The Mountaineer was a classic Verilian pub, the name playing both on its position on the higher end of the middle-class districts, two thirds of the way up the hill, and the owner's background as a specialized member of the Hunter's Guild. Adam almost lost his way twice, it had been that long since he'd visited.

The realization sent a twist of something suspiciously close to shame spiraling through his stomach. Adam had never been the best kind of friend. Too much childhood trauma calcified into adult apathy for that. But loyalty was something he prided himself on. He silently resolved to do better as he entered the pub, brushing his shoulders and stomping his boots to remove the remnants of slush and snow before entering the common room.

A shock of hair, so pale blonde it looked white, was an easy-to-spot flag for his destination. He pushed through the crowd, already loud despite the early hour. Nothing got the city riled up like a snowstorm giving them the excuse to stay inside and drink. Though that was changing as the mana pillars kept the streets from filling with snow, and the nights from becoming too dark.

"Victor," he said, clapping the man on the shoulder.

Not to be outdone, the man unfolded himself from his chair and stood to his impressive height. Thin arms wrapped around Adam in a hug, complete with a few hearty backslaps and a bit of rocking from side to side.

"It's been ages!" he said when he finally released Adam.

"Yes, well," he patted himself back in order and signaled to the waitress for a drink, before taking the seat opposite his old friend. "I'm going to be better about that from now on."

Victor waved him off. The friendly bastard always was too forgiving for his own good. "No, I get it. You're doing important work. I understand."

That was kinder than Adam deserved, but it would take a better man than him not to accept the gesture for what it was. The excuse of a beer sloshing down in front of him gave him a chance to take a deeper look at his oldest friend. Victor looked…happy. None of the undereye circles or tension that Adam remembered from their early days in the Scribes' Guild. Crows feet were coming in at the corners of his eyes, evidence of a life spent smiling.

"You look good," he managed.

"Was that hard to get out, you old bastard?" It would have been offensive from a stranger but Victor didn't have a mean bone in his body.

"I've mellowed with age."

There was a brief pause and both burst into laughter.

"Tell me what you've been up to." Adam pre-empted his friend. Victor was so nice he would let Adam talk about himself the entire time.

"Oh, you'll appreciate this." The man launched into a story about his boss at the mid-tier merchant house he had been attached to for the last half-decade.

"I've been mister popular recently," Victor said after finishing off his anecdote.

"Yeah? They finally realized your boyish charm?"

"No, you idiot. One of my oldest friends is a stars-blessed wizard!"

"Me?!" Adam nearly choked on his next sip. "Hardly."

"Admit it, you're famous. They'll put you in those history books you love so much."

This was not something he was prepared to deal with. As a result, he burbled some nonsense words while waving his hands in front of his face.

"Is it really that surprising?" Victor wasn't laughing, but the glint in his eyes was enough of an indicator how he found the whole display.

"I'm not a wizard."

"My oldest friend. Known him for decades. Shows up for a pint and lies to my face," Victor said in faux-offense.

"Fine. Fine. I can do magic. But barely. Like pushing some ink around or running faster than normal. But nothing big. Nothing impressive."

"Do you think I can push ink around with my mind? Stars above, do you have any idea how useful that would be?"

"I've done some experimenting," Adam admitted.

Perspective was exactly what he needed. Embarrassment was coloring his cheeks but Victor was right. Having ink powers had been wildly useful in his role in the library. Beyond just making every document and translation faster to produce, he was starting to get an innate sense of where every book or scroll was in the building, without needing to look. Most of the Scribes in the guild would murder him happily for the same abilities.

"Sorry. I just feel weird bragging about it. Hard not to get a complex when your friends can command lightning or sink a battleship on their own."

Adam shrugged, but was under no illusion that Victor was fooled. "Enough about me." His goal for meeting Victor tonight was to get away from his normal worries. "How are Michael and the kids?"

"They're good. Julianna is old enough to start school next year. Can you believe that? Persephone is taking after her other father, thank god, strong interest in engineering so far. We've been in talks about getting her a part-time apprenticeship in another few months."

"I might know some people, if you need some help." Thoughts of Trip fiddling with his plane, or Devon and his new project with the trains were flitting through his head.

"Oho. Look at me with friends in high places." The beaming smile belied the sarcasm, and Adam made a note to follow through on the promise.

Victor spent the next round regaling Adam with all the everyday stories parents never seemed to run out of about their children.

"You're not considering one of the cultivation programs at one of the prep schools then? Sounds like Persephone would be a good fit."

He got a knowingly arched eyebrow in return. "A bit biased are we?

"But no. From what I read in the papers it's all more than fascinating. And what kid doesn't want to learn magic. Expensive though, for anyone who wants to be more than a regular human with a bit more sparkle. The scholarships help but it's a lot. And the danger…"

"I could talk to some people. The leader of the crafting sect in Harock will be in town soon."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Hmm. I'll talk to Michael and let you know."

A bowl of fried fish skins clattered to the table between them as the harried waitress made her way through the room, now bustling with more patrons than could reasonably fit.

"Enough about us. What about you? Anyone special in your life?"

Victor had been asking that same question every time they met up for the last twenty years. And most of the time he gave the same boring response. Which was why he was absolutely mortified by the blush stealing across his cheeks.

"No," Victor gasped. "This is the best thing I've heard all year."

"The new year was a week ago, I'm not impressed."

"Shut up! We need more beer, then you're telling me everything."

It was well past midnight when Adam poured Victor into his husband's arms. The man didn't have a high tolerance in the first place, and the intermittent toasts and enthusiasm while Adam explained, in starts and stops, how he fell backwards into a real relationship.

The smile didn't leave his face the whole cold walk home. As he sobered up, he had plenty of time to think. After much negotiation, the palace had endorsed the Guild-created cultivation guides made available to the general public. But Victor had been right, going much further than that needed resources, which meant money.

Thoughts swirled around his head with the snow. Not everyone needed to be a cultivator. That was one of the first things Laurel had taught him, surprisingly enough. Mortals were necessary for balance. But she meant cultivators like her, with big, interstellar aspirations. What if everyone was a little healthier, lived a little longer. Something to think about. Maybe something for someone who was good at the small stuff.

**********

"Child, get in here and set the table."

"Coming, mama," Annette responded before reluctantly following instructions.

It would be fine. John liked George, and he was staying behind in the living room. She had only dated the man for a little while, and the split was amicable. There was nothing to be afraid of leaving him to her father and brother's company.

"They're not going to eat him."

"I know. I just feel bad abandoning him to Dad. You know he'll be doing the stern elder thing right about now."

"Let your father have his fun. Mix the pilaf."

She fell into the comforting rhythm of cooking with her mother. It was easy to tell when she left it too long. Her shoulders tightened and every mishap at the sect set her on the warpath. At that point, either Martin or Laurel would pop up and suggest she take a night off to spend with her family. After the fourth or fifth time, she began just scheduling the dinners herself to save them all the embarrassment.

Sitting down to eat in her childhood home was a treat. Some things just tasted better from your parents' kitchen, no matter what. Once the initial focus on the food, and then a round of compliments to the chef passed, they relaxed into the evening.

"What's new down the hill?" Her father asked.

"Well, Laurel's decided we're having a tournament this summer."

"A magic tournament? How does that work?" John said. Two full sentences. Practically a record for him. Though Annette could forgive it considering he stayed at their parents house during his shore leaves. Which would make anyone run out of words.

"Everyone fights. There are brackets for different levels of magic or just unarmed. I think there's going to be some other stuff as well but mostly just fighting." George answered.

"Is that smart? Doesn't that like, give too much away if you ever have to fight for real?" Maybe John did have a few more words in him tonight.

"Not sure. I guess it was a normal thing back in the day, so probably not. There's limits too. No one's actually trying to hurt anyone else. Plus no weapons."

As the boys strategized about the best way to handle magic fights, Annette leaned back and let it wash over her, occasionally noting a good idea she would incorporate into the planning.

The first time she'd brought George to meet her parents, he had barely gotten one word answers out in response to their questions. That he was even holding a conversation at all was an astounding improvement. The year they had tried making a relationship work was a good one, Annette didn't harbor any regret. It was fun, something her rigid attitude sometimes forgot was important. Even when things fizzled, she'd gained a good friend out of the deal, so she'd call that coming out ahead.

"It will be something to liven up the summer," her father was saying.

"We'll likely be officially at war this summer, papa. Or at least close to it. I'm not sure livening up is what we'll need."

"Maybe not for you, my very fancy, very important little girl. But for us regular folk, that means things will get tight money-wise, fewer exotic options at the markets, but not much else. We'll still make what needs making, and do what needs doing, just for the army instead of the guilds."

That was not something Annette had considered, even if it was true, which she thought was suspect. Her life had changed so much that she was now one of the people making decisions, caring about strategy and political maneuvering. It was a far cry from where she came from, eating dinner every night at this same table.

"Then I'm glad we can be of some help."

**********

There were five letters spread out on the table between Laurel and Martin. The pair sat in her office late at night beside a flickering magical fire. It was more fun for the flames to change color than burn something as though she was bothered by the temperatures.

"So."

"So."

"Chirefi thinks he can hold out," Martin said. His foot nudged at one of the pieces of paper. "But the smuggling is becoming a challenge as the other cities concede, at least on the Cores."

"Any idea why they haven't just gone in force? He's good but he's not better than everyone they've got combined."

It was a frustrating truth. The best they could tell, the Order of Decorra consisted of a dozen masters, with a range of specialties. All good but not outstanding at their chosen fields, at least by reputation. From sects that were respectable if not the highest powers.

Apparently twelve people was all it took to end the world. Though she pulled back and gave her people some credit. It had taken them probably three hundred years of slow maneuvering to pull it off, and they had most likely had more allies when they started.

"They bit off more than they could chew. They expected to have a few more heavy hitters to deal with everything." Martin leaned back on his couch.

"What was the plan? Just let the rest of the world crumble and hope for the best?"

"Maybe? There weren't that many Cities outside of the Alrasian continent when they put us all under. Probably thought it wasn't too much to worry about."

"Assholes."

"Obviously."

"We should have Devon make him something," Laurel mused. "If the smuggling is getting that hard, he'll need a last minute option if he has to run."

"He's confident he'll hold out. But if he doesn't, I'm not sure he'll run."

"You think he'll join them?"

"Not sure." A shrug punctuated Martin's words. "Devon knows him a bit better, and we only spent a few days there. Just not sure he's the kind of guy that can abandon a place he sank that much of himself into."

"Can't count on him then, if things go bad."

"I wouldn't say that."

"What would you say then?"

"I don't know. It's hard, L, and we got lucky. As fucked as that is to say."

"Ugh. I know." Laurel joined him in slumping back, staring at the ceiling as the pair contemplated the challenge before them.

"What about Jade?" Martin redirected the conversation away from her frustration, and Laurel was grateful for it, even if she disdained being managed.

"On our side but a bit nervous. She's not a dedicated combatant."

"She's doing well enough," Martin said.

"True. Sent the first little minion that came to see her back with a warning. The rest she didn't bother sending back at all."

"Seems like she's had an okay time recruiting as well."

"To quote, 'they come out of the woodwork like termites, always another'. So yea,h you could say that. Might need to see if a few of the Somorin cultivators want to come up here for some temporary Core work. The Cities are taken care of but some of the smaller Towns are still only getting intermittent attention." The lists and manifests that had somehow become such a crucial part of Laurel's life ran behind her eyelids like a stage play. She had begun to see them in her dreams.

"Just get to a World Capital quickly and there won't be a problem."

A rude gesture told Martin exactly what she thought of his flippancy.

"Chirefi's not on our side but not against us. Jade's with us. Devon is a bit of a bastard, but he'll come through when we need him."

Laurel picked up where Martin left off. "Zenia's basically disappeared. Not even sure what continent she's on but she went east and didn't stop in Naxos. Not against us but who knows. Brandon's pretty entrenched in southern Elgin at this point. He says he's on our side, but…"

"But he seems like he'd turn over in a stiff wind."

"Exactly."

"Fuck."

"Fuck," Laurel agreed.

"That's what, four and a half against 12?"

"Could be worse," Laurel said.

"Could be better."

"Stars above," Laurel let her breath out in a slow sigh. "Imagine if Farin and Imelda were both here."

Martin smiled a pained sort of smile. "A dozen enemies definitely wouldn't be enough. We'd crush the Order in about a day and then have all the time in the world for whatever we wanted."

"Cleaned up and home by breakfast."

Both took a moment to remember their lost friends. Sometimes she wished she knew for certain what happened to them. The odds said they died defending the sect. But they didn't know that. They could have fled, sent to the cosmos from some last minute attempt by the elders to preserve their legacy. Maybe they escaped the fall but had to live in the mana wasteland created afterwards. Maybe they found peace or maybe they died fighting. Laurel and Martin had no idea and that somehow hurt worse. How much guilt should they feel that they were saved by a few rogue lunatics and their friends were not?

It was an indulgence and a responsibility to visit those memories. But a trap if either of them lingered too long and forgot how much they had in the present. Laurel let herself sit with the grief, with the only other person who could understand and feel the same way.

That night Laurel dreamt. A man and a woman. Faceless, blurred forms, running through a magical world. Around them the mana raged. It bucked and snapped and collapsed while the figures kept running. They sprinted through crystal caves that crumbled to dust, ran past a volcano that cooled and broke apart. All the time they kept running.

Laurel's eyes snapped open hours before dawn. It didn't take a genius to figure out where those dreams came from. She got up and went outside for a quick flight and some sword practice. That was more than enough sleeping for the week.

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