I am Lord Lucian Kael, age 62, and I am the Headmaster of the Arcadian Academy of Magic, Member of the leading council of the Kingdom of Arcadia. I am the most powerful mage in the kingdom, and possibly the only one who can save it from annihilation.

The metallic groan of the door carries up from the lower level. A measured footfall follows. Then comes the drawn-out whine of steel and the heavy thud of its weight settling into place. Finally, there is the faint metallic click as the latch slides shut.

I sigh inwardly. "About time you showed up," I say, my eyes still fixed on the shifting array of images before me. Scenes from every corner of Cairndorn shimmer across the projections, cast by observation crystals set into pedestals arranged in a circle around me. Each vision is drawn from its paired crystal hidden somewhere within the city.

The pedestals encircle a raised dais built around the Heart of Cairndorn, an ancient device housed at the summit of the great spire that rises from the Academy's grounds. At its center looms a dark crimson mana crystal, two floors tall—the preserved heart of a long-dead dragon. Though stilled, it pulses with boundless mana, a resonance that hums through the air and thrums in the bones of any who approach. The vast runed rings orbit slowly around it, stirring a faint breeze laced with the scent of iron and ash.

Even in death, a dragon possesses immeasurable power. One can only wonder how much greater they must have been in life. We were but ants to them, yet they chose to protect us, to guide us, to share their wisdom. This dragon's heart still protects our city. Should Cairndorn ever face ruin, a mage stationed here may draw upon its depths to raise a barrier strong enough to shield the entire capital.

The platform where I stand lies midway up this marvel, the place from which its power may be commanded.

The scrape of metal greaves on stone echoes as Gavin ascends the stairs behind me. I don't turn to greet him. His visit is expected, yet still an unwelcome distraction from the matter at hand. My eyes remain fixed on the merchant wagons entering through the northern gate. They barely searched that one. Any number of threats could be hidden in those crates and barrels.

My hands busy themselves with the small ball of fur squirming in my arms. She is a nuisance most days, but petting her calms my nerves, or perhaps only keeps her from finding new ways to fray them. The little beast is manipulating me for attention and I know it.

"You were expecting me then?" Gavin says as he reaches the top of the platform. His voice carries the cold edge of accusation. "Is that why you're dressed for war, Professor?"

"Knowing what is coming, it seems prudent to be prepared," I reply flatly. Of course I wear the mithril-woven robes, chain mail, and enchanted gear of a military mage. Probably for the same reason, Captain Gavin has come in full mithril plate. He too must sense the danger looming over the capital. Why else would he be here?

The hulking brute circles into my peripheral vision, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Sunlight streams through the glass walls of the chamber, catching on his armor until it glimmers with a pale blue sheen. His eyes are cautious, and I meet them with a raised brow. He seems even more on edge than I am.

"Didn't figure you the type to own a cat," Gavin quips, giving me a once-over.

"I am fairly sure this creature believes it owns me, not the other way around," I reply darkly, finally turning my gaze to him. He seems intent on claiming my attention as surely as this feline menace does, and neither will be denied. "But I doubt you came here to discuss my choice in companion."

"Where are the knights I posted here?" Gavin demands.

"What could two knights do compared to me?" I scoff. Whatever entity emanates this dark miasma—the stench of ancient mana twisted with predatory intent—it will not be dealt with by Arcadian knights. Such an aura belongs only to terrible beasts of legend, perhaps even gods. If anyone stands a shadow of a chance against it, it is a Grand Master Mage such as myself.

"You would be surprised what Arcadian knights are capable of." His words carry a threat, or perhaps only the sting of truth to a fragile pride.

"Doubtful."

"Your staff say they haven't seen you in your office for weeks." Gavin now steps between me and the projected images of the city streets and the castle courtyard.

"Because this is where I am needed," I retort, annoyance sharpening my tone as I try to peer around him. His considerable size making it difficult.

"Even if they had seen me, they know better than to say so," I add, giving up on the courtyard and shifting my gaze to the projection of the market above Gavin's head.

"I looked for you at your home as well," Gavin says, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"Any luck?"

"It appears your entire family has gone on a trip up north."

"Puerta Bonita is beautiful this time of year."

"They've been gone for an entire arc."

"It's an international trading hub. Plenty to see," I answer casually. "Perhaps they took a pleasure cruise."

"All eighty-seven of them…" Gavin mutters, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

"Well, I could hardly evacuate everyone, could I?" I snap, turning sharply toward him. My hand flicks in irritation as if to swat away his foolishness. "If I announced what might happen—on nothing more than a hunch—there would be chaos. The servants would chatter, word would spread, and soon the entire kingdom would be in panic." My voice rises, harsh and cutting. "Fear can be deadlier than the peril itself. The masses are a volatile, self-destructive animal. Corner them, and they will tear themselves apart. In their frenzy they will burn their own homes, and cook their children upon the pyre."

Gavin freezes, blinks, and stares at me—not with his earlier fire, but with confusion. Clearly I have given him far too much credit. He does not grasp the gravity of what I face, which makes him an even less welcome distraction.

"If you are not here to help me protect the kingdom, then tell me—why are you here?"

"I am here to investigate a series of attempts on Prince Ren's life," Gavin says, regaining his composure as quickly as he lost it.

He pauses, perhaps expecting some reaction. I offer none. My face remains stone, my hands continuing their idle work at the furball's belly. A soft mew punctuates the silence before he continues.

"My investigation has found that in the last nine years, twenty-nine retainers in the service of King Edric, Lord Fobos, and Lord Cromwell have gone missing."

"Well, they are certainly not here."

"What makes their disappearances unique is that there was no investigation, no search, and yet their families were quietly paid a death gratuity."

"Probably because they are dead… not missing." I quip with an eye roll. "There, I've solved your case for you."

"The most recent case happened only four arcs ago, and it was recorded on an observation crystal," Gavin continues, ignoring the depth of my disinterest. What he considers a shocking revelation is old news to me. I have watched Ren ever since he first stepped out of the castle and into the market. I know the King and his cronies have tried to snuff the boy out. But I am also aware he has never needed me to defend him. The terrifying creature that looks over him has that well in hand.

"What does this have to do with me?" I ask, bored.

"Because you made this!" Gavin growls, sounding more beast than man, as he yanks a leather pouch from his belt and upends it. Its contents scatter across the floor in a sound like shattering glass. Thousands of tiny shards glitter like diamonds as they roll outward, some tumbling over the platform's edge. Among the fragments lies a silver chain and bracket—the remains of the fae-detecting amulet I had given to Lord Cromwell.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"What a mess…" I lament.

"You made an amulet for Lord Cromwell that was provided alongside a deceptively altered memory of an attempt on Ren's life. It was used in an attempt to manipulate me into killing the prince's protector." The fury in his eyes makes it clear this is no mere moral outrage—he feels personally affronted, enraged at being turned into an unwitting instrument against someone he cares for. One wrong word and he may well draw steel. And, as I have no interest in painting the Spire with a good man's blood, I choose to endure his disrespect—for now.

"Yes, your father, Fobos, and the King have all tried and failed to kill Prince Ren," I say flatly. "But I had no hand in their schemes."

"What about the amulet?"

"As you can see, I designed it to fail." A smug grin creeps across my face, but only briefly. "I admit, I did not expect him to give it to you. When I realized he had, I trusted that you would choose to believe your friend over the word of the man who abandoned you." My voice softens at the last.

"You knew what they were doing?"

"You didn't? Isn't it your job to protect the royal family?" I see Gavin's eyebrow twitch beneath his visor at the barb.

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you do anything to stop them?"

"What should I have said, and to whom?" I snap back, meeting his fury with my own. Mana spills from me in a sudden rush, swirling around the Spire like a storm trapped in a bottle. Sparks crackle, and the broken shards of the amulet lift from the floor, swept into the current until they glitter through the air like stars.

Who is he to question me? A failure, forced into knighthood because he lacked the talent to be a mage. A brute who rose through slaughter, not wisdom.

My eyes burn with blue light as, in my anger, I reflexively analyze every cell of the man before me. I hear the hammering of his heart. I catch the whisper of his incantations. I feel the tremor of his grip tightening on his sword. He stands before me with no secrets. I know how he is built, and the most efficient way to break him.

But I must not.

The power to destroy must be tempered by wisdom and reason.

I draw a long breath, and the gale around us subsides. When I speak again, my tone is one of forced calm. "I have seen every attempt on the boy's life from here," I say, gesturing to the shifting images projected around us. "I have listened to those dead men plot and stalk him." My voice hardens with annoyance. "But one thing I have never captured is indisputable proof of who gave the orders."

"But we know who they worked for. We know who paid their families," Gavin retorts.

"Think, Gavin. The King has been careful to insulate himself. He will claim his men acted alone."

"We could question them—" Gavin begins.

"And the moment you open your mouth, the moment they realize you suspect them, they will kill you and everyone you care for to silence you," I cut in, silencing his naïve notions.

"Had I brought the King's crimes before the council, he would have had my family murdered in their sleep." My heart tightens at the thought, followed swiftly by the heat of rage. "And if they did, I would burn him, and anyone who stands in my way, to the ground."

A pained mew escapes the furball, alerting me that my petting has nearly turned to strangling. I loosen my grip at once and am rewarded with a sharp nip at the offending fingers.

"There must be something we can do." Gavin's posture loosens, less accusatory now, though frustration still lingers. "We can't let them kill the boy."

"And we won't. Had his life ever truly been in danger, I was ready to step in," I answer, a smile tugging at my lips once more. "But thanks to a certain guardian angel, it hasn't been necessary."

"So that is your plan? Just sit back and watch?" Gavin chides, voice dripping with derision.

"No. We lean forward—quietly—and collect evidence. Which I have been doing." My tone darkens. "When we go before the council, we must have proof so clear, so indisputable, that it warrants Edric's immediate removal by force. Because men like him do not step down willingly. The council must see their crimes as so blatant, so egregious, that the blood spilled to bring them to justice will be beyond question."

Gavin pauses at that, gauntleted hands twisting together in thought. Perhaps he has not truly weighed the reality of what it means to arrest a man who can reduce cities to ash with a single incantation. If you move against the King, you must not miss. You must strike to kill.

He shifts uneasily, his armor creaking with the motion. I know they once served together. For a time, Edric was his mentor—perhaps even his friend. I wonder if Gavin has the stomach for what lies ahead, if he has truly considered where this path must lead. I have. The weight of it has pressed heavy on my heart for years. But I know what Edric has become: an apathetic tyrant, detached from his people and obsessed with punishing an innocent child.

"How do I get the evidence you need, then?" Gavin asks at last, his voice resigned, as though surrendering to a fate he can neither change nor escape.

"I believe the evidence we seek will be found in the lower levels of the cathedral," I say, stepping to the edge of the platform. With one arm cradling the furball, I rest my free hand on the railing and gaze through the tall panes of glass toward the Dragon Temple, built into the mountain beneath the castle at Cairndorn's heart.

"What's there?"

"You don't sense it?" I ask as Gavin joins me, both of us looking out over the city. My eyes burn blue once more as I cast Threat Detection. "My perception allows me to see every threat, no matter where it hides within the city."

"What do you see?"

"It's what I don't see that troubles me." I peer into the mountain, to where the temple's lower chambers should lie. Yet all I find is a blank void, from which spills an aura of immense hostility. "The King, or his men, have cloaked the lower temple in spells that block my sight. But I have watched them quietly deliver thousands of slaves into its depths."

"Why would they need so many slaves?" Gavin asks. His tone betrays that he already knows the answer—he only hopes it isn't true.

"Blood magic," I say simply. I've seen it before—demons regularly harvest blood from slaves, not enough to kill them, but enough to fuel their dark arts. "I believe that because the King is shackled by Willow from striking at her himself, he has grown desperate to find something else powerful enough to defeat her. Something his cronies could wield in his stead."

"You think they're farming blood from slaves en masse so that Fobos or Cromwell can use blood magic to kill Willow and the Prince?" Gavin asks skeptically.

"I assume they are aided by a practitioner of the craft, perhaps even a demon," I reply, thoughtful. "I doubt either of them has the capacity to learn it themselves."

"If they're harvesting blood for a demon inside the temple, that alone would be treason," Gavin says earnestly. "We should go—"

"No. You should go investigate," I cut in. "They are clearly trying to hide what they're doing from me. If I attempt to enter, they'll know their ruse has failed." I point at Gavin. "You, on the other hand—if caught—will look like nothing more than a clueless oaf poking around. One they still believe to be on their side."

Gavin's glare flickers, showing he took issue with being called an oaf, but he presses on. "Only those in service to the temple have access to the lower levels."

"I believe our friend Lady Muara could be persuaded to grant you entry. As a member of the clergy and a devout follower of Votheron, she will be keen to learn if the temple's holy ground has been twisted for such profane use."

Gavin considers my words a moment before speaking. "Thank you, Lord Kael." He inclines his head in a slight bow. "I promise my investigation will uncover indisputable proof, and I will hold all those involved to justice." Straightening, he lingers on me for a moment, as though still unconvinced that I am not among those he names.

Without another word, he turns on his heel and makes for the stairs, his armor clanking in steady rhythm as he departs far swifter than he arrived. The door slams shut, and in the silence that follows, a flash of white light blooms between my hands.

The gray kitten is gone. In its place rests the pink, naked form of Lavender, her wide yellow eyes peering up at me from the crook of my arm. She seizes my free hand and tries to guide it back toward her belly.

Instead, I withdraw, letting her slip from my grasp.

"Hey! No fair!" she whines. Rather than falling, she drifts gently to the floor like a feather, arms crossed and face twisted in a pout. "Why'd you stop?"

"It was only cute when you were a cat," I reply flatly, my thoughts already drifting far from this inane exchange.

Lavender springs to her feet and clings to my right leg. She has grown with regular feeding, her head now reaching my waist, her hand sliding up the seams of my trousers.

"Stop that."

She sighs but does not let go, pressing her body against my leg. "You are by far the hardest human I've ever tried to seduce. And not even in the fun way," she adds, dropping her usual saccharine tone for a moment.

"Can you at least give me a clue about what is coming, Lavender?" I ask, looking down at her imploringly. She responds by raising her arms like a child begging to be carried.

I roll my eyes but indulge her, sweeping her up effortlessly. She is nearly weightless. She wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my shoulder, hiding where her mask falters.

Her voice is soft now, threaded with pain and regret. "I can't lie, but I also can't say." She sighs and pulls me tighter. "Please… I want you far from here."

There is no trick in her tone, no manipulation—only defeat. Over an arc ago she tried every ploy to drive me from the capital. She tried seduction, illusions of urgent summons, even impersonating my wife to lure me away. Once she attempted to carry me off while I slept, nearly draining herself to death in the process. I was forced to give her a quart of my blood to bring her back from the brink.

In the end I gave her so many explicit orders to stop that she finally abandoned her schemes. She never told me why she was so desperate, but her insistence revealed the blind spot in my perception. For that, I cannot fault her. It was her desperate meddling that warned me a threat was coming. Because of her, my family is safe, and I stand ready here—prepared to face what approaches instead of being caught unawares.

"I appreciate what you are trying to do, Lavender," I say, embracing her in return. "I am fortunate to have you."

"Then remove the restrictions," she pleads, tracing slow circles across my chest with her finger.

"If I do, will you knock me out and drag me out of town?"

"I'll certainly try," she chuckles. "But you're rather heavy."

"Then I cannot remove them—not until… whatever this is… is over," I answer with a sigh.

"And some of them are staying in place," I add with a scowl. "I don't need you pretending to be my wife again."

"I was that close," Lavender says, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. Her static smile returns, her tone light and lively, as though nothing serious had ever passed between us.

She slumps back against my shoulder. Her eyes lose their gleam as she stares blankly out the window beside me. Her voice is quieter now, stripped of artifice. "Are you really doing all of this for a woman who's been dead nine years?"

"No," I answer, my gaze fixed on the city below. "I'm doing it for the last piece of her that still lives."

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