The embarrassment was unbearable. Orion sat in a corner of what the ones who brought them there called the eastern courtyard, surrounded by people who had witnessed him fail to cast a single functional spell when it mattered most.

  The guards who had been assigned to watch them stood at the perimeter, but their attention kept drifting upward, toward the distant flashes of light that occasionally painted the domed sky in bright colors.

  Everyone was wondering who would win. The dragon or Master Sael.

  Orion knew the answer. He'd known it the moment his master had risen into the sky to meet that descending inferno. And Ilsa knew too; he could tell by the way she sat perfectly still near one of the pillars, her posture relaxed perfectly, like she was waiting for something inevitable rather than hoping for a miracle.

  As for Robin...

  Orion's gaze drifted to the fox, who had somehow acquired a book from somewhere in the palace. He was seated on a stone bench against the courtyard wall, one leg crossed over the other, tail curled comfortably beside him. He was turning a page casually when their eyes met.

  Orion looked away immediately, his face heating.

  He didn't know Robin well enough to guess what the fox was thinking. Whether he shared Orion and Ilsa's certainty about the battle's outcome, or whether he was simply very good at appearing calm. The fox had joined them only recently, and Orion hadn't exactly been in a state conducive to getting to know new companions.

  He'd also been avoiding eye contact with everyone since the incident. The guards, the nobles, the servants who occasionally passed through; all of them had seen him standing in that other courtyard, staff raised, shouting at a hundred soldiers to move aside.

  He remembered the voice he'd used. Deeper than his natural register, trying to capture that effortless authority his master carried. He'd even adjusted his stance: shoulders back, chin raised, one hand extended toward the soldiers.

  "I said move!"

  He'd actually said that. To a hundred armed soldiers.

  "Unngh..."

  Orion groaned and pressed his palms against his face.

  Idiot.

  The spell fizzling was bad enough. But the voice? The pose? He'd genuinely thought he looked impressive for about three seconds before reality came crashing down.

  Lord Habbas was pacing near the fountain at the courtyard's center, his elaborate robes swishing with each agitated turn. The man had been placed under guard along with the rest of them, apparently on the chancellor's orders, though Orion wasn't entirely clear on the political dynamics at play. Something about ensuring key figures remained accounted for until the situation resolved itself. Habbas kept glancing at the guards as if expecting them to suddenly remember their loyalty to the crown and release him, but they remained impassive, watching the sky like everyone else.

  What happened?

  The question pulled Orion back to his own failure. He'd felt it earlier, in the throne room. That moment of connection, of resonance, when Erwyn had responded to his panic and helped him send those guards sliding across the marble floor. It had been real. He'd even leveled up to 19 and actually cast a functional spell for the first time in his life.

  And then, when it mattered, when he'd tried to repeat the success...

  Why?

  Orion looked down at Erwyn, resting across his knees. The staff was warm, as always, and he could feel the faint pulse of its presence at the edge of his awareness. But it wasn't responding to his questions or offering any explanation for why it had worked once and then refused to work again.

  Was it something I did? Something I didn't do? Was I not focused enough? Not desperate enough?

  His stomach made a sound, making Orion blink.

  When had he last eaten, anyway? The breakfast bread, back in Orlys? Yeah, but that was a while ago. He'd been so focused on the mission, and on not embarrassing himself in front of his master and the thousand small anxieties that accompanied traveling to a foreign kingdom ruled by a dragon, that he hadn't even noticed he was hungry.

  His uncle had offered him rations before they left. Preserved meats, dried fruits, travel biscuits, but Orion had declined because his dimensional bag was already full of books and magical theory texts that he'd convinced himself he might need for reference.

  Brilliant decision, past me. Really well thought out.

  But wait.

  The thought arrived slowly, like something swimming up from deep water.

  Maybe that was it?

  In the throne room, he'd been running on pure adrenaline. Fear had sharpened everything to a crystalline point. There had been no room for hunger, no space for physical discomfort, only the desperate need to do something, anything, to help.

  But in the courtyard, facing down a hundred soldiers and twelve war mages, he'd had time to think and worry. Hel, even time to feel the hollow ache in his stomach and the tremor in his legs and the thousand small ways his body was reminding him that it hadn't been treated particularly well lately.

  Was I just... not committed enough?

  The first spell had come from pure instinct. The second attempt had been more deliberate.

  Maybe that was the difference? Maybe Erwyn responded to genuine need rather than manufactured intention. Perhaps the staff could tell when he was truly desperate versus when he was simply performing desperation for an audience.

  Or maybe he was just hungry and overthinking everything because that was what he always did.

  A murmur rippled through the courtyard, and everyone looked up.

  The dome was dissolving.

  He could see it happening overhead—the protective barrier that Master Sael had erected over the city was thinning, its hexagonal panels fading ever so slowly. The geometric patterns that had sealed them in grew translucent, then wispy, then simply ceased to exist. Stars emerged in their wake, unusually bright after so long under that shimmering darkness.

  The nobles around him stirred. Some rose from where they'd been sitting, necks craned back, watching the barrier disappear piece by piece. The guards exchanged uncertain glances. No one seemed to know what this meant.

  Orion did.

  The dome had been his master's spell. If it was dissolving, that meant his master had released it. And if his master had released it, that meant the fight was over.

  He looked at Ilsa. She was watching the sky too, but her expression hadn't changed. Still calm and waiting.

  Robin had lowered his book slightly, one ear swiveled upward, but he didn't seem particularly alarmed. If anything, he looked mildly curious, like someone observing an interesting weather pattern.

  Lord Habbas had stopped pacing. He stood frozen by the fountain, staring upward.

  Minutes passed. The dome continued to fade. The courtyard remained suspended in that strange, breathless silence, dozens of people watching the sky afraid to assume anything at all.

  Then a voice rolled across the city.

  "People of Ashams!"

  It was amplified beyond what any normal throat should produce, the words carrying over rooftops and through streets, reaching every corner of the capital. Orion recognized it immediately: it was the chancellor, Kezess, the elf who had prompted his master to reveal Eld in the first place.

  "Sael the Great has defeated the Tyrant King! Ozyarathes has been vanquished! Ashams is free!"

  For one moment, the world held its breath.

  Then the screaming started.

  But it wasn't terror. No, this looked more like joy, thousands of voices crying out at once, the words lost in the sheer volume. Somewhere in the city, bells began to ring, wild and discordant, as if whoever was pulling the ropes had forgotten all sense of rhythm.

  There was a soft thump from somewhere near the fountain.

  Orion turned just in time to see Lord Habbas crumple to the ground, his elaborate robes pooling around him like a deflated silk tent. One of the guards took a half-step toward him, then seemed to decide that an unconscious nobleman wasn't particularly high on the priority list at the moment.

  Orion turned back to the courtyard around him.

  The atmosphere had shifted dramatically. Most of the people wore expressions of barely contained relief, some already embracing each other. A woman near one of the pillars was crying openly, her hands pressed to her mouth. Two men were clapping each other on the shoulders with enough force to bruise.

  But not everyone was celebrating.

  A handful of faces remained still. One man in elaborate robes had gone very pale, his fingers gripping the edge of a stone planter with white-knuckled intensity. Another was staring at the sky with an expression that looked less like relief and more like calculation, as if he was already working out what this change in power meant for his personal circumstances.

  Loyalists, Orion realized. People who benefited from the dragon's rule.

  He wondered what would happen to them now. He returned to the analysis of his earlier failure at casting for a few more minutes while others were still celebrating when his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps that came before the messenger did.

  A moment later, a man in palace livery appeared at the courtyard entrance, flanked by two guards who looked significantly more composed than the ones currently watching them.

  The messenger stopped at the edge of the courtyard and surveyed the scene. His gaze moved across the celebrating nobles, the unconscious Lord Habbas, the three foreigners sitting apart from the rest, and finally settled on the guards who were supposed to be watching everyone.

  "By order of Chancellor Kezess, acting authority of the Kingdom of Ashams," the messenger announced, his voice cutting cleanly through the noise of distant celebrations, "the following declarations are to be understood and obeyed."

  The courtyard went quiet. Even the people who had been embracing moments ago pulled apart to listen.

  "First: The dragon Ozyarathes has been defeated by Sael the Great, Archmage of the Age of Ash. The kingdom is hereby liberated from tyrannical rule."

  A few people cheered, but most seemed to understand that official announcements weren't the time for interruptions. The messenger continued without acknowledging them.

  "Second: As His former Majesty, king Baharzad, produced no heirs and his late wife, Queen Sareth, declined to remarry before her passing three years ago, the royal bloodline is considered extinct. In accordance with the Emergency Succession Protocols established during the Second Sandstorm Crisis, executive authority transfers to the office of the Chancellor until such time as a proper governing body can be established."

  Orion noticed a few of the nobles exchanging glances. Quite mixed this time.

  "Third: All persons currently detained under suspicion of collaboration with foreign agents—" The messenger's eyes moved deliberately to Orion, Ilsa, and Robin. "—specifically the three companions of the Archmage, are to be released immediately and afforded full diplomatic courtesies. The Chancellor extends his personal apologies for any inconvenience caused during the period of uncertainty."

  The guards who had been watching them straightened slightly, their postures shifting from 'keeping an eye on potential threats' to 'escorting honored guests.'

  "Fourth: Lord Habbas of the Western Reaches is to remain in custody pending investigation into his attempt to seize power during the crisis. His assets are to be kept by the kingdom until further notice."

  Orion glanced down at Lord Habbas. The man's eyes were closed, his body arranged in what was presumably meant to be an unconscious sprawl, but there was a fresh tear tracking slowly down his cheek and into his perfectly coiffed hair.

  Not fainted, then. Just lying there, listening to his entire political future crumble around him, and crying about it.

  Orion looked away and decided this was absolutely none of his business.

  "Fifth: A period of public celebration is hereby authorized. Citizens are encouraged to observe standard safety protocols and to refrain from property damage where possible. The Chancellor reminds everyone that liberation is not an excuse for lawlessness, and that the penalty structure for crimes remains in effect."

  The messenger paused, seeming to consider whether there was anything else, then nodded to himself.

  "That is all. Long live free Ashams."

  "Long live free Ashams," several voices echoed, though the response was ragged and uncertain, as if people weren't quite sure what the proper protocol was for celebrating the end of dragon rule.

  The messenger turned and departed with the same purposeful stride he'd arrived with. The two guards who had flanked him remained, approaching Orion and the others.

  "If you'll come with us," one of them said. "We've been instructed to escort you to more comfortable accommodations while the Chancellor arranges—"

  A flash of light interrupted him, brilliant enough to paint the courtyard in shades of gold and red. Orion looked up in time to see the first of the fireworks burst across the night sky, showering sparks down toward the city below.

  Another followed. Then another. Within moments, the sky above the capital was alive with color, explosions of light overlapping and interweaving in patterns that seemed almost choreographed.

  From their elevated position in the palace district, Orion could see the city spread out below them. The streets were filling with people, streams of bodies flowing toward the central squares and plazas. Torches and lanterns flickered to life in windows. The sound of drums reached them, distant but growing, accompanied by voices raised in song.

  "Sael! Sael! Sael the Great!"

  The chant started somewhere in the lower districts and spread like fire through dry grass, thousands of voices taking it up until it became a single roaring chorus that echoed off the palace walls.

  "Liberator! Hero! Sael the Great!"

  Orion felt something warm bloom in his chest. Pride, he realized. Genuine pride in his master, mixed with a sort of giddy disbelief that he was actually here, witnessing this, actually connected to the person everyone was celebrating.

  Orion.

  He jumped.

  The voice had come from inside his head, as if someone had spoken directly into his thoughts. He spun around, scanning the courtyard, half-expecting to see his master standing behind him. But there was nothing. Just confused nobles, celebrating servants and guards who were looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

  "Did you—" Orion started, turning to Ilsa.

  She was already looking at him, her expression a mirror of his own startled confusion. "I heard him too."

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  Robin had lowered his book entirely now, both ears swiveled forward, his tail gone still. "Heard what?"

  Before either of them could answer, the voice came again.

  I need you to come to me. Follow the directions I give you. Don't worry about the guards, they won't stop you.

  It was definitely his master's voice. Orion would recognize it anywhere, that calm and measured tone that somehow managed to convey both authority and warmth simultaneously. But hearing it inside his skull, without any visible source, was deeply strange in ways he hadn't anticipated.

  "Grandpa," Ilsa said, and it wasn't a question. She was already rising to her feet, brushing dust from her traveling clothes. "He wants us to come to him."

  "Why can't I hear him?" Robin asked, tucking his book—where had he even gotten that?—into his jacket.

  "I don't know," Orion admitted. He tried thinking back at the voice, concentrating hard. Master? Can you hear me?

  Nothing. No response. Either the spell only worked in one direction, or his master was too busy to reply, or Orion simply wasn't doing it correctly. Probably that last one.

  Ilsa was already moving toward the courtyard exit, her stride purposeful. The guards who had been preparing to escort them somewhere stepped aside as she approached, their expressions shifting from confusion to resignation.

  "We need to go," Ilsa told them. "The Archmage has summoned us."

  One of the guards opened his mouth, probably to object or at least ask for clarification, but his partner put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head slightly.

  "Right," the first guard said after a moment. "Of course. Do you need an escort, or—"

  "We'll manage," Ilsa said, and kept walking.

  Orion hurried to catch up, Robin falling into step beside him. The fox's ears were still swiveled forward, alert, but his posture had relaxed somewhat.

  "Convenient," Robin observed. "The telepathy thing."

  "I wonder how he's doing it," Orion said, because wondering about magical theory was easier than thinking about the embarrassment still simmering in his stomach. "I've read about mind-speech spells, but most of them require some kind of established link. A ritual, or shared blood, or—"

  Turn left at the next intersection. Then straight until you reach, hmm... I think it's some sort of merchant district?

  "Oh, okay."

  They emerged from the palace district into chaos.

  The streets were packed with people, bodies pressing together in a writhing mass of celebration. Someone had set up drums at a corner, and a group was dancing around them, feet stamping in time with the rhythm. A woman was handing out cups of something that smelled strongly alcoholic to anyone who passed. Children darted between the legs of adults, shrieking with laughter, waving crude flags that someone had apparently manufactured in the last ten minutes.

  "SAEL! SAEL! SAEL THE GREAT!"

  The chant was everywhere, rising and falling like waves against a shore. Orion saw a man standing on a barrel, leading the crowd in song, his voice hoarse but enthusiastic. The words were in Ashamsi, but Orion caught enough to understand the gist: a hero had come, a tyrant had fallen, the sun would rise on a free kingdom.

  "SHOW US THE DRAGON! WHERE IS THE BODY?"

  That voice came from somewhere to their right, a group of young men who seemed less interested in celebration and more interested in confirmation. Others took up the cry, demanding proof.

  They pushed through the crowd, or tried to. The density of bodies made progress slow, and more than once Orion found himself pressed uncomfortably close to strangers who smelled of sweat and wine.

  A hand grabbed his arm.

  Orion spun, heart hammering, staff rising instinctively, but it was just an old woman, her face creased with smile lines, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "Thank you," she said, the words barely audible over the din. "Thank you, thank you, tell him thank you—"

  She was gone before Orion could respond, swallowed by the crowd, replaced by a man who clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

  "Where's the Archmage? Is he coming? We want to see him!"

  "He's—" Orion started.

  "This way," Ilsa said, grabbing his other arm and pulling him forward. "Keep moving."

  Take the next right. Through the spice market, then left at the fountain with the broken lion.

  They adjusted their course, pushing through the crowd with increasing difficulty. The spice market was somehow even more chaotic than the main streets, vendors having apparently decided that a liberation was excellent for business. The air was thick with scents that made Orion's eyes water: cinnamon and pepper and something sharply floral that he couldn't identify.

  "LIBERATOR! HERO! SAEL THE GREAT!"

  A child ran past them, maybe six or seven years old, waving a stick with a ribbon tied to the end while laughing.

  They reached the fountain with the broken lion—one of its legs had crumbled at some point, leaving it listing to the side in a way that looked vaguely drunk, and turned left as instructed. The crowd began to thin here, the celebration concentrated in the city center while the outer districts remained comparatively quiet.

  Straight ahead. You're close now.

  The buildings grew smaller, less ornate. They were entering the outskirts, where the architecture shifted from palace-adjacent grandeur to something more practical. Workshops and storage buildings. A stable that smelled strongly of horse. A smithy, cold and quiet at this hour.

  The sounds of celebration faded behind them, muffled by distance and the intervening buildings, until it became a kind of ambient roar, present but no longer overwhelming.

  Orion found himself breathing easier.

  "Nearly there," Ilsa said.

  They rounded a corner, and the outskirts opened up before them—empty streets and closed shopfronts, the occasional guard patrol moving past with purpose, the distant glow of the central celebration painting the sky in flickering colors.

  Orion stopped walking. Ilsa and Robin did the same, the three of them standing in an empty intersection. They looked around, scanning the rooftops, the alleys, the—

  Oh, there!

  On the rooftop of a modest inn across the street, a figure sat at a small table, pipe in hand, smoke curling lazily into the night air. Master Sael raised one hand and waved at them, his smile visible even from this distance.

  Then Orion felt his body go weightless.

  "Whoa!"

  The ground vanished. The world tilted. There was a sensation of rising, of floating, of being lifted by something impossibly gentle, and then—

  His boots touched wood.

  They were on the rooftop now. The table was in front of them and Master Sael was right there, pipe still smoking, that calm smile still on his face.

  Ilsa moved before anyone could speak. She crossed the distance in three steps and threw her arms around Master Sael, burying her face in his shoulder.

  The Master gasped.

  Orion had never heard him gasp before. The sound was so unexpected that for a moment he thought he'd imagined it. But no—Master Sael's eyes had gone wide, his pipe hand frozen mid-air, his entire body stiff with surprise. Then he grunted, and his free arm came up slowly, awkwardly, to rest on Ilsa's back.

  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "I put you in quite the situation back there. That must have been... intense. Your first time in something like that."

  Ilsa nodded against his shoulder. "It was."

  "You were never in real danger," Sael continued, his hand patting her back in an awkwardly mechanical way. "My wards would have held against anything they could throw. But I understand that knowing something and feeling it are different things. I should have warned you."

  Ilsa pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "It's fine. We're fine. I just—I needed a moment."

  Orion, meanwhile, was vibrating.

  "That was insane," he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "The fire and the explosions and the way you just—you didn't even move, you just stood there and everything bounced off and then the whole courtyard went dark and I couldn't see anything but I could feel it, the magic, it was everywhere, and then we were just walking out like nothing happened and everyone was frozen—"

  He had to stop to breathe, and realized what he said did not make sense.

  Robin chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "For what it's worth, you two handled it better than I did my first real fight."

  Orion blinked. "You?"

  "Mmm." Robin settled onto one of the rooftop's low walls. "I was twenty-two. Hunting contract in the Thornback Mountains. Our party thought we'd cleared the cave system, so we set camp in what looked like an abandoned hollow." He paused, scratching at his beard. "Turned out it was a nursery."

  "A nursery?" Ilsa asked, her voice still a little thick.

  "Carrion crawlers. Thirty, maybe forty of them. Juveniles, mostly, but the mother was not happy to find us there. She got our mage first. Paralytic venom. He was still alive when she started feeding—couldn't move, couldn't scream, just... watched. We could hear the sounds. The wet sounds. And the eggs, when we finally killed her, they were already hatching, all these pale little bodies spilling out, and the smell—"

  "Okay," Orion said quickly, holding up a hand. "I get it. I get it."

  His stomach growled.

  The sound was almost comically loud in the sudden silence. Everyone turned to look at him.

  Orion felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I... haven't eaten since this morning."

  Master Sael smiled as Ilsa settled into the chair beside him.

  He made a gesture over the table, casual as brushing away dust, and the empty surface shimmered. When the light faded, the wood had vanished beneath an array of dishes that made Orion's stomach clench with sudden, desperate need.

  Lamb in saffron sauce, still steaming. Flatbreads brushed with clarified butter, stacked in overlapping layers. Rice studded with pistachios and dried apricots, glistening with rendered fat. Skewered meats glazed in something dark and sweet. Small bowls of yogurt and cucumber, bright with mint. Honeyed pastries dusted in ground rose.

  "I thought you might be hungry," the Master said, setting his pipe aside. "Managed to acquire these without drawing attention. The merchant was very focused on the celebrations." He gestured at the spread. "It smells quite good. You should eat."

  He did not need to tell them twice.

  Orion couldn't remember the last time food had tasted this intensely of anything. He worked through the lamb with single-minded focus, barely pausing to breathe, while Ilsa ate with more restraint and Robin sampled everything methodically, making quiet sounds of approval. The fireworks continued overhead, painting the rooftop in shifting colors, and the distant chanting rose and fell like tides.

  Master Sael did not eat.

  He sat with his hands folded, watching them, occasionally glancing toward the celebration further away. Orion noticed, but hunger won out over curiosity.

  The hours slipped past. They talked between mouthfuls: about the throne room, the soldiers, the moment the dome had started falling. Robin asked questions about the dragon, and Master Sael answered some of them. Ilsa described the courtyard, the messenger, the look on Lord Habbas's face when his future crumbled. Orion tried to explain his spell failure, stumbling over the words, and his master listened without judgment.

  The chanting never stopped. Neither did the drums.

  Eventually the food was gone and the conversation had worn itself thin, and Orion found his eyes growing heavy. The adrenaline of the day had long since burned away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

  "We should leave now," Master Sael said.

  He stood, and with another gesture, the empty dishes vanished. The table was bare wood again, as if nothing had ever been there.

  Orion blinked. "Now? But—"

  "I've already retrieved Aldric's body."

  There was a small silence to that.

  Orion had never had Professor Aldric as a teacher. The man taught upper-year material that Orion hadn't reached yet. But his reputation preceded him: demanding, punitive, the kind of instructor who made students dread his classes and work twice as hard because of it. Feared and respected in equal measure. Orion had seen him around the academy often enough. Passed him in corridors. Greeted him as many times, received curt nods in return, sometimes not even that.

  It wasn't that Orion was sad, exactly. He'd expected this, hadn't he? Or he should have. In truth, he'd forgotten entirely why they'd come to Ashams in the first place. The throne room, the dragon and the collapsing dome had pushed everything else aside.

  But still. When you know a person, even slightly—when you've exchanged words with them, seen their face, heard their voice—and then you're told they're gone, it does make you pause.

  Orion opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ilsa had gone still. Even Robin's ears had flattened slightly.

  Master Sael produced a small vial from his robes. The glass was white, and something stirred inside it—a faint luminescence, pressing against the walls. He uncorked it with his thumb, and the cloud spilled out, expanding rapidly, its familiar bulk filling the air above the rooftop.

  "Come," Sael said quietly. "It's time to go home."

  They rose. Orion's legs felt unsteady, though whether from exhaustion or the weight of unasked questions, he couldn't say. The cloud descended, its surface rippling in invitation, and he was reaching for it when—

  "Wait!"

  Orion looked down.

  The rooftop's edge gave way to a view of the street below, where a figure stood with one hand braced against a wall, chest heaving. Chancellor Kezess. The elf's silver hair, which had been immaculately styled during their throne room encounter, now hung in disarray across his forehead. His robes were darkened with sweat at the collar.

  He'd definitely run here.

  Orion had never seen an elf run before. He'd read that they considered it undignified, a concession to urgency that their long lives had taught them to avoid. If Kezess had abandoned that principle, whatever news he carried must be significant.

  "Young Kezess," Master Sael called down, his voice carrying easily despite the distance. "Is everything alright?"

  Kezess straightened, visibly composing himself. The effort it took was apparent—a slight tremor in his hands, a deliberate steadying of breath—but within moments he had reassembled something approximating his earlier poise.

  "Archmage." The word came out slightly hoarse. "I've been searching the city for hours. When you weren't at the palace, I feared you might have already departed." He steadied his breath.

  "How can I help you?"

  Kezess glanced around the empty street, then back up at the rooftop. "I sent a retrieval team to collect the dragon's remains. The crater where your battle concluded, but..." He paused, and something flickered behind his eyes. "They found nothing. No body. No bones. Not even scales."

  The distant sounds of celebration seemed to grow louder in the silence that followed.

  "Where is he?" Kezess asked. The question was measured, but Orion could hear the tension beneath it. An entire kingdom had just been told their tyrant was dead. If that turned out to be untrue...

  Orion looked at his master.

  Master Sael's expression hadn't changed.

  "I didn't kill him," he said.

  Everyone stared.

  Ilsa's hand, which had been reaching for the cloud, froze mid-motion. Robin's ears swiveled forward with an intensity Orion hadn't seen before. Kezess's composure cracked. Just slightly—a widening of the eyes, a sharp intake of breath—but on an elven face, such tells were the equivalent of screaming.

  "You didn't..." The chancellor's voice trailed off. He took a moment to gather himself. "Then where is he now?"

  "I'll take care of it." Master Sael's tone brooked no argument. "You have my word. He won't trouble Ashams again."

  "But—"

  "I fear he doesn't want to talk right now." The words were gentle but final. "When he does, I'll handle it. For the moment, focus on your kingdom. It needs you more than it needs answers about a dragon who is no longer a threat."

  Kezess opened his mouth, then closed it. Orion could practically see the calculations running behind his eyes.

  Orion's own mind was racing. He doesn't want to talk. What did that mean? Was the dragon here, somewhere? He glanced around the rooftop instinctively, half-expecting to see a massive scaled form lurking behind a chimney. Nothing. Just the table, the chairs, the three of them, and Master Sael sitting there as if he hadn't just admitted to not killing the tyrant everyone thought was dead.

  The dimensional mirror. The thought surfaced unbidden. Orion had seen Master Sael store Ilsa in that strange pocket dimension. But a dragon? Ozyarathes had been enormous, but yhen again, this was Master Sael.

  What are you planning? Orion thought, staring at his master's back.

  Below, Kezess had reached a decision. The elf straightened fully, one hand rising to press flat against his chest—palm over heart, fingers together, the traditional elven gesture of respect and trust.

  "Thank you," Kezess said. "For everything. Not just today, for everything. I owe you a debt that cannot be repaid."

  Master Sael's expression softened. "It seems I've caused you quite a bit of trouble in the process. The political complications alone..."

  "Will be considerable," Kezess agreed. A slight smile crossed his features, the first Orion had seen from him. "The noble houses are already maneuvering. Lord Habbas has supporters who will not take kindly to his detention. The merchant guilds will want assurances. The military will require restructuring." He paused. "And that is merely domestic. Internationally..."

  "The birds?"

  "Already flying. Every major kingdom will know by morning. Sael the Great has returned from the dead." Kezess's smile turned wry.

  "I wasn't really dead," Master Sael said mildly. "Just... elsewhere."

  "The distinction may be lost on those who don't know you personally."

  There was a history there, Orion realized. Master Sael reached into his robes and withdrew a slip of paper. It was small and unassuming, but Orion recognized it. Professor Aldric's invention.

  "New magic," Master Sael said, holding the paper over the edge of the rooftop. It drifted down slowly, as if gravity had decided to be polite. "Write on it, and I'll see the message. If you need me—if things become difficult with the transition—use it, please."

  Kezess caught the paper with a reverence that seemed almost unconscious. He examined it briefly, then tucked it into his sleeve with the care one might afford a religious relic.

  "I would like that very much." The elf's voice had shifted. "When things have settled, there is something I wish to discuss with you; a matter that has occupied my thoughts for some time."

  "I look forward to it."

  They began boarding the cloud. Orion climbed on first, the surface yielding slightly under his weight before firming into something walkable. Ilsa followed, then Robin, his tail curling around his legs as he found his balance.

  "Archmage."

  Kezess's voice stopped them.

  The elf hadn't moved. He stood in the street below, the paper hidden in his sleeve, his hand still resting over his heart. The distant fireworks painted his features in shifting colors—red, gold, blue, gone.

  "The world will take notice," he said. "Your reappearance... it will not go unremarked. Powers that have rested in comfortable balance for decades will begin to move. The Jade Emperor. The Witch-Queens of the Southern Reach. The Buried King." A pause. "Others."

  Orion had grown up in a world shaped by people like them, the handful of beings whose power was so immense that nations oriented themselves around their existence. Across the twelve continents, these figures held each other in check, their very presence ensuring that everyone stayed in their place.

  It wasn't a formal alliance or treaty. It was simply the reality of what happened when multiple people capable of leveling cities existed simultaneously. They watched each other. They waited. And the world enjoyed a kind of stability because of it.

  It was only now, hearing Kezess speak of it so plainly, that Orion understood what Master Sael's return actually meant.

  A new variable had entered the equation. Or rather, an old one had resurfaced: one that these current titans had probably believed gone forever.

  "I feel a new world order taking shape," Kezess continued. "A reshaping of what has been into something yet to be determined. When that moment comes—when the pieces begin to move in earnest—I hope you will stand with us."

  Master Sael was quiet for a long moment.

  "We'll see about that, I suppose," he said finally.

  Kezess nodded slowly, as if this was the answer he had expected.

  "Safe travels, Archmage. Until we meet again."

  The cloud began to rise.

  Orion watched the city fall away beneath them as Kezess remained visible for a few moments longer, a solitary figure standing in an empty street, face tilted upward.

  Then they passed through a layer of smoke from the fireworks, and he was gone. The wind picked up as they climbed higher and Orion lay back on the cloud.

  It was softer than any bed he'd ever slept in, yielding and warm, cradling his weight like he was floating in a bath. His belly was full, his limbs ached pleasantly from the day's exertions, he'd leveled up today and cast a spell and above him the stars stretched endlessly while the wind up here whispered gentle and almost silent.

  He should sleep. He was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't quiet.

  Every generation, there were great people who caused great events. You read about them in history books, heard about them in tavern songs, dreamed and somehow regretted not being in one of them. Grand things, world-shaping things, always happening to someone else, somewhere else, in some other time. And now here he was, lying on a cloud conjured by a living legend, fresh from liberating a dragon-ruled kingdom, with the taste of good food still lingering on his tongue.

  He knew it wasn't good to hope for conflict. People died in conflicts, kingdoms fell, and ordinary lives were upended by forces beyond their control. But he couldn't help the flutter of anticipation in his chest. The Corruption problem wasn't solved—Master Sael had said as much over dinner, mentioning that it would require more investigation, more digging. And at the same time, the balance of power across the continents was shifting, a new world order emerging whether because of Master Sael's return or the Corruption itself.

  It felt like one of those epic stories he'd devoured as a child, the ones where heroes rose and empires trembled and everything mattered. And somehow, impossibly, he was in it.

  And if that was true—if he was really living through one of those eras that future generations would read about in dusty libraries—then perhaps he should allow himself something he'd never dared before. He was the student of Sael the Great. Not some minor apprentice to a court mage, or a mid-ranked academic grinding through theory at the Academy. The student of a legend.

  Perhaps, with enough effort, with enough years and sweat and sleepless nights, he too could earn a place in those books. Perhaps he could even become the greatest archmage of his era.

  His eyelids grew heavy. Somewhere nearby, he could have sworn he heard a chicken, which couldn't be right since they were thousands of feet in the air. Could chickens fly? He didn't think so, but maybe he was already dreaming.

  Oh well. He was tired.

  Orion closed his eyes, belly full, body warm, and drifted off to sleep.

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