A thunderous roar split the chamber as a wall of water burst from the focus. Not a jet, not a spray—an entire wall, conjured from nothing, surging forward in a crashing wave. It swallowed the Kaosborn, tearing them from their feet and slamming them into the far wall.

Milo had no time to marvel. The recoil lifted him off his feet as well, hurling him backward. He hit the floor hard, the impact jolting up his spine, but somehow he kept hold of the focus. Still on his back, he aimed it forward, and the torrent continued to thunder from its tip, battering the monsters in an endless flood.

Unfortunately, his friends were now caught in the torrent. The chamber filled fast, ankle-deep already, the current tugging at them all. Otter's voice cut through the roar: "Turn it off!"

"I can't!" Milo croaked. He could feel it—the focus draining mana as quickly as it surged into him. The crushing pressure in his chest was gone, replaced by the ache in his back, but he knew the truth: if he let go now, he was dead.

He forced his eyes shut, reaching into the focus with his will. Until now, he had only poured raw power into it. But Blackwood had said it could shape water, not just summon it. He probed its inner lattice, the patterns inscribed deep within—

Yes. There.

With a twist of intent, he cut the torrent short. The flow of mana continued, but shifted, bending into new channels. Not summoning water now—commanding it.

Milo staggered to his feet, drenched and shaking, and raised the focus.

His friends were coughing and struggling upright. The Kaosborn, though battered, were already clawing free. Only the elder Spell Lord still stood steady, chanting in the circle of glyphs.

Milo clenched his will. The water obeyed. It tore itself from the floor in writhing rivers, sweeping around his allies and coiling instead around the monsters. Gallons upon gallons surged upward, enclosing the Kaosborn in a sphere. They flailed, shrieking, limbs thrashing against the liquid prison.

"Holy hells, Milo," Otter sputtered, dripping. "What did you do?"

Milo didn't answer. Every heartbeat demanded focus; holding that much water was like wrestling a storm. But he was alive. The mana still coursed through him, steady, safe.

A minute crawled by. Then another. The chamber grew eerily still, save for the Spell Lord's chant. Within the sphere, the Kaosborn thrashed less and less—until they went limp.

But then the walls sparked green again. Glyph-lines burned brighter, and new Kaosborn began to peel themselves into existence.

Milo exhaled sharply. He dropped the sphere, bodies tumbling lifeless to the stones, and swept the water into a barrier between his friends and the forming horrors. The barrier churned with swift currents, a flowing wall that would drag down anything trying to cross.

He barely had it in place when the Spell Lord gave a triumphant shout. With a sharp slash of his hand, a surge of arcane power ripped through the chamber. Milo felt it instantly—the flood of mana feeding him cut off, like a severed vein.

The barrier collapsed with a watery crash. Milo dropped beside it, gasping, wrung dry.

The blue lights traveling through the lines etched in the walls winked out, as did the corrupted green energy causing the Kaosborn to manifest.

A few stragglers remained, but were easily mopped up once the senior Spell Lord was able to focus his attention on them fully.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the slow drip of water from the rafters. The chamber stank of damp stone and the sickly sweet tang of burned flesh. Kaosborn husks lay dissolving on the floor, their bodies already breaking down into greasy black sludge that seeped into the cracks.

Milo lay sprawled on the wet stones, chest heaving, the focus still clutched in his trembling hand. Otter sloshed through ankle-deep water to kneel beside him.

"Milo, can you hear me?"

"Yeah. I'm okay," he croaked without moving. "But I need a nap."

Otter laughed.

The elder Spell Lord stepped across the flooded floor with surprising agility for a man of his age, his eyes fixed on Milo. "I've seen many young Spell Lords break under less extreme circumstances," he said, voice low but resonant. "And yet here you are, still breathing." He crouched, not close enough to crowd Milo, but near enough to study him like a rare artifact. "Remarkable."

Milo managed a weak cough. "Remarkable, huh?… How about impressive?"

The Spell Lord chuckled softly, then straightened. He drew himself up with the kind of posture that commanded attention and gave a short, courtly bow. "I am Ebenezer Thale, Spell Lord of the ninth order. And you, young man, have done what many of my colleagues would have sworn impossible. You channeled an amount of mana far beyond your capacity. And you lived." His gaze flicked across the group, weighing each of them in turn. "That is, indeed, impressive."

Before anyone could reply, heavy footsteps splashed through the water. Marcus emerged from the shadows of the ruined ward circle, robes clinging to him, his expression severe. His mask askew, revealing edges of the scars hidden beneath. He stopped a few paces from Milo, gaze flicking from the limp focus in the boy's hand to the fading glyphs on the wall. His jaw worked as if grinding through words he didn't want to say.

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"You saved lives here," he admitted finally, voice low and rough. "Perhaps more than you know. Without your swift action, the wards would have broken wide open. The city would be attacked from within. In this, you have acted according to Caelum's will." He drew a breath, shoulders tightening beneath his soaked robes. "But I do not believe this is penance paid in full. Your previous actions were nothing short of treason against the Church." His hand went to his face and readjusted the mask. He paused, anger flitting across his exposed features briefly. "While I may in time come to forgive the grievous injuries you have inflicted upon me, if that is Caelum's will, I cannot overlook your sins against him. You will accompany me to the temple to stand before the High Conduit. Only he can render judgment in this matter."

Sage stepped forward, her face clouding with anger. "We do not answer to you. As a Conduit of Elarion, these people are under my protection. Whatever sins you think we have committed against Caelum, our actions were guided by Elarion. And Altheris."

Marcus hissed at the name, the memories of being trapped in her realm still vivid. "Traitorous wench."

Jasper gripped his sword, but Ebenezer's voice cut through the building tension. "Enough." He stared at Marcus with an air of unreproachable authority. "Return to your temple and report what you have seen. These children will come with me. I, too, must make a report to my seniors, and they will stand as witnesses to my report. That is final."

Marcus's fists tightened at his sides. His whole body trembled with the urge to argue, to demand, to press his authority—but in the end, he bowed his head a fraction. His voice was like stone cracking under pressure. "Very well."

He turned sharply, robes whipping water as he stalked toward the stairs, every step an unspoken promise that this was not over.

Once Marcus was gone, Ebenezer turned to Milo. "Come, my young friend. I was being serious when I said I would need you to bear witness to the events here today." Then he led them back up the stairs as well.

He moved with confidence, his boots striking firmly against the stone as though he'd walked this path a hundred times before. The others followed, exhausted but alert, the drip of water from their clothes marking each step.

As he walked, he continued speaking to Milo as if the rest of them weren't there. "I must know what sort of focus that is. Was that what allowed you to channel so much mana?"

Milo, still pale, looked back at Otter, who shook his head. Blackwood had warned them that it was valuable and could attract unwanted attention if others knew they had it.

"I think so," Milo admitted. "I was told that its effects depended on the wielder's strength. It was the only thing I could think to do. I only know first-level spells at the moment, and most of them can't be overcharged. The amount of mana spilling into my pool was about to burn me. I had to try something."

Ebenezer studied Milo for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "I'm glad it worked out. Such artifacts are tricky to control. I have seen similar ones before. In my experience, they take more than just raw power to achieve what you did. It is…remarkable."

They reached the workshop where they'd first met the Spell Lord. Ebenezer strode to the table and gathered up his notes.

"This was not my design," he said, his gaze sweeping the now lifeless glyphs on the floor. "I was asked to run a proof-of-concept test. And I agreed, because the pay was good." His jaw tightened. "But I did not study it as I should have. No matter how refined a matrix appears, one must always assume there may be flaws. Tonight proved that." He tucked the folio under his arm with a sharp motion, as though the act itself sealed away his frustration. "Come. I have deactivated the ward. The danger has passed, but Mr. Rosner must be warned. This design cannot go into production."

***

By the time the carriage turned off the main thoroughfare, the sun was high overhead, the cobbles of the street shimmering in the midday heat. The Rosner townhouse stood on a quieter side street, pressed shoulder to shoulder with others of its kind. Three stories of brick and pale plaster, with neat shutters and a narrow balcony over the entry, it looked respectable but hardly grand. A polished brass knocker shaped like a lion's head gleamed in the midday light, evidence of Mr. Rosner's pride in appearances.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and Ebenezer stepped down first, gesturing curtly for the students to follow.

The front door opened before they reached it. A woman in a plain but tidy dress—one of the house servants—stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes widened at the sight of their dripping clothes and weary faces.

"Master Rosner is in his study," she said quickly, bobbing a curtsy to Ebenezer. "He'll be wanting to know what brings you here at this hour."

Ebenezer inclined his head and motioned them forward. "Then let us not keep him waiting."

As they stepped inside, Otter could smell the remnants of the midday meal drifting through the house, and his stomach growled. They'd had a substantial breakfast, but fighting Kaosborn had a way of making you hungry.

The entry hall was narrow but well-kept, the floorboards polished, and a runner rug lay neatly along the way. A set of stairs climbed sharply upward, with doors opening into a parlor and a dining room lined with modest but carefully chosen furnishings.

The servant led them down the narrow hall, her heels clicking softly on the polished boards. They hadn't gone far when an audible gasp caught their attention. Above them, a balcony ran along the hallway. Levi leaned halfway over the banister, his eyes going wide. He was dressed in a simple linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a smudge of ink across one cheek. A sheaf of papers was clutched in one hand, and he looked very much like someone in the middle of being scolded by a tutor—or worse, his father.

"Otter," he said. "What in the hells are you all doing here?"

"It's a long story," said Otter.

Levi stopped gaping and ran down the stairs. He pulled up short when he noticed the condition of their clothing—still damp, torn in places, and Jasper's were stained with blood and ichor. "What happened?"

"Again, it's a long story."

"One we're here to report to your father," interrupted Ebenezer. "No time for pleasantries, I'm afraid."

Levi looked from Ebenezer to Otter to Milo to Sage. The look on his face turning from surprise to panic. "You're…you're here to see my father?" he croaked.

Otter shrugged, then pointed to Ebenezer. "He is. We're just tagging along."

Levi paled. "Oh, boy."

"Is that a problem?" asked Erin, her tone quizzical.

"It's just…well…my father…"

Ebenezer interrupted. "Is a challenging, exacting taskmaster, whose constant search for a quick profit often lands himself and his family in precarious situations. Does that about sum it up?"

The color returned to Levi's face, this time redder. "Now, wait a minute."

Ebenezer waved him off. "No need for all these feelings, boy. We've a report to make. Why don't you join us? You could help ease us into introductions."

Without waiting for an answer, Ebenezer continued down the hallway towards a door where the servant stood waiting.

Levi hesitated, then muttered just loud enough for his friends to hear, "This ought to be as much fun as a flock of geese in a grain market."

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