Raphael froze just inside the archway.
His robes were still splattered with dried mud, and a fresh scar ran along his jawline, but his exhaustion vanished the moment his eyes fell on the corner table.
Nick knew him to be profoundly sensitive to mana, and while a mundane observer would see only a young mage sitting quietly beside the ever-cold Eona Sadie, Raphael felt the subtle pressure of his active spells.
He could have hidden it, of course, but that was no longer the game he played.
Instead, he caught his friend’s gaze and offered a faint smile, loosening the thin veil of intent he had draped over his immediate surroundings to let them in.
The rest of the apprentices filed in behind their leader. Willow’s striking silver runic makeup was smeared, with some metallic pigment peeling from her brow. Lina leaned on Mikel’s shoulder, favoring her left knee, while Mikel carried a battered iron-shod staff, his knuckles wrapped in bloodstained linen.
All in all, they had clearly been put through the wringer, but a light in their eyes told him their mission had been successful.
"They look like they dragged themselves through the Sunlands again," Eona noted with concealed amusement, and Nick stifled a snort.
Raphael blinked, shaking off the shock, and led the group through the maze of tables. He dropped unceremoniously into a plush armchair across from Nick.
"I would take the Sunlands over a caustic elemental going mad any day," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
Eona kicked the sofa leg, jolting Bellamy awake. The young noble sputtered, wiping drool from his chin, as his small golem collapsed into a pile of gravel.
"Wh—what?" he stammered, his eyes darting around before settling on the bruised newcomers. “Ah, the conquering heroes return. We need ale.”
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the order to the lounge’s serving magic, which was quite impressive, since almost everyone had to speak their orders aloud. Moments later, a small wooden keg and a stack of crystal mugs drifted across the room and settled onto their table with a solid thud. A platter of roasted sausages and dark bread followed.
"To the victorious vanquishers of violent villains," Bellamy toasted, pulling the tap and passing around the foaming mugs. "And to Crowley, for surviving his wild mission up north.”
They drank. The ale was cold and refreshing enough to give the bedraggled group a boost, allowing them to finally exchange hugs and greetings all around.
For the next hour, the corner table became an island of warmth and shared relief, and they traded stories as if they were soldiers fresh from a campaign.
Willow described the difficulty of holding her runic barriers against corrosive vapor that quickly penetrated regular mana shields. Lina mentioned binding the moving terrain of a riverbed to allow Mikel to approach closely and unleash his implosions straight into the elemental’s core.
They bickered over timing and tactics, but their underlying trust was undeniable. They had become a well-oiled machine, and it showed in the seamless way they passed food and poured drinks for one another.
Nick felt a small pang of regret for missing all of that. He had been busy with much more important issues, but that didn’t stop him from feeling sad about missing out on so many adventures.
Eventually, the conversation shifted, and they turned to him.
"The rumors coming south were wild enough that we didn’t know what to believe," Mikel said, wiping a bit of foam from his upper lip. "They say Lord Eugene crushed the dwarves, but the whispers about Toneburg are stranger. Talk of sieges and civil war, all to end at the drop of a hat.”
Nick swirled the remaining ale in his mug, considering how much to say. He’d keep the tale grounded, without mentioning the mad ritual Alexander had set up or the Greater Demon’s presence, but he could afford to share some things.
"The north was indeed a madhouse," he said quietly, and that was an understatement if he’d ever heard one. "The Ultimers had set things up to devolve into chaos, giving themselves a chance to take the city." He paused, remembering all the people who died because of Ephor’s ambitions, only for it all to be useless, because he was betrayed. “It was enough to push me across into Prestige.”
Silence fell over the table. The crackle of the green flames in the hearth suddenly seemed deafening.
Lina inhaled sharply, her hands dropping into her lap. Willow stared, her skin paling. Mikel let out a whistle of awe.
Within a Tower as accomplished as Alluria’s, Prestige mages weren’t as rare as elsewhere in the world, but they were still considered more than mere mortals.
Even talented practitioners with plenty of support and decades of experience rarely crossed over, and for him to do it, with only a year of lessons under his belt—and even that was an exaggeration, for he’d been out and about for much of that time—was frankly ridiculous.
Many would have disbelieved, calling him a liar and demanding proof, but his friends had been with him through thick and thin. They’d followed him through a dungeon and seen him face a Divine Guardian. He didn’t have anything to prove to them.
Raphael stayed quiet. He looked at Nick, his blue eyes reflecting the firelight. There was no demand in his gaze, no jealousy or resentment. Nick saw only burning ambition.
His friend was measuring the distance between them, calculating the sheer volume of blood and sweat he’d spilled to reach that height, and how much it would cost him to do the same.
Nick tipped his chin in silent acknowledgment. It hadn’t been a clean path. If he’d had more time, he certainly wouldn’t have gone on so many rampages, slaughtering hundreds to give himself a better chance of surviving the confrontation with Ephor.
But what was done was done.
"Which brings me to my next point," he continued, folding his hands. "I cannot remain an apprentice. The Tower’s hierarchy will chafe, and my presence here complicates Master Tholm’s political standing, both because it would inflate his strength and because I’m still largely unknown, despite my actions to save the Tower. Thus, I am taking the Graduation Exam.”
Bellamy choked on a piece of sausage. He pounded his chest, coughing violently. “So early? You still have six years left!”
Nick gave him an amused look. He knew very well that Bellamy wasn’t referring to the loss of opportunities to learn and to forge bonds with the up-and-comers of the Tower, but to the fact that as long as one remained a student, they couldn’t be saddled with official duties and ranks by their families.
“More importantly, I intend to get the Council to grant me the title of Mage Errant," he explained, ignoring his friend’s outrage at his lack of laziness.
"Mage Errant," Raphael murmured, tasting the words. “You’d be a free agent with the legal authority of the Tower but none of the shackles. The Archmages won’t hand that over just because you reached Prestige so early. In fact, they might be even more reticent.”
“I’m aware it will take a spectacle to make them concede," Nick agreed. "So I am giving them one. I secured the Abyssal Arena on Sub-Level Ten for the end of the week. My opponent will be Grandmaster Xander Wolfram.”
Mikel dropped his mug. It clattered against the wood, spilling amber foam across the table.
"You are going to duel the Grandmaster of the Sword," Willow said, her voice perfectly flat. "The man who carved a path through Demons during the Incursion so quickly that he left everyone else behind by several floors.”
"It is the fastest way to prove I’m worth the honor," Nick said with a shrug.
Eona let out a bark of laughter, shaking her head. "It is suicide for anyone else, but you... you might actually last long enough to make it worth it." She lifted her mug high. "To madness, then.”
"To madness," Bellamy echoed with a grin, raising his own.
The mugs clinked together, sloshing ale onto the floor. They drank as the initial shock gave way to boisterous, fierce pride. Nick was one of them, and he was about to challenge a legend.
———
Hours later, the moon climbed high over Alluria.
Nick stood on the stone balcony that jutted from Tholm’s floor. The wind at this altitude was biting, the distinct chill of impending winter deepening, though the worst of it was bled away by the wards.
Below, the city sprawled like a glittering jewel.
He leaned his forearms against the cold balustrade, listening to the hum of hundreds of thousands of souls.
It was something he thought he’d gotten used to during his time as an Apprentice, but with his newfound sensitivity, it was even more striking. So much brightness, and yet an equal amount of shadows, all parts of the human condition.
The soft scrape of boots on stone announced the arrival of company.
Raphael stepped out onto the balcony, pulling his cloak tighter against the wind as he walked to the railing and leaned against it, mirroring Nick’s posture. He looked out over the city, his gaze fixed on the opulent estates of the high nobles.
They stood in silence for a long time. It was a comfortable quiet, the kind shared by friends who had fought back-to-back and knew the value of unspoken words. They did not look at each other, letting the dark sky and the glittering city hold their attention.
"You are leaving soon," Raphael said softly, his breath pluming white in the air. It was a statement, not a question.
"Once the duel is won and the title is secured," Nick confirmed. "I will head to the Capital. I have some matters to attend to and a few people to meet, but yes, there will be little left for me to do here, and I’m on a tight timeline.”
“That city is somehow the worst place in the Kingdom, and also the best,” Raphael muttered bitterly. “I won’t tell you to be careful, but remember to trust only yourself. It has a way of getting to even the purest souls.”
"They are welcome to try me," Nick replied with a smirk.
Raphael chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "I believe you. The rest of the guys are awed by the power. They see the spells and the levels, but they don't see the cost. They don't know what it takes to break the bounds of mortality.”
Nick turned his head slightly, studying his friend’s profile. "You intend to follow in my footsteps.”
"I have to," Raphael replied, his grip tightening on the stone balustrade. "My grandfather is the current Head of House Uther. He is a parasite who hoards the family’s wealth, strangles our trade agreements to fund his debauchery, and refuses to invest in the younger generation. My House is rotting from the inside out.”
His voice dropped, laced with cold, simmering fury. “A mere mortal mage cannot unseat an entrenched Patriarch. The laws of the nobility protect him, and he’s made many friends. But if I reach Prestige... the rules of the game change. I will rip the title from him, legally or otherwise, and carve the corruption from my family.”
Nick nodded, fully understanding the drive. “I’m sure you’ll do it. Few people have your talent, and I don’t doubt you’ll push through any obstacle to get there.”
Raphael nodded slowly, then turned and finally met Nick’s gaze. "My path is set by necessity. I need the power to save my bloodline. You... your family is safe. Floria is said to have become a fortress, and your father is a legendary commander. The Duke backs you. The Crown has asked for you.”
He tilted his head, blue eyes searching Nick’s face. "Power is a means to an end, Nick. It is a tool. You forged yourself into a weapon, but the war is won. So tell me… what do you actually want?”
Nick opened his mouth to reply and stopped.
The words caught in his throat. He looked back out over the glittering expanse of the city, the cold wind whipping his coat.
What did he want?