Lukas' eyes narrowed, drawing towards the blue glow of the crystal within the crowd; weaving past the murmuring nobles. Standing there amidst the swarm of aristocrats and would-be sponsors was a man impossible to mistake for anyone else—the King of Nozar, Head of the Ittriki Clan, the sovereign of the most powerful empire on the face of Hiraeth.

Lukas was momentarily taken aback.

It was common knowledge that the King of Nozar was around the same age as the King of Easthaven, but while Magnus Elarion had begun to bear the weight of his years like a scholar buried under tomes, this man had aged like a bottle of fine wine, his years adding a rugged distinction rather than wear.

King Daerion Ittriki was a giant, far taller than Prince Darren; his youngest son, the man he had met in Ilagron Village. Lukas wasn't sure but the King was likely as tall if not taller than he was which was certainly abnormal. He also looked nothing like the Rear Admiral that he had dueled against, the King's middle child who had been killed in the face of Rodan's power.

Daerion's body was forged thick with muscle, his shoulders broad and his arms solid like iron, though a slight beer belly softened his formidable frame.

It was the kind of weight that came not from excess, but from a life well-enjoyed—a king who had fought, feasted, and won most battles he fought.

In one hand, he lazily held the glowing crystal that allowed him to speak to Lukas directly, as if the conversation was a casual formality rather than an imperial offer. In the other, his thick arm draped possessively around a woman no older than her mid-twenties, her hand resting on his chest with a practiced familiarity. Around the King, a small entourage of stunning women—servants, companions, Lukas wasn't sure—floated like petals orbiting the base of a storm.

Daerion grinned, Lukas could hear his voice in his head: raspy and smooth, like a seasoned cigarette smoker who'd long made peace with his vices.

Lukas offered a light laugh, playing along, though the tension in his chest tightened just a little more.

"I'm flattered," Lukas finally replied smoothly, "and honored to finally meet the King of Nozar. Your name carries weight far beyond the walls of this Tower. And well beyond the Kingdom of Easthaven as well."

The king's grin widened. "Trust me, I understand what it's like. What it's like for your name to be known by so many. Tell me, Klein, with so much fame, surely you've had thousands coming to you. So many, all at once—so much...noise. Men like us...we can appreciate moments of silence, don't you think?"

There was something deliberate in the way he said it, something that curled around Lukas like an invisible noose. How he was somebody who could appreciate moments of silence.

Lukas cast another glance toward the other crystals on the table for confirmation. Still not a single one had lit up. Not a single sponsor had offered him anything.

And suddenly, the silence became louder than ever. It was carefully engineered. Designed. The weight of realization settled into his bones.

Did this man…have something to do with that?

Was this meeting ever about giving him a choice? Or had the king ensured that he would be the only choice Lukas had left?

The king's smile didn't falter as he leaned back in his seat, the crystal cradled lazily in his palm, his thumb grazing its edge like a man perfectly at ease. His eyes gleamed beneath heavy brows, sharp and calculating, a predator who had long mastered the hunt.

"You know, Klein," the king began, his voice low and gravelly, "I'm a man with many vices. Wine. Women. War. But a man who does not master his addictions, he is no man at all. Despite this, there is one addiction that I have never been able to conquer. That addiction…" He tapped his thick finger against the glowing crystal. "It would be power."

Lukas felt his gut twist into a knot.

"Because when you have power, you can live whatever life you please. Peace, chaos, indulgence—it's all within reach. If you wish for the rest of your life as a mage to be as…quiet as these last few minutes have been—without the pests, without the noise—" his grin widened, "then I can make that happen. I can ensure that no one bothers you. Not the nobles. Not the Tower. Not even the damn Church."

Lukas' heart thudded once in his chest, the weight of those words pressing down on him.

"Even the Church?" Lukas asked carefully, his throat a little dry.

The king's grin was slow and knowing. "Even the Church."

And that's when it hit him. The silence. The vacant crystals. The orchestrated isolation. King Daerion didn't need to compete with the Church. He was the Church. He had always been the hand behind its movements, the architect behind the slow takeover of the Tower.

The Church had never been the true enemy. King Daerion of Nozar was.

Cold realization slithered through Lukas' spine.

Daerion's tone darkened, slick like oil, seeping into Lukas' bones.

"You think you know fame? Say you wish for even more glory, if you want to be a legend, to have your name sung across continents? I can make that happen, too. The resources, the opportunities—things that you did not think possible. Even things that Magnus cannot offer you. But I can. And I can offer it to you on a bloody silver plate. What I am offering you is more than just a sponsorship, my boy."

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Lukas watched from afar as Daerion's fingers curled tightly around the crystal.

"This is a path to a new life."

"And what is the price I must pay for this new life that you are offering to me?" Lukas asked, because of course there was a price. Nothing this man did for others would ever come free.

The king's amusement shimmered like candlelight in his eyes. "You're sharp. I like that."

Then, with a casual shrug, he posed a question: "What does power mean to you, Klein?"

"That's a very broad question," Lukas answered, his grin strained, his voice even. "One I'm not sure I can answer right now."

The king chuckled, his voice deep and low. "That's fine. You've got time to figure it out. But to me? Power is simple. Power is loyalty. That's all I ask for."

The grin faded from the king's face, his tone now revealing the iron that lay beneath silk. "Not loyalty to the Tower. Not to the Church. Not to Easthaven. Not to Magnus. Not even to Nozar." His thumb pressed against his chest. "To me."

The murmur of the crowd, which had faded into background noise, began to surge now. The nobles were whispering. The tension was growing thick with every passing second of silence, the weight of the prolonged conversation feeding the curiosity and suspicions of those watching.

No one else could or would ever hear the words being spoken between the two.

Lukas forced his expression to remain neutral, but his mind was racing.

The question was no longer whether Lukas would take the offer. It was whether Lukas could afford not to. He forced himself to meet the king's gaze.

The pressure in the hall was suffocating now—the weight of the muttered silence, the subtle shift of the nobles whispering amongst themselves, the prickling sensation of hundreds of eyes watching him carefully.

He glanced at the other crystals. They remained dark. There would be no other offers. The King of Nozar had made sure of that.

The silence was deliberate. Orchestrated. So Lukas did the only thing he could. He asked the question that had been twisting like a dagger in his gut.

"And what happens…if I refuse your kind offer, Your Majesty?"

The King of Nozar, who had lounged so comfortably until now, suddenly leaned forward in his seat. His arm tightened around the woman beside him as his other hand curled around the glowing blue crystal with growing force.

Lukas heard it. The faintest sound of cracking glass. Pressure spiderwebbing fractures along the surface. The connection between the two men began to falter for a moment but the crystal did not shatter just yet.

The king's easy smile was gone, replaced with the cold, heavy stare of a man who was not used to being refused.

"What else is there to think about?" His voice came low, but it rumbled like distant thunder. "Every second you spend in silence…the people will wonder. Why doesn't Klein accept? Why would the rising star of the Tower turn down the hand of the King of Nozar?"

His grip tightened. Cracks deepened along the crystal's edges. The blue glow shimmered, faltering as the structure strained under his grasp.

"They'll whisper that you're arrogant."

A fissure split the base of the crystal.

"They'll say you're too good for a King."

A pulse of mana leaked out from the fractures.

"They will remember, Klein. That you think so highly of yourself that you would disrespect me. I will remember."

Daerion's voice, though still calm, carried that undercurrent of steel—of a man used to shaping the world to his will.

"I told you didn't I? I'm a man addicted to power. If you are not with me...then I'm afraid you stand in my way of my addiction. We can't have that, can we?"

Lukas felt the walls close in around him. The nobility's whispers were growing louder now. He could feel it, the subtle shift in the atmosphere—power folding in on him, pressing him towards the inevitable.

It wasn't just a sponsorship. It was a trap.

Refuse the king's offer, and Lukas would walk out of here with a target painted on his back. The King of the most powerful empire in Hiraeth would make sure of it.

Daerion's voice dipped into something more personal now, his eyes glinting with the quiet satisfaction of a man who believed he had already won.

"You're a smart one, Klein. You've come this far. Surely, you've figured it out. This isn't just an offer. It's the only offer you're going to get."

His thumb finally pressed down. The crystal in his hand shattered, shards scattering across the floor as he stood, finally choosing to speak with words and not thoughts.

"So what's it going to be, Klein?" The king's voice boomed for everyone in the crowd to hear. "Do you accept my offer, boy?"

Lukas stood there, alone on the stage, the weight of the hall pressing down on him. Everyone was waiting for his answer. The old man had set up a trap, one that Lukas could never avoid.

Green light suddenly flickered to life at the far end of the table, an abrupt burst of color that cut through the suffocating weight of the silence. Its glow spread across the crystal's facets, refracting and dancing in brilliant shards of emerald.

The Head Mage's voice boomed across the hall, firm, controlled—yet tinged with something that almost sounded like relief.

"Attention! A new sponsor has come forward."

Another pulse of green flared from the upper terraces where the nobility sat.

Heads turned. Whispers swelled, a ripple of confusion breaking through the tension.

Lukas and Daerion both turned their eyes toward the source.

And there, seated with the same composed elegance she had displayed in Ilagron, was a woman draped in a deep green robe embroidered with gold threads. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she crossed one leg over the other, resting a gloved hand on her cane while her other hand held a crystal pulsing with the same green light as the one on Lukas' table.

Beside her, the noblemen who had been vying for her attention only moments ago now sat in stunned silence, their gazes bouncing between the Countess and the King of Nozar. All of Lukas' worries were washed away as he saw that familiar face sitting in the crowd.

To all the Gods of Hiraeth and beyond, it was good to see her again.

"The Countess of Ilagron Village, the Head of the Merchant Guild; Velena Ilagron has made Klein a counter offer."

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