observer's viewpoint can be quite valuable."

"I haven't noticed anything unusual, sir."

"Good, good. That's exactly what we like to hear."

They continued walking, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone pathways. The island wasn't particularly large, but it had been designed with enough twisting paths and elevated platforms to give the illusion of greater size and complexity. Garden areas had been carefully cultivated between the more utilitarian structures, creating pockets of green that softened the otherwise martial appearance of the research facility and provided pleasant spaces for the staff to take breaks from their intensive work.

"Beautiful night," Adom observed, looking up at the star-filled sky that stretched endlessly above them. "Clear air, gentle breeze, excellent visibility. Nights like this make me grateful for outdoor assignments rather than being stuck in some underground laboratory."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have family back in the capital, Jorik?"

The question seemed to come from nowhere, and Jorik found himself caught off-guard by the sudden shift in topic. "Family?"

"Brothers, sisters, parents. People who worry about you when you're assigned to remote locations like this." Adom's tone remained conversational, but there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a sharpness that suggested this wasn't idle small talk. "It can be difficult, being separated from the people who matter to you."

Jorik was quiet for a long moment, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to respond safely. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before. "Yes, sir. It can be."

"I imagine it would be especially difficult if you weren't sure when you'd see them again. Or if you were worried about their safety."

"Sir?"

"Just thinking aloud." Adom's smile returned. The warmth had been replaced by something cooler, more calculating. "Sometimes circumstances arise that make it impossible to follow normal procedures. Family emergencies, unexpected obligations, situations where people feel compelled to take... creative approaches to solving their problems."

They had reached a section of the path that overlooked the eastern shore. The ocean stretched out before them, dark and vast under the starlight, its surface broken by the occasional whitecap that caught the moon's reflection. The sound of waves was louder here, providing natural acoustic cover for any conversation they might have.

Adom stopped walking and turned to face Jorik directly.

"Now then," he said, his smile fading completely as he met the guard's eyes with an unwavering stare. "Why don't you tell me about your brother?"

*****

Jorik took a step backward. It wasn't a big movement, just a shift of weight that carried him maybe six inches further away, but Adom caught it immediately. The guard's face went through a series of micro-expressions.

His eyebrows pulled together first, confusion flickering across his features. Then his eyes focused more sharply on Adom's face, and the confusion transformed into something harder to read.

The ocean breeze picked up slightly, carrying the salt smell stronger between them. Jorik's hand moved unconsciously toward his sword hilt, then stopped halfway there. His breathing had changed too, becoming more controlled, more deliberate.

Adom watched all of this like someone analyzing a puzzle. Fear was starting to creep into Jorik's expression now, tightening the corners of his eyes and making his jaw clench.

"I've got Keth-sil," Adom said.

Jorik's eyes went wide. The color drained out of his face so fast that Adom thought for a second the man might actually faint. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again without making any sound.

Hmm. That probably hadn't been the best way to phrase it.

"He's safe," Adom said quickly, raising one hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. "Completely safe. We mean no harm to him or to any of your siblings. I want to be very clear about that."

Jorik was breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run up a flight of stairs. His hands had curled into fists at his sides, and Adom could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Look," Adom continued, keeping his voice level and reasonable, "I'd like to cut to the chase here. We both know what happened. We both know why we're having this conversation right now instead of you being on your normal patrol route. So let's skip the part where you pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

He paused, giving Jorik a moment to process that.

"Tell me where you hid the artifacts and research materials. And tell me if you gave the papers to anyone."

Jorik stared at him for what felt like a very long time. T

Finally, his shoulders sagged slightly. "I didn't give the papers to anyone. I swear I didn't. I can give them back. All of them."

Relief washed through Adom. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been until that tension started to drain away. If the research had already changed hands, if it was floating around in intelligence networks or being copied by people who understood what they were looking at, the consequences would have been catastrophic.

"Good," he said, and meant it. "That's very good."

Jorik seemed to be calming down a little now that it was clear Adom wasn't going to immediately arrest him or worse. His breathing was returning to normal, and some of the rigid fear was leaving his posture.

"Then where are the artifacts?"

Jorik hesitated. He looked out at the ocean, then back at Adom, then down at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and uncertain.

"I gave them to an auction."

"To a what?"

"An auction." Jorik's words came faster now, like he wanted to get the explanation out before he lost his nerve. "I was hoping to get a good price for them. Get enough money to hire someone powerful enough to free our brother. Or buy something that would give us leverage against the people holding him."

Adom felt his stomach drop. An auction meant multiple buyers, multiple people who might walk away with pieces of his research tonight. It meant artifacts scattered to the winds before he even knew they were gone.

"Is it a black market auction?"

"Yes." Jorik looked miserable. "We tried the Aurium auction house first. They're legitimate, they pay well, but they refused to take anything without proper documentation. Provenance records, ownership certificates, all that. They wouldn't even look at the artifacts without paperwork proving where we got them."

Of course they wouldn't. The Aurium house dealt in expensive magical items for wealthy collectors. They had a reputation to maintain.

"So I had no choice," Jorik continued. "The black market dealers don't ask questions as long as the items are genuine."

"When is the auction?"

Jorik's face went pale again. "Tonight. Right now. They were supposed to sell the artifacts and I'd go collect the money later tomorrow. That was the arrangement."

Panic shot through Adom like lightning. Right now. The artifacts were being sold right now.

"Lead the way."

*****

The black market auction system in Arkhos had evolved into something surprisingly sophisticated over the years. It wasn't the back-alley, whispered-deal operation that most people imagined when they heard "black market." Instead, it functioned more like a parallel economy with its own rules, standards, and surprisingly reliable infrastructure.

The basic concept was simple: sellers brought items they couldn't or wouldn't sell through official channels, buyers came looking for things they couldn't or wouldn't buy through official channels, and auctioneers facilitated the exchange for a percentage of the final price.

What made it work was that everyone involved had a vested interest in maintaining the system's integrity. Sellers needed to trust that they'd actually get paid. Buyers needed to trust that the items were genuine. Auctioneers needed both groups to keep coming back.

Even legitimate guilds participated, though they'd never admit it publicly. Sometimes a guild would acquire items through perfectly legal means but couldn't sell them officially due to bureaucratic complications, political sensitivities, or simple timing issues. Sometimes they needed to acquire items that were technically available through legal channels but would take months of paperwork and approvals to obtain. The black market solved both problems efficiently.

The authorities tolerated it because it served several useful functions. It kept genuinely dangerous illegal trade contained within a system they could monitor and occasionally raid when necessary. It provided a release valve for the inevitable friction created by overly complex regulations. And perhaps most importantly, it generated a surprising amount of tax revenue through creative accounting methods that everyone pretended not to understand.

Getting into a black market auction required connections. You couldn't just show up and expect to be allowed inside. You needed someone already established in the network to vouch for you, preferably someone with enough influence to guarantee your legitimacy as either a serious buyer or a reliable seller.

Fortunately for Adom, he owned one of the most influential merchant guilds in the city.

Wangara had risen to become the fourth-ranked guild in the Merchant Guild Association through a combination of aggressive expansion, strategic partnerships, and Adom's tendency to invest in unconventional opportunities that other guild masters considered too risky.

Being a regressor had to come with certain perks, after all. One of them was knowing where to invest early.

That ranking came with certain privileges, including access to markets that officially didn't exist.

Cass had received Adom's message through the guild's emergency communication network and arranged entry within an hour. She'd also handled the logistical details that would have taken Adom much longer to figure out on his own, including appropriate attire, acceptable payment methods, and the specific etiquette expected at this particular auction house.

The venue was a converted warehouse in the merchant district that looked completely unremarkable from the outside. During the day, it actually did function as a warehouse, storing legitimate goods for legitimate businesses. After midnight, it transformed into something else entirely.

Adom and Jorik arrived just as the auction was getting started.

Both wore dark cloaks that hid their faces and made them blend in with the other late arrivals hurrying toward the warehouse entrance. The changeling had been quiet during the journey from the island, probably still processing the fact that his carefully planned operation had fallen apart so completely.

Cass was waiting outside the entrance, leaning against the wall. Her own cloak was better quality than the ones Adom and Jorik wore, cut from fabric that managed to look expensive while remaining understated enough not to draw unwanted attention.

"You're cutting it close," she said as Adom approached. She didn't seem surprised to see him, despite the fact that he'd appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "They started the bidding about five minutes ago."

"Hey, Cass," Adom said, pulling back his hood slightly so she could see his face clearly. "Thank you for arranging this on such short notice."

"That's what you pay me for." She glanced at Jorik with mild curiosity but didn't ask questions. Cass had learned early in her tenure as Wangara's guild head that Adom's business often involved complications that were better left unexplored. "Though I have to say, your timing is interesting. It's not often that someone needs emergency access to a black market auction in the middle of the night."

"It's been an unusual day."

"I can imagine." She straightened up from the wall and gestured toward the warehouse entrance. "Shall we? The longer we wait out here, the more items will sell before you get inside."

Gamble King Chapter 32. The Proving Year - Part II

The hermit system was, when you really thought about it, a remarkably practical solution to an age-old problem. What do you do with people w

The hermit system was, when you really thought about it, a remarkably practical solution to an age-old problem.

What do you do with people who are too dangerous to keep around but too valuable to simply execute?

In the south, they had complicated legal systems and lengthy prison sentences. In the east, they favored public shame and exile with the possibility of eventual redemption. But here in the north, where winter could kill you just as efficiently as a headsman's axe, they'd developed something rather more elegant.

You gave the condemned a choice.

Death, clean and quick, administered by professionals who'd make sure it didn't hurt too much. Or exile. Permanent, irrevocable exile to some godforsaken corner of the wilderness, where you'd live alone until you died or went mad or both. The northerners called it "taking the hermit's path," and it had been standard practice for over two centuries.

Most chose exile. People were remarkably optimistic about their ability to survive in conditions that had killed better men.

The crimes that led to this choice were a particular category of offense - serious enough to demand permanent removal from society, but not quite serious enough to justify wasting a perfectly good expert. A knight who'd killed his lord's wife in a fit of jealous rage but had also won three major battles and saved countless lives. A mage who'd experimented on unwilling subjects but whose research had advanced healing magic by decades. A master smith who'd sold weapons to enemies of the realm but whose techniques were irreplaceable.

Valuable people who'd done unforgivable things.

The system worked because it served everyone's interests. Society got rid of dangerous individuals without losing their expertise entirely. The condemned got to live, technically speaking. And the crown got a network of scattered, highly skilled individuals who could be called upon for specific purposes when needed.

Like training the next generation of knights.

Max had heard stories about most of the hermits over the past few weeks during his research on the Proving year.

Bloodaxe Kavon had been a legendary warrior before he'd massacred an entire village in a drunken rage. Sylas the Mad had been the realm's finest siege engineer until he'd tried to blow up a rival's castle with the rival's family still inside. Mara the Trickster had been a court mage who'd used her position to blackmail half the nobility before getting caught.

These were people with reputations. Their crimes were famous, their skills legendary, their current locations roughly known to anyone who paid attention to such things.

But Grimjaw the Render?

Max had never heard that name before in his life.

Which was... odd.

Because clearly everyone else had. The gasps, the stepping backward, the invocation of deities that apparently outranked the usual Aspects in terms of seriousness - these were not the reactions of people hearing an unfamiliar name.

These were the reactions of people who knew exactly who Grimjaw was and found the prospect of meeting him approximately as appealing as juggling lit torches while standing in a puddle of oil.

So either Max had somehow missed learning about one of the north's most notorious hermits, or Grimjaw was the sort of person whose reputation was deliberately not discussed in polite company.

Neither possibility was particularly encouraging.

Max looked around the clearing, cataloging reactions.

His father's expression had shifted from neutral ceremony-face to something that looked distinctly like concern. Not panic, exactly - Tredor was too controlled for that - but definitely the expression of a man who'd just watched his son draw the short straw in a very high-stakes lottery.

Sir Gregory looked like he'd bitten into something sour.

Even the mages were reacting. Baldwin, naturally, was smiling for what was probably the first time all day.

What an asshole.

Max caught sight of the other squires in his peripheral vision. Most were carefully not looking at him, which was somehow worse than outright staring. It was the social equivalent of stepping away from someone who'd just announced they had plague.

Bubbles was examining his boots with sudden, intense interest.

"Return to your position," Sir Borgen said finally.

Max walked back to his spot in the formation, his boots crunching through the snow with what felt like unnecessary loudness. The silence that followed him was thick enough to cut with a sword.

He took his place and waited for whatever came next.

"Well," Bubbles said quietly, still looking at his boots, "you're taking it pretty well."

Max decided not to ask.

Obviously, Grimjaw was dangerous. The collective reaction had made that clear enough. Whatever specific flavor of dangerous he represented, Max would find out soon enough.

The ceremony continued. The remaining squires stepped forward one by one, drew their slips, and announced their assigned hermits. More names Max had heard of - Korven the Silent, Thessa Bloodhand, Erik the Exile. A few he hadn't, but none generated the same level of horrified fascination as his own draw.

The last squire drew his name - "Sartre the Smith" - and stepped back into formation. A collective exhale went up from the assembled group. The worst part was over, at least for everyone who wasn't Max.

Sir Borgen stepped forward again, this time gesturing to several men who'd been standing at the edge of the clearing. They moved through the ranks of squires, each carrying leather scroll cases - dozens of them, one for each young man present.

"Your assignments have been determined," Borgen announced. "Now you must learn how to reach them."

A man handed Max a scroll case. The leather was well-oiled and sealed with wax, designed to survive whatever weather the north might throw at it. Max broke the seal and unrolled the parchment inside.

The map was beautifully detailed, far more elaborate than anything he'd expected.

It showed not just the major landmarks and rivers, but dozens of smaller notations. Symbols that looked like they meant something specific, routes marked in different colors, areas shaded with various patterns. Around him, other squires were examining their own maps - each one different, each one leading to a different corner of the vast northern wilderness.

"These maps contain everything you need to survive your journeys," Borgen continued, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. "The north is vast, and you will be scattered across it like seeds on the wind. Some of you will travel east to the Frozen Reaches. Others west to the Ironwood. Still others north to lands where winter never ends."

Max found himself studying the route marked on his map. It led north. Very far north, to regions he'd only heard described in whispered stories.

"Safe zones are marked with the rune of Hedrig the Hunter - caves, ancient trees, abandoned shelters that have been blessed and warded. You may spend your nights in these places without fear."

Max found the rune Borgen was describing scattered across his map. There seemed to be a reasonable number of them, at least for the first part of his journey. Further north, they became noticeably scarcer.

"Safe routes are marked in green. Villages that will trade with you fairly are marked with Mellara's sign. Danger zones, areas where even experienced warriors fear to tread, are shaded in red."

Max noticed his map had quite a few red areas. More than seemed entirely fair, really. Bubbles, peering over at his own chart, looked significantly more fortunate in that regard.

"Follow the marked paths, use the safe zones, and you will eventually reach your assigned hermit. Deviate from these guidelines, and you significantly increase your chances of never reaching anything again."

Borgen's voice took on a more serious tone.

"Now hear well the laws that will keep you breathing."

The clearing went completely silent. Even the wind seemed to pause.

"Do not enter any cave that is not marked with Hedrig's rune. If you absolutely must seek shelter in an unmarked cave, ask permission before entering. Speak clearly and wait for an answer. If you receive any response - words, sounds, anything at all - leave immediately. If there is no answer, you may enter, but do so with great care and be prepared to flee."

Max and Bubbles exchanged a look. The expression on his face suggested they were both thinking the same thing.

What the fuck lived in unmarked caves that you had to ask permission from?

"Do not," Borgen continued, "under any circumstances, allow sunset to find you outside a safe zone. This becomes law as you venture deeper into the true north. If night falls and you are caught in the open, climb the tallest tree you can find or dig yourself into the earth and cover yourself completely. Do not travel at night. Do not make fires at night unless you are in a marked safe zone. Do not respond to voices in the darkness."

The knight paused, scanning the faces of the assembled squires.

"In the hours of darkness, you shall not answer to your name. Even if the voice calling sounds familiar. Even if it sounds like someone you know and trust. Especially if it sounds like someone you know and trust."

Max felt Bro shift slightly on his shoulder. The spider had been unusually still during the entire ceremony, but something about these rules seemed to have caught his attention.

"Should you hunt for your supper, take not the lives of dire wolves, shadow cats, winter bears, ice drakes, or any beast that speaks in words you understand. Let such creatures be, and pray to whatever gods you favor that they grant you the same mercy."

More exchanged glances around the formation. The list of things not to hunt was getting uncomfortably long.

"Last and not least," Borgen said, "should you receive visitors whilst sheltering in blessed ground, you will show courtesy to any stranger, be they fair or foul to look upon, be their speech sweet or strange. If they reveal themselves to you, do not ask them to leave. Share your bread if they ask it. Show respect in all your dealings."

He paused again, letting that sink in.

"You are knight aspirants, be chivalrous. Courtesy costs nothing and may save your life."

Max decided to empty his head. The rules, the warnings, the implications of everything Borgen had just said - he could process all of that later. Right now, thinking too hard about what lay ahead would probably just make him panic.

"Today is the fifteenth day of Goldmoon, in the thirty-third year of King Einar's reign," Borgen announced. "You will return to this place on the fifteenth day of Goldmoon next year. You will bring with you the tokens your hermits provide as proof of your training. Those who return will be advance in their path to knighthood. Those who do not..."

He left that hanging in the cold air.

"Bid your farewells now. Be ready to depart soon. May the gods watch over you all."

And that was it. A year of their lives, possibly the last year of their lives, decided with less ceremony than it took to order breakfast.

The clearing immediately erupted into conversation. Squires clustered together, some examining each other's maps, others making last-minute plans. A few looked like they were trying very hard not to cry.

Max turned and saw his father and Prince Keiran approaching. He walked toward them, meeting them halfway across the clearing.

The prince spoke first.

"An interesting draw," Prince Keiran said. "For a moment there, I thought you were all but forfeit. But perhaps this will prove... educational."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Max said. "I'll do my best to make the most of whatever lessons he has to offer."

"See that you do."

Keiran nodded once and moved away, probably to deliver similarly inspiring words to other squires.

Max turned to his father, who had been silent throughout the exchange.

"Your bow," Tredor said without preamble. "The strings are in good condition?"

"Yes, sir. I have spares as well."

"Arrows?"

"A full quiver, plus materials to make more if needed."

"Your swords?"

"Sharp and oiled."

"Armor?"

"Clean and fitted properly."

Tredor nodded, then continued the inventory. Food supplies, winter gear, basic tools, emergency equipment.

"Remember," his father said when they'd finished, "you are Bjorn, son of Ragnar the butcher of Frosthold. A squire candidate trying to make a better life for himself. Nothing more. Especially not to anyone calling themselves White Hands or claiming to serve them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Tredor paused. "Stay on the marked paths. Trust the safe zones. Be polite to anything that talks to you, whether it looks human or not."

"I will."

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the other squires say their goodbyes. Then Tredor stepped forward and pulled Max into a firm hug, patting his back twice.

"I believe in you," he said quietly. "I'll see you in a year."

"Of course you will," Max said.

His father released him and stepped back, his expression neutral again.

"How sentimental you've become, Tredor," Prince Aldwin observed, having apparently finished his rounds. "I remember when you wouldn't even pat your horse."

"It is the duty of a father to believe in his offspring," Tredor said.

Keiran glanced across the clearing, where Aelara was making her way toward them through the crowd of squires and their parents who joined not long ago.

"Speaking of offspring," Keiran said, "come, old friend. Help me moralize the others. I'm sure they could benefit from your wisdom about parental duty."

It wasn't really a request.

Tredor nodded once to Max and followed the prince toward a cluster of nervous-looking fathers who were probably in desperate need of someone to tell them how to feel about sending their sons into the wilderness.

Aelara stopped directly in front of Max, close enough that he could see the intricate embroidery on her cloak.

"Hey," Max said.

"...Hey?" She raised an eyebrow. "What manner of greeting is that exactly?"

"Simple. Effective. Straight to the point."

"I suppose I find myself in agreement with that assessment." She paused. "Hey."

Max found himself smiling despite everything. "You too."

"You had quite ill fortune up there," she said.

"What, that Grimjaw fellow?"

"Yes. He is famed for never losing his token to a squire. Has been at it for twenty years straight. A former knight, they say." She studied his face. "I confess myself surprised you are not more disturbed by this."

Max felt something deflate in his chest, but he kept his expression steady. Twenty years. No successful students. Former knight, which meant he'd probably been good at killing people before he became a hermit.

Fuuuuuuuck.

He regained his composure and looked at Aelara. "So, why did you come here? Shall you miss me so terribly that you came to bid me farewell?"

"In truth, I am most pleased to have respite from you for a year. I came to ensure you would truly be gone."

"Must you be so cruel?"

She laughed, a sound that made something warm settle in his chest despite the circumstances. Then she reached into her cloak and pulled out a small square of fabric - a handkerchief, embroidered with careful precision.

"'Tis tradition," she said, holding it out to him. "Lovers are meant to give their beloved a personal token for fortune. I wrought this myself."

Max took the handkerchief and examined it. The roaring bear of House Vanheim was stitched in the center, surrounded by intricate knotwork. The craftsmanship was excellent.

"Thanks," he said. "This is pretty well done."

"I have many talents."

"But I didn't forget what you just said though. Lovers, huh? So we're lovers?"

She rolled her eyes. "It was a figure of speech."

Max looked at Aelara. He liked her. A lot, actually. But this whole thing felt forced, like something she didn't really want but was going along with because it was expected. The idea of begging for a relationship that she might not even want made his skin crawl.

He opened his mouth to address it directly, to ask her if she actually wanted this betrothal or if they were both just playing along with their fathers' plans.

"When you return," she said, cutting him off, "we'll talk about it."

Max frowned. Was she some kind of mentalist or something? He wasn't entirely sure she was thinking about the same conversation he was planning to have. He'd been ready to ask if she really wanted this whole betrothal arrangement, expecting her to say no. But maybe she was thinking about something else entirely.

It didn't matter right now.

"Sure," he said. "Thank you. I'll keep this on me for the luck."

"See that you do," she said, sounding remarkably like her father.

They stood facing each other again for a moment, and Max found himself looking into her eyes. With the sun catching them just right, they took on a particular shade of green.

"Phthalo green."

"What?" she asked.

"Your eyes. The shade of green they have in the sun. It's the best shade of green. Well, according to me. I love green. Favorite color."

Aelara went very still, just looking at him.

The sound of hoofbeats and shouting interrupted whatever moment they might have been having.

"Harek! Wait!"

Max turned to see Gerth riding toward them, his horse lathered with sweat and his face flushed from hard riding.

Gerth dismounted with all the grace of a sack of grain falling off a cart. He was gasping for breath, one hand pressed to his chest, the other still gripping the reins.

"Forgive me," Max said to Aelara, then walked over to greet the old healer. "What's gotten into you this morning?"

"You were leaving," Gerth wheezed, "without telling me?"

Jormund appeared from behind the horse, looking considerably less winded. He was grinning wide.

"I guided our intrepid healer here," Jormund said. "Though I suspect my horse could have found the way without me, given how loudly he was shouting your name."

Gerth finally caught enough breath to properly glare at Max. "Nineteen years I've been patching you up, boy. Nineteen years of setting your broken bones and stitching your cuts and listening to your complaints about training. And you think to just wander off into the wilderness without so much as a farewell?"

"You haven't slept much these past few days," Max said. "I wanted to let you rest."

"Rest? Hah!" Gerth's voice cracked with indignation. "I'll have plenty of time to rest when you're dead in some godforsaken cave."

"Cheerful as always," Jormund observed.

Gerth ignored him and reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a small glass vial filled with clear liquid. "Anyway. I had to get this from those Sentinels we traveled with from Dragonmeet."

Max remembered them vaguely. Their names escaped him, but they'd had that particular aura of people who were very good at killing things.

"They gave me this for you," Gerth said, holding out the vial.

It was the Heightening.

Max's eyes lit up. This changed things. Not dramatically, but enough to matter. The Heightening could be the difference between surviving an encounter and becoming something's dinner.

"Seriously?" He took the vial with considerably more enthusiasm than he'd shown for anything else that morning. "They actually gave you this?"

Jormund whistled low. "That's powerful stuff. Be very careful with it, boy. One wrong move and you'll either be seeing things that aren't there or your heart will explode. Possibly both."

"Worth the risk," Max said, examining the vial more closely.

"Store it properly," Gerth said. "Use it only when you absolutely must. And for the love of all the gods, don't drink the whole thing at once."

"I won't. This is... this is actually really good news."

"Good." Gerth studied his face as if he was checking him for injuries. "You look tired. Are you eating properly?"

"Yes, Gerth."

"Sleeping?"

"When I can."

"That's not an answer." The old man frowned. "You need to take care of yourself out there. No one else is going to do it for you. Keep your weapons sharp, your armor clean, and your wits about you. Trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, it probably is."

Max nodded. This was as close to sentiment as Gerth ever got.

"Which hermit did you draw?" Gerth asked.

"Grimjaw the Render."

"Oh." Gerth' frowned. "You're fucked."

Jormund burst out laughing, a sound that carried across the clearing and drew several curious looks.

"Thank you for the confidence," Max said dryly.

Gerth's shoulders sagged slightly. The fight seemed to go out of him all at once, leaving behind just a tired old man.

Jormund's laughter faded, and he studied both of them with those sharp eyes that missed absolutely nothing. "You know," he said slowly, "I heard something deliciously ironic during my military days."

"What's that?" Max asked.

"About our friend Grimjaw. The circumstances of his arrest, specifically." Jormund's expression grew calculating. "Twenty-one years ago, when they finally caught up with him after whatever crime he'd committed, he was actually defeated. Not by a group of knights, not by overwhelming numbers. By a single squire."

Both Gerth and Max stared at him.

"A squire?" Gerth said. "You're telling me a boy defeated one of the realm's most feared knights?"

"A clever lad named Aldric the Wise. Though 'wise' might be generous, considering he died in the process." Jormund stroked his beard. "The details are... peculiar. From what I heard, young Aldric didn't plan anything at all. Pure desperation."

"What happened?" Max asked.

"They found Grimjaw unconscious, foaming at the mouth like a mad dog. And poor Aldric was quite dead." Jormund paused. "The boy's body showed the strangest signs. Hair standing on end, singed at the tips. Clothes burned in odd patterns. There was a smell, they said - like the air after lightning, but wrong somehow. Sweet and metallic."

"Magic?" Gerth asked, frowning.

"That was the theory. His fingernails were blackened, and witnesses said his eyes had burst blood vessels completely. Like rubies."

"And it killed him?"

"burnt out from the inside. Quite literally." Jormund's tone was matter-of-fact. "But it worked. Whatever he did, Grimjaw was unconscious for three days."

"Interesting story," Max said. "Though I'm not sure how it helps me."

"Perhaps it doesn't. Or perhaps it tells us something about the man you're facing. Someone who's experienced magic used against him." Jormund smiled slightly. "Which brings me to a proposition."

"What kind of proposition?"

"A wager. I've heard they call you the Gamble King around here. Surely you won't refuse a proper bet?"

Max raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Simple terms. I say you'll fail completely. You'll reach Grimjaw's domain, realize you're in over your head, and come running back. If you even make it that far."

"And if I prove you wrong?"

"If you return in one year with Grimjaw's token, I'll pay you fifty gold dragons."

Gerth nearly choked. "Fifty?"

"But when you fail," Jormund continued smoothly, "you owe me a favor. To be called in at my discretion. No questions asked."

Max felt his competitive instincts stir. The way Jormund phrased it - casual dismissal of his chances - hit exactly the right nerve.

"You're assuming I'll fail," Max said.

"I'm observing reality. Grimjaw has turned away every challenger for twenty years. You think a few months of training makes you special?"

"I think you're underestimating me."

"Perhaps. Prove it then. Take the wager."

Gerth shook his head. "Boy, don't listen to him. He's baiting you."

"Of course I am," Jormund said mildly. "The question is whether he's smart enough to recognize it and walk away, or whether his pride will decide for him."

"Counter-offer," Max said. "When I return with Grimjaw's token, you pay me fifty dragons and publicly admit you were wrong."

"And when you fail?"

Max smiled. "I won't fail."

"Everyone says that."

"I'm not everyone."

Jormund studied him for a long moment. "No, perhaps you're not. Very well. Fifty dragons and a public apology against one future favor."

"Agreed," Max said.

They clasped hands, and Jormund's smile turned satisfied.

"This should be interesting."

A deep horn sounded from somewhere up the hill, its low note rolling across the camp like distant thunder. The sound seemed to hang in the cold air longer than it should have, marking the official beginning of the trials.

Gerth's frown deepened until it looked like it might become permanent.

"Well," he said gruffly, "I suppose this is it then."

"Stop frowning," Max said, adjusting his pack straps. "Maybe when I get back, I'll find you a woman who can love that perpetually sour face of yours."

Jormund burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the trees. "Any woman brave enough to take on the healer would have to be either remarkably desperate or completely blind."

Gerth's expression somehow managed to grow even more sour. "Very funny. Both of you."

"I'm leaving now," Gerth announced flatly.

Max clapped him on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, old man."

"You take care of yourself. I'm not the one walking into the wilderness to find a hermit who may or may not try to kill me."

"He won't kill me."

"We'll see."

The trials began from the northern edge of the camp, where a small crowd had gathered despite the early hour. Max spotted his father near one of the larger tents, standing with Sir Gregory and several other knights. Gregory gave him a solemn nod.

Aelara stood with her father near the edge of the clearing, her expression unreadable. She raised her hand slightly when she saw him looking.

Baldwin was there too, positioned where he'd be sure to catch Max's attention. When their eyes met, Max raised his hand and extended his middle finger.

Baldwin's face went through several expressions in rapid succession - confusion, dawning comprehension, and finally outrage. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, though Max wasn't entirely sure the mage understood what the gesture meant. It was satisfying regardless.

"Subtle," Bubbles said, appearing at Max's elbow with his own pack slung over his shoulder.

"I thought so." Max glanced at him. "Which direction are you headed?"

"Northeast. Following the river until it splits, then east toward the hills. You?"

"Straight north through the pine stands toward the stone ridge." Max felt something ease in his chest. "We'll be traveling together for a while then."

"Good. I was hoping I wouldn't have to start this alone."

They walked toward the departure point together. Two other squires fell into step with them - Marcus Ironhold and Dan of the Westmarch, both heading in similar directions according to their maps.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a proper traveling party," Willem said, hefting his pack higher on his shoulders.

"At least for the first few days," Marcus added. "Strength in numbers and all that."

They reached the camp's edge, where the marshal of the trials waited with a ledger and several officials Max didn't recognize. The formalities were brief - names recorded, destinations noted, expected return date marked down with the understanding that it was more hope than certainty.

"You know the way to the northern paths?" the marshal asked.

"North through the pine stands until the old lightning-struck oak, then follow the river," Bubbles recited.

"Good. Try not to die stupidly."

"We'll do our best."

They passed beyond the last of the white trees and onto the path that led away from the White Woods. Behind them, voices rose in what might have been a prayer or might have been a song.

The four of them walked in comfortable silence for a while, adjusting to the rhythm of travel, the weight of their packs, the crunch of snow beneath their boots.

"So," Willem said eventually, "Grimjaw, huh?"

Marcus whistled low. "You're so fucked, Harek."

"Shut up," Bubbles said firmly. "He'll be fine."

Max felt Bro shift against his shoulder, the spider's temperature rising noticeably even through the layers of clothing.

"No," Max said quietly. "Don't burn people."

The other three squires stopped walking and stared at him.

"Who were you talking to?" Marcus asked, looking around as if expecting to see someone else on the path with them.

Max didn't answer. Instead, he adjusted his pack straps and continued walking north, taking the lead as the frozen horizon stretched endlessly ahead of them.

Gamble King Chapter 31. The Proving Year - Part I

Cock-a-doodle-doo! The bastard rooster was at it again. Worse, he was early today. Max's eyes snapped open in the pre-dawn darkness of his m

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

The bastard rooster was at it again. Worse, he was early today.

Max's eyes snapped open in the pre-dawn darkness of his modest chambers. He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling beams. Today was the day.

The Proving Year.

Twelve months in the wilderness, starting in a few hours.

Gerth's sleeping draught had worked perfectly—Max had actually slept through the night instead of lying awake cataloging all the ways he might die. But now that he was awake, his body felt coiled with energy. Not nervous energy, exactly. More like the feeling you got on the morning of a really important exam, or a job interview, or the first day at a new school. That mix of anticipation and readiness that made you want to move, to do something, to get started already.

Max sat up and swung his legs over the side of the narrow bed.

"Morning, Bro."

The small white spider emerged from his usual sleeping spot—a small depression Max had carved into the wooden bedframe specifically for him. Bro stretched his tiny legs with what looked like satisfaction, then scurried up Max's arm to his usual perch on his shoulder.

"Big day today."

Max reached for the small leather pouch on his bedside table and pulled out a strip of dried meat. He tore off a piece about the size of his fingernail and offered it to Bro, who accepted it with the dignity of a king receiving tribute.

"You ready for this?"

Bro began methodically consuming his breakfast. Max took that as a yes.

The latrines were mercifully warm—someone had stoked the braziers early, probably in preparation for the morning's activities. Max handled his business quickly, then made his way to the washbasin.

The water was actually hot. Steam rose from the copper basin as Max splashed his face, scrubbed his hands, and ran wet fingers through his hair. Luxury, really. In a few hours he'd be drinking from streams and washing with snow.

If he was lucky.

Back in his chambers, Max surveyed the food he'd set aside the night before. Dried fruits, smoked meat, a hunk of bread that would probably last another day before going stale. He ate methodically, focusing on the task rather than letting his mind wander to what came next.

The gear was laid out on his small table in the order he'd put it on. Max had spent the previous evening organizing everything three times, making sure he could dress quickly and efficiently.

First, the base layers. Wool underclothes that would wick moisture and provide insulation. Over that, a leather tunic reinforced with metal studs. Not quite armor, but better than nothing.

The sword harness came next—leather straps that positioned Dusk and Dawn at his sides. The weight settled across his hips with satisfying familiarity. Jorik had designed the harness so the hilts angled slightly forward, easily accessible for a cross-draw but out of the way when he needed to move through thick brush.

The bow went over his left shoulder, the quiver over his right. Sixty arrows total—thirty broadheads for hunting, thirty bodkins for anything that might try to kill him. A leather purse containing a hundred spare arrowheads clinked softly against his hip, insurance for when he inevitably lost or broke the fletched ones. The small shield strapped to his left forearm, designed to complement his dual-sword style rather than replace it.

Finally, the survival pack.

Gerth had delivered it the night before. The healer had spent weeks assembling the contents—medicines, fire-starting materials, a water purification kit, emergency rations, basic tools for shelter construction.

"Everything you need to not die stupidly," Gerth had said. "Dying heroically is still up to you."

Max hefted the pack. Heavy, but not unreasonably so. The weight was distributed well, and the straps were padded where they'd rest against his shoulders during long marches.

He did a final inventory check. Swords—check. Bow and arrows—check. Shield—check. Pack with survival gear—check. Small belt knife—check. Coin purse with enough silver to buy supplies from friendly tribes—check.

Bro had finished his breakfast and was grooming his legs.

"What do you think?" Max asked, adjusting the pack straps one final time. "Ready to go spend a year not dying?"

Bro paused in his grooming and fixed Max with what might have been an encouraging look.

Max walked to the narrow window and peered out. The sky was beginning to lighten, stars fading as the first hints of dawn touched the eastern horizon. Snow continued to fall in lazy flakes that caught what little light there was.

It was time.

Max pulled on his heavy winter cloak—thick wool lined with fur, designed to keep him alive in temperatures that could freeze exposed skin in minutes. The hood was large enough to cover his head completely while still allowing peripheral vision.

He took one last look around the modest chambers that had been his home for the past few weeks. The narrow bed, the simple table, the washbasin, the fireplace where embers still glowed from the previous night's fire.

Max sighed, opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

His boots echoed against the stone floors as he made his way through the castle's pre-dawn quiet. A few servants were already moving about, preparing for the day's activities, but most of Frosthold still slept.

The great doors groaned open, admitting a gust of winter air that carried the scent of snow and wood smoke. Max pulled his hood up and stepped into the courtyard.

Fresh snow crunched beneath his feet as he walked toward the main gate, where torches flickered in the pre-dawn gloom. Other figures were already gathering—dark shapes bundled in winter gear, breath visible in small puffs of vapor.

The meeting point.

Where the Proving Year would officially begin.

But first, he needed Flash.

The stables were already bustling with activity despite the early hour. Stable boys moved between the stalls, preparing horses for the day's departure. The air was thick with the scents of hay, leather, and horse sweat, warmed by the body heat of dozens of animals.

Max found Flash in his usual stall, the big warhorse already saddled and ready. Someone—probably one of the more experienced stable hands—had taken care of the preparations. Flash's coat gleamed in the lamplight, his tack polished and properly fitted.

"Morning, boy," Max said softly, approaching the stall door.

Flash turned his massive head and nickered in recognition, breath steaming in the cool air. Max reached out to stroke the horse's neck, feeling the solid warmth beneath his palm. Today would be the last time he'd see Flash for a year. The horse would stay safe in Frosthold's stables while Max faced whatever the wilderness had in store for him.

"Take care of yourself while I'm gone," Max murmured, scratching behind Flash's ears. "Try not to let the stable boys spoil you too much."

Flash snorted, which Max chose to interpret as a promise to behave.

He led the warhorse from the stall and swung himself into the saddle. The familiar weight of his gear settled around him as Flash shifted beneath him, eager to be moving. They made their way out of the stables and into the courtyard, where the scene was growing more animated by the minute.

Other squires were emerging from various parts of the castle, all mounted and equipped for the ride to the ceremony. Max recognized most of them—young men he'd trained alongside, eaten with, competed against in the practice yards. Now they were all heading toward the same uncertain future.

People had begun gathering to see them off. Servants, guards, a few minor nobles who'd risen early for the occasion. Lord Tredor stood near the main gate, his breath visible in the cold air as he spoke quietly with knight named Borgen.

"Lord Harek!"

Max turned to see one of the kitchen maids waving at him. She pressed a small wrapped bundle into his hands—extra bread, probably, or dried fruit. "For luck, my lord," she said with a shy smile.

"Thank you," Max replied, tucking the gift into his pack. Similar scenes were playing out around the courtyard as people offered final tokens of support to the departing squires.

The gates stood open, revealing the pale pre-dawn landscape beyond. Snow continued to fall, coating everything in pristine white. It was beautiful, Max supposed, though he suspected he'd have a different opinion of winter beauty after spending a year surviving in it.

"Mount up!" Sir Borgen's voice carried across the courtyard. "Time to ride!"

The squires formed a loose column, their horses' hooves crunching through the snow as they moved toward the gates. Max found himself riding alongside Ian Ironwood, who nodded grimly at him.

"Good fortune, Vanheim," Ian said quietly.

"And to you," Max replied.

They passed through the gates and onto the forest road that led to the White Woods.

The procession was solemn, each rider lost in his own thoughts about what lay ahead. Occasionally, eyes would meet and nods would be exchanged—acknowledgments of shared purpose and mutual respect.

Max spotted Bubbles near the front of the column and urged Flash forward to join him. His friend's face was more animated than the others, almost excited.

"Morning, Harek," Bubbles said as Max drew alongside him. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough. You seem surprisingly cheerful for someone about to begin his Proving Year."

Bubbles grinned. "Chester came back."

Max felt his eyebrows rise. "When?"

"Late last night. Rode in just after midnight, half-frozen but alive." Bubbles's voice carried genuine relief. "He made it, Harek. A full year, and he made it back."

The news sent a ripple of hope through Max's chest. "That's good news," he said. "Very good news."

"Aye. Gives me hope that we're not all riding to our deaths."

The road wound deeper into the wilderness, and gradually the forests of Frosthold's lands began to change. The evergreens grew sparser, their dark branches giving way to something altogether different.

"You can feel it, can't you?" Bubbles said quietly as they crested a small rise. "The change in the air."

Max nodded. There was something about this place that made the hair on his arms stand up, even through his wool sleeves.

"My grandmother used to say the Aspects chose this place because it was already touched by something older," Bubbles continued. "Before the first men carved faces into the bark and anyone knew what an Aspect was."

"That's interesting," Max replied, looking around.

The White Woods had been a sacred place even when the land was wild. Animals would come here to die peacefully, travelers reported strange dreams after sleeping beneath the pale branches.

The trees began to appear through the falling snow. At first just glimpses—flashes of white bark between the darker trunks of normal forest. Then more, until suddenly they were riding through groves of them.

Max stared in fascination.

The descriptions in the books hadn't done them justice. The trees were massive, their bark white as fresh snow but somehow brighter, almost luminous in the gray morning light. They stretched up impossibly tall, their branches bare of leaves but thick with what looked like silver moss that caught the light and threw it back in strange patterns. And carved into each trunk, about eye level for a mounted rider, were the faces.

The Aspects.

Some were crude, obviously the work of hedge witches or desperate supplicants who'd carved their own crude representations. Others were masterworks, so lifelike they seemed ready to speak. Max recognized most of them from descriptions he'd read.

Thane the Warrior, with his fierce scowl and battle scars. Mellara the Healer, serene and maternal. Jòr the Smith, solid and dependable.

But his eyes kept being drawn to one face in particular.

Voros the gambler, the Aspect of Luck.

The carving was old, probably centuries old, and weathered by countless seasons. But it was unmistakably him. The face was younger than most depictions Max had seen in Harek's memories, almost boyish, with an expression that managed to be both innocent and mischievous at the same time. One eye seemed to wink, though that might have been a trick of the shadows cast by the carving's depth. His mouth was curved in the faintest of smiles, as if he knew something amusing that he wasn't quite ready to share.

Max found himself staring at that carved face longer than he'd intended.

This was where it had all started, wasn't it? Bjorn's story had begun in these woods. Young Bjorn of Ursa, at sixteen, setting out on his journey with nothing but determination and an inherited axe. The books had made it sound romantic, heroic. Looking at these ancient trees and feeling the weight of real danger ahead, Max wondered how much of that had been artistic license.

"There," Bubbles said, pointing ahead through the trees.

The road curved around a massive white oak—this one bearing the carved face of Hedrig the Hunter—and then opened into a large clearing. Max could see figures waiting in the distance, dark shapes against the pale snow.

They crested a hill, and suddenly the full scope of the gathering became visible.

Knights stood in a loose semicircle, their breath steaming in the cold air. Max spotted Tredor immediately, his distinctive posture unmistakable even at a distance. Sir Gregory stood beside him, arms crossed, looking as stern as ever, along with several other knights Max recognized from the castle.

The sun was beginning to rise behind them, spreading pale gold and pink across the eastern sky. The light caught the white bark of the surrounding trees and made them seem to glow from within, as if they were lit by some inner fire.

"Dismount," Sir Borgen called out as the column of squires reached the clearing's edge.

Max swung down from Flash's saddle, his boots crunching into the fresh snow. Around him, the other squires were doing the same, their movements subdued and careful.

Stable boys appeared as if from nowhere, taking the reins of the horses. They'd lead the animals back to Frosthold while the squires faced whatever came next on foot. Flash nuzzled Max's shoulder one last time before being led away, the big warhorse's hoofbeats gradually fading as he disappeared back down the forest road.

Max adjusted his pack straps and checked his gear one final time.

Around him, the other squires were doing the same. The sun climbed higher, and the carved faces in the surrounding trees seemed to watch.

"Forward," Sir Borgen called.

The squires moved as one.

Movement caught Max's eye at the edge of the clearing. Two figures stood on a small rise overlooking the ceremony.

Prince Keiran and Aelara.

Max caught Aelara's eye and gave a small nod. She nodded back, her expression unreadable in the morning light. Keiran noticed the exchange and Max saw the prince's mouth curve into what might have been a smile. Apparently, he approved of them getting along.

Or at least not openly despising each other in public. This thing really needed to be addressed.

The column came to a halt about twenty feet from where the knights stood waiting. Max found himself in the second row, close enough to see the details of his father's face, the way Gregory's hand rested casually on his sword hilt, the steam rising from everyone's breath in the cold air.

Three mages stood slightly apart from the knights, their robes marking them as representatives of the towers. Max frowned as he recognized Baldwin. The fucker was still giving him that familiar and unnerving arrogant stare.

Dick.

Sir Borgen stepped forward, his voice carrying easily across the clearing.

"Squires of Frosthold," he began, "you stand today at the threshold between what you were and what you may become."

Max tried not to roll his eyes. Every important occasion in the north seemed to require speeches about thresholds and becoming. He supposed it was better than standing around in awkward silence, but barely.

"The Proving Year has been the measure of northern warriors since the time of Rome Vanheim. It is not a test of strength, though strength will serve you. It is not a test of skill, though skill will preserve you. It is a test of character. Of will. Of your ability to endure when endurance seems impossible."

A man appeared at Borgen's side, carrying what looked like a metal container about the size of a large pot. The surface was black iron, polished to a dull shine, with runes carved around the rim that probably meant something important to someone.

"But first," Borgen continued, "you must learn your purpose. Each of you will be assigned a specific task. A hermit to find, a token to claim, a year to survive."

He gestured toward the container. "The selection is random. Fate, luck, the will of the Aspects—call it what you will. Each name you draw represents a life spent in exile, a story of failure or disgrace or simply the inability to live among civilized men."

Max felt Bro shift slightly against his shoulder. The spider had been remarkably still during the ride, but something about the ceremony seemed to have his attention.

"Some hermits will test your combat skills. Others will challenge your wisdom, your cunning, your ability to solve problems that have no obvious solution. A few will simply want to talk to another human being after years of solitude. But all of them possess something you need, a token that proves you found them, convinced them, or took what they guard by force."

The knight with the container stepped forward, positioning himself where each squire could approach in turn.

"The names," Borgen said, "and the fates they represent."

He looked at the first squire in line—a young man Max recognized but couldn't name. "You. Step forward. Draw your hermit's name and speak it aloud."

The squire approached the container with careful steps as if he was walking on ice that might not hold his weight. He reached in, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and unfolded it with hands that trembled slightly.

"Aiden the Kinslayer," he announced, his voice cracking on the last word.

Well, that sounded promising.

Several of the other squires shifted uncomfortably. Max didn't blame them. 'Kinslayer' wasn't the sort of title that suggested friendly conversation over shared meals.

"Next," Borgen called.

The second squire drew his slip and read: "Mara the Trickster."

"Shit," someone whispered.

"Should just turn around and go home now."

"Next."

"Fenrik the Lost."

"Shit," someone whispered.

"Next."

"Gorin Ironhand."

"Fuck me," another voice said.

The ritual continued, each name carrying its own weight of implication. Some sounded almost normal—'Thomas of the Deep Wood,' 'Sara the Wanderer.' Others were less encouraging—'Bloodaxe Kavon,' 'Sylas the Mad,' 'Grendel Wormtongue.'

Max watched the container and tried to calculate odds. How many slips of paper were in there? How many truly dangerous hermits versus merely unpleasant ones? Was there any pattern to the names, or was it genuinely random?

The line moved forward steadily. Each squire approached, drew, announced, and stepped back with an expression that ranged from grim acceptance to barely concealed terror.

"Next."

Bubbles turned to Max. "Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck."

He stepped forward, reached into the container, and withdrew his slip. He unfolded it and smiled with visible relief.

"Yutheim the Maker."

A collective sigh went up from several squires. Someone said, "Not bad. Could be worse."

Bubbles caught Max's eye and grinned.

"Next."

The squire ahead of Max drew his name—'Korven the Silent'—and then it was Max's turn.

He stepped forward, aware that his father was watching, that Aelara and Keiran and Gregory were observing from their hill, that everyone present would remember this moment and judge what came next.

The container was deeper than it looked. Max's hand found cold iron at the bottom before his fingers closed around folded paper. He pulled it out, unfolded it, and read the name written in careful script.

For a moment, he stared at the paper, processing what he was seeing.

Then he looked up and spoke clearly enough for everyone to hear.

"Grimjaw the Render."

The gasp that followed was the loudest yet. Someone actually stepped backward. Max heard a sharp "By the one god" from behind him.

The One God. Not the Aspects, not even the usual nine hells. The One God.

That was new.

Max sighed deeply.

"For fuck's sake."

From their reactions alone, he could tell he'd just drawn the worst possible option.

Of course.

Chapter 148. Conspiracy

"Fascinating." Adom leaned back in his chair, studying the unconscious changeling tied to the opposite seat. They'd moved to one of Valiant'

"Fascinating."

Adom leaned back in his chair, studying the unconscious changeling tied to the opposite seat. They'd moved to one of Valiant's safe houses—a nondescript building in the artisan quarter that looked like it stored pottery but actually stored people who needed to disappear for a while.

"What's fascinating?" Valiant asked. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he was trying to figure out if he should be impressed or worried about Adom's methods.

"He's unconscious," Adom said, "and yet he's retained the form he changed to."

Valiant squinted at the changeling. Average height, brown hair, the kind of face that belonged on a dozen different wanted posters but never quite matched any of them perfectly.

"Or maybe this is his real form?"

Adom shook his head. "I've read descriptions of changelings. Seen sketches from Imperial archives. Their natural form isn't human. Not even humanoid."

"Then what is it?"

"Closer to slimes, actually."

Valiant blinked. "Slimes? Like, the things that eat garbage in sewers?"

"Similar concept. Different biology." Adom gestured at the changeling. "They're essentially shapeshifters with no fixed form. Pure adaptability. This human appearance? It's a choice he's maintaining even while unconscious. That suggests either incredible control, or—"

The changeling's eyelids twitched.

"—or he's starting to wake up," Adom finished quietly.

"Oh!" Valiant straightened up immediately. "Okay, okay. You be the good guard, and I'll be the bad one. Classic approach. I come in aggressive, you offer him water and sympathy, he spills everything."

"We're not doing that."

"Come on, it's a proven technique."

"It's also going to turn into you getting distracted and asking him about changeling biology for twenty minutes."

"I would not—okay, I might do that. But the principle—"

"Valiant." Adom looked at him steadily. "Can you promise me you'll stay calm, listen more than you talk, and ask focused questions without getting sidetracked into conversations about shapeshifting theory?"

Valiant opened his mouth immediately. "I can totally focus! I'm great at focusing! And I have experience with interrogations, and I know how to read people, and if he tries to shift I can spot the tells because I've studied this stuff, and honestly I think you're underestimating how useful I could be in here because—"

"Out."

Valiant stopped mid-sentence. He was quiet for a long moment, actually processing what had just happened.

"Okay, fine!" He threw his hands up. "Fiiiine. I'm out. But I'm staying right outside this door."

"I know you are."

"And if he turns into a dragon or something, what are you gonna do then?."

"Changelings can't turn into dragons."

"How do you—never mind. I don't want to know how you know that."

The door closed with a soft click.

Adom settled back in his chair and waited. The changeling's eyelids were fluttering now, and his fingers had started twitching against the rope bonds.

Any moment now.

The changeling's eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. His gaze wandered around the room—bare walls, a single table, two chairs. Then his eyes found Adom.

Confusion flickered across his face for maybe three seconds. Then it turned to panic.

He jerked against the ropes, testing them frantically. The chair creaked but held firm.

"You're bound," Adom said calmly. "There's no need to try freeing yourself. Those bindings were designed for creatures much stronger than you."

The changeling kept struggling for another few seconds before stopping, breathing hard. "Please," he said. "Please just let me go. I haven't done anything."

"No."

The flat response seemed to catch him off guard. He stared at Adom, probably trying to figure out what kind of person he was dealing with.

"I took some dangerous things from you," Adom continued. "When I searched you, I didn't find even half the artifacts and papers that should have been there. Where are the rest?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the changeling said immediately.

One of the crystals on the table flared bright red.

Both of them looked at it. The changeling's face went pale.

"Oh," Adom said. "I forgot to mention. The wires connected to your body and those two crystals work in a simple way. If you lie, the red one lights up. If you tell the truth, the green one does. So. Let's try this again."

He leaned forward slightly. "Where are the rest of my artifacts and research papers?"

The changeling said nothing.

Adom sighed. "Electricity can kill you people, you know." He met the changeling's eyes. "Do you want to die?"

The changeling flinched like he'd been slapped. His breathing got faster.

Adom really hoped he wouldn't have to go the torture route. Changelings were rare. It would be cruel to kill one, even one who'd stolen from him.

On the other hand, he had to be pragmatic about this. Every second that passed was another second his research might be changing hands, moving through a network until it reached someone who could either cause massive destruction in the city or a different part of the world or even understand it well enough to replicate it.

That could open a whole other set of problems that would make the current situation look simple.

Fortunately, it seemed like this particular changeling wasn't the type who'd been trained to endure interrogation. His hands were shaking.

"We..." the changeling started, then stopped.

Adom frowned. We? Not just him?

The changeling seemed to realize his mistake. "We... meaning I... I don't have them anymore. They're gone."

The green crystal flickered weakly. Technically true, but clearly not the whole story.

"You said 'we,'" Adom said. "Who else was with you?"

The changeling's jaw tightened. He didn't answer.

Adom leaned back in his chair, thinking.

If a changeling had gotten onto the Imperial research island—one of the most secure locations in the empire—and somehow knew to look specifically inside the tower, that meant they were likely part of the guard rotation. Guards were hired by the Archmage, but Adom could easily see the Archmage being deceived. After all, what better way to infiltrate a place than to literally become someone who belonged there?

The logical progression clicked into place.

A group of changelings, probably recent arrivals to Arkhos. Their usual habitat was desert, but that was more about hiding than natural preference. These past few years, Arkhos had become an attractive destination for all sorts of people looking for new opportunities. Maybe one of them had come, seen that the Magisterium posts paid well, gotten hired through whatever process they'd managed to bypass, been assigned to the tower, and then shared what they'd stolen with the others.

"There's a group of you," Adom said. It wasn't a question.

The changeling stared at him. After a moment, he nodded once.

The green crystal glowed.

"You came to Arkhos recently."

Another nod. Green crystal.

"Looking for work."

Nod. Green.

"One of you got hired as a guard."

Nod. Green.

"Through the normal hiring process."

The changeling hesitated, then shook his head.

Red crystal.

Adom frowned. "How did you come to know about the tower?"

The changeling's mouth opened, then closed. He looked genuinely conflicted, like he wanted to answer but couldn't figure out how to do it safely.

Adom studied the changeling's face. He was starting to get a read on what kind of person he was dealing with. Loyal, clearly. And he'd shown no signs of cruelty so far—when the dog had barked at him earlier, he'd just mumbled something under his breath and walked away. A crueler person would have kicked it. His posture was careful, controlled. The way he'd tested the ropes had been methodical, not panicked. And the conflict in his expression when asked direct questions suggested someone who valued honesty but was caught between competing loyalties.

"That group is your family, isn't it," Adom said.

The changeling's eyes widened slightly. His breathing hitched.

"Confirm or deny."

The changeling looked away, then back. He nodded once.

Green crystal.

Perfect. Yes-or-no questions were the best approach here. They didn't give him room to twist his answers or find clever loopholes.

"What's your name?"

The changeling hesitated, then mumbled, "Keth-sil."

"Nice to meet you, Keth-sil." Adom kept his tone neutral. "You seem like a logical, careful person, so I'm going to be direct with you. As long as you stay in Arkhos, I will eventually find your family. I have ears and eyes in every part of this city, and beyond it as well. I found you—a changeling capable of shifting forms and disappearing into crowds. I can find the rest of them too. It'll just take more time. And by then, I'll be very pissed and much less kind than I'm being right now."

Keth-sil's face fell. He looked directly at Adom with something that might have been resignation.

"The things you took," Adom continued, "you have absolutely no idea what could be done with them if the wrong person got hold of them and studied them." He leaned forward. "Tell me everything. Whatever you're afraid of, I can guarantee protection."

Keth-sil was quiet for a long moment. Then, barely audible: "They have my brother."

Ah. Finally. A crack.

Adom sat back, pieces clicking into place. Now he was starting to understand what had happened here, and why these people were in Arkhos in the first place. The question was: who exactly was 'they'?

"Who is 'they'?" Adom asked directly.

Keth-sil hesitated, his hands fidgeting against the ropes.

"You can trust me," Adom said.

"Will you really help us?"

Adom thought about that. He didn't want to make promises without knowing who he might be up against. But then again, whoever had started this mess would have eventually ended up confronting him anyway, once they realized what they'd stolen.

"If possible, yes."

Keth-sil took a shaky breath. "We come from the Vel'thara Desert. There was nothing there for us. Our parents came there before we were born, trying to hide from... well, from people who wanted to use us. But there was barely enough water, barely enough food. We survived, but we weren't really living."

The green crystal stayed steady.

"A few years ago, an Imperial knight found us. He knew what we were immediately." Keth-sil's voice got quieter. "We thought he was going to kill us, or turn us in for bounty money. Instead, he brought us to the Imperial capital."

Adom stayed silent, listening. The crystal remained green.

"They trained us as spies. For the Emperor's intelligence network. We never saw the Emperor himself, but we got missions. Infiltration jobs, mostly. Information gathering. The pay was good—better than we'd ever seen. We had real food, real shelter. For the first time in our lives, we weren't just surviving."

Adom was already not liking where this was heading.

"But we wanted out," Keth-sil continued. "The work was... it changed us. Made us into people we didn't want to be. When we tried to leave, they took our youngest brother. Sil-keth. He's barely eighteen. They said as long as we kept working for them, he'd be safe and comfortable. If we tried to run..." He trailed off.

"How many siblings total?"

"Four. Me, my two other brothers, and Sil-keth."

"And recently you were assigned to the island."

"Yes. We were told to stay there until further notice. No missions, just... wait. But we couldn't just sit there knowing Sil-keth was being held somewhere. One of my brothers thought there might be something valuable in the tower. Something we could sell or use as leverage to get him back. So we broke orders."

"You went into the tower looking for anything that might help free your brother."

"We thought maybe we could sell whatever we found on the black market. Get enough money to hire professionals to help us. Or maybe find something that could be used as a weapon." Keth-sil met Adom's eyes. "We had no idea what any of it actually was."

The crystal stayed green throughout the entire explanation.

Adom leaned back in his chair. "So you're saying the Emperor is in on this. He assigned you to the island and told you to stay put."

"Yes."

"Shit," Adom sighed.

This was so much worse than he'd thought.

*****

A few moments later...

The portal tore Adom apart again, scattering his consciousness across impossible distances. While his body existed as disconnected particles, part of his mind worked through the implications of what he'd learned.

The research project had been designed to be transparent from the start. When he and the Archmage had decided to pursue it, they'd known the Emperor would be watching. The thing was, the Empire and the Magisterium weren't officially separate entities—on paper, the Archmage still served at the Emperor's pleasure, and all mages were technically Imperial resources.

But in practice? Things had shifted dramatically over the past few years.

It had started small. The Archmage making decisions about magical education without consulting the palace. Mage assignments being handled through Magisterium channels instead of Imperial ones. Research priorities being set by magical scholars rather than political advisors. Each change had been reasonable in isolation, justified by efficiency or expertise or simple practical necessity.

But taken together, they'd created something that looked suspiciously like independence.

The Emperor wasn't stupid. He'd noticed. And while he couldn't openly challenge the Archmage without risking a confrontation with every mage in the Empire, he could certainly make his displeasure known through subtler means. Like surveillance. Like having his own people keep tabs on what the mages were really doing.

That's why Adom and the Archmage had decided to be completely upfront about the research. They'd requested Imperial permission not because they legally needed it, but because it was a gesture of good faith. Look, they were saying, we're not hiding anything from you. We're working on something potentially dangerous, but we're telling you about it every step of the way.

They'd documented everything. Shared progress reports. Made themselves as transparent as possible to avoid giving the Emperor ammunition for accusations of secrecy or disloyalty. The research was conducted on Imperial territory, with Imperial resources, for the benefit of Imperial security. All above board.

The irony was that their transparency had probably made them a more tempting target. The Emperor knew exactly where the research was happening, exactly who had access to it, and exactly how valuable it might be. All he'd needed was a way to get his hands on it without looking like he was undermining his own Archmage.

Enter the changelings.

The hiring process for island guards went through Magisterium channels, not Imperial ones. The Archmage personally approved every assignment. But if someone could literally become a person who already belonged there, the whole security structure became meaningless. The changelings hadn't bypassed the system—they'd used the system's own assumptions against it.

It was elegant, really. The Emperor could claim complete ignorance if the theft was discovered. Just some rogue intelligence operatives acting on their own initiative. Meanwhile, he'd have access to research that could potentially shift the balance of power between the Empire and the Magisterium back in his favor.

The only flaw in the plan was that one of the changelings had gotten desperate enough to break protocol.

Right now, Adom needed to move fast. If Kim arrived with Archmage troops and arrested the guards for interrogation, it would send a clear message: the Magisterium suspected Imperial involvement in the theft. The Emperor would realize his spies had been discovered, and any pretense of cooperation between the two powers would evaporate. That kind of open conflict wasn't something anyone was prepared for.

The portal spat him out onto familiar stone. The same nausea hit him immediately, and he doubled over, waiting for his stomach to remember how gravity worked.

When he straightened up, everything looked normal. Guards at their posts, the tower standing undisturbed, no sign of Magisterium troops anywhere. The afternoon sun cast the same shadows it had hours earlier, and the wind carried the same salt tang from the ocean.

Thank God. He'd tried calling Kim and the Archmage during the brief window between leaving the safe house and entering the portal, but the communication crystals had just buzzed uselessly. Either they were in meetings, or the magical interference from portal travel had scrambled the signal.

Apparently the Archmage's people hadn't arrived yet.

Good. He still had time to handle this properly.

One of the guards approached from his post near the tower entrance, his brow furrowed with concern. "Magus? Is everything alright? You look a bit... unsettled."

Adom realized he probably still looked like someone who'd just been through a portal and an interrogation in the same afternoon. He straightened his robes and tried to look normal. "Nothing to worry about, just portal sickness. Is Professor Kim still here?"

"Yes, sir. He's been in the tower with the Archmage for the past hour or so. Haven't seen either of them come out."

"Good." Adom paused, as if something had just occurred to him. "Tell me, is Jorik Thane working today? I thought I saw him earlier but wasn't sure."

The guard shook his head. "No sir, Jorik's on the midnight rotation. Won't be in for another few hours yet."

"Ah, my mistake." Adom scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I've been trying to remember who's supposed to cover the evening watch. My schedule's been all mixed up lately."

The guard looked mildly amused. "The evening guards don't start until sunset. We've got maybe three more hours before the rotation changes."

"Right, of course. Thanks for clearing that up."

The guard nodded and returned to his post. Adom had gotten what he needed—confirmation that the name from Keth-sil was indeed part of the midnight rotation.

He headed for the tower entrance, nodding to the other guards as he passed. The unimpressive stone structure loomed above him, its windows glowing with the warm light of magical illumination. Inside, he could hear the faint murmur of voices from one of the upper chambers.

He climbed the spiral staircase, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. There was another research chamber on the third floor, and he could hear the conversation more clearly as he approached. Kim's voice, rapid and excited, punctuated by the deeper, more measured tones of the Archmage.

Adom knocked once and entered without waiting for a response.

Kim and Gaius were hunched over a table covered with notes, diagrams, and what looked like architectural drawings of the tower. Kim's hair was even more disheveled than usual, and his wire-rimmed glasses were slightly askew. Gaius sat there patiently. Listening to Kim's rants for quite some time.

"There you are," Kim said, looking up and immediately pushing his glasses back into place.

"I tried calling both of you," Adom said. "Your comm crystals were completely dead. I was worried something had happened."

"Ah, yes." Gaius stroked his long silver beard, which now reached nearly to his belt. The Archmage had the kind of presence that filled a room without effort. "We deactivated them intentionally. After discovering the theft, we weren't certain how deep this infiltration might go. It seemed prudent to speak without the possibility of being overheard through magical means."

"Paranoid, maybe," Kim added, running his hands through his hair, "but given that someone managed to break into our supposedly impregnable tower and steal our research materials, paranoia seems like a reasonable response."

"More than reasonable," Adom said. "And you were right to be cautious. I have a lead. I found one of the changelings."

Kim's hands froze in his hair. "One of?!" His voice pitched higher with each word. "How many are there? Oh god, how many times have I been talking to the wrong person? How many conversations have I had thinking I was speaking to a guard when I was actually—"

"Kim," Gaius said gently but firmly. "Breathe."

Kim took a shaky breath, then immediately started pacing. "Right. Breathing. Good idea. But seriously, young Adom, when you say 'one of' how many are we talking about here?"

"Four siblings total," Adom said. "But only one was assigned to this island."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "Siblings?"

"It's a family operation. Sort of." Adom pulled up a chair and settled into it. The day was catching up with him, and he felt every minute of it in his bones. "The full story is... complicated."

He told them what Keth-sil had revealed—the family's escape from the desert, their capture by Imperial knights, their forced recruitment into the Emperor's intelligence network. The youngest brother held as leverage. The recent assignment to the island with orders to wait for further instructions. The desperate decision to break those orders and steal something that might help them free their brother.

When he finished, Kim had stopped pacing and was staring at him with wide eyes. "Imperial intelligence? The Emperor is running spies inside our research facility?"

"It would appear so," Gaius said quietly. His expression had grown increasingly grave as Adom spoke. "This is... troubling."

"Troubling?" Kim laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It's catastrophic! How long has this been going on? What else have they been reporting back? Do they know about the theoretical applications? The potential weapons development? The—"

"Kim." Gaius's voice cut through the spiral of panic. "One crisis at a time."

Kim nodded jerkily and sat down hard in his chair. "Yes. One crisis. The current crisis. Which is that we have an Imperial spy disguised as one of our guards who will be arriving for duty in—" He glanced at the window, where the afternoon sun was starting to sink toward the horizon. "—roughly three hours."

"So we wait," Gaius said. "When the midnight rotation begins, we'll identify which guard is the changeling and take him quietly."

"How exactly do we identify him?" Kim asked. "I mean, presumably he looks exactly like whoever he's impersonating."

"I'll figure that out when they arrive," Adom said. "The changeling I caught gave me enough information to work with."

Gaius nodded slowly. "It's a sound plan. We wait for midnight, identify the impostor, and detain him for questioning. Simple and direct."

Adom sighed heavily.

"What is it?" Gaius asked, his weathered face creasing with concern.

"I promised Eren I'd be at the beach with Sam tonight." Adom rubbed his forehead, feeling the weight of disappointment settling on his shoulders. "We were going to spend time together like we used to, before everything got so complicated. First time in months we've all had free at the same time."

Gaius chuckled. "Eren will understand, my boy. Friends always do. And once we resolve this situation, you'll have many more evenings for beach walks."

"I know," Adom said. "Doesn't make it easier to break the promise."

Kim was already back to studying the papers on the table, his mind clearly racing ahead to the next problem. "We should probably figure out what we're going to do after we catch this changeling. I mean, arresting an Imperial spy is going to create some... diplomatic complications."

Gaius and Adom exchanged a look. Kim was right, of course. But that was a problem for after midnight.