A second slipknot deposited Orion and Asteria in a narrow alleyway, snapping shut behind them with a crack and sending displaced air rushing back in to fill the void.
Orion caught his balance better this time, though he still had to wipe a bead of blood from his nose. The Wraithgem pulsed against his sternum, slowly dissipating the immense processing load from the spatial fold.
Everything had been going according to plan; they’d almost made it through the Magisterium, only for an irregular patrol to catch them.
Unfortunately, most of them were tier-three casters, and while Asteria could certainly have overwhelmed them, doing so would have drawn more attention, which meant they’d needed to improvise.
In this instance, that meant locating the closest gap in Ulysses’ spatial net and opening a portal there. It also meant Orion had to do it all himself. While the reduced distance made it possible, the complexity of the magic he was casting took its toll, no matter how much the Wraithgem took on.
Still, they’d made it out, which was more than he’d hoped.
Beyond the alley, Valderun's skyline soared into the gray morning. The buildings were coated in shimmering enchantments that reflected light like glistening scales, having been raised in response to the explosions, and in the far distance, the towering white-and-blue outer walls marked the capital's boundary, though they were dwarfed by the sheer scale of the crystal spires closer to the center.
A muffled thud rolled through the foggy air, followed by a tremor in the ground. A faint violet glow bloomed on the eastern horizon, miles away toward the noble districts.
"The dragonkin is working hard," Asteria observed, even as she caught her breath. Facing almost a dozen tier-three opponents at once wasn’t beyond her, but doing so after the initial [Gate] was opened, while maintaining a tight grip on the Field to keep battle ripples from echoing too much, and keeping enough oil in the tank to fight more if things went bad later on, was quite the feat.
"The blasts are growing more distant," Orion noted, consulting his overlay. "Ulysses will hear them, but he should not feel pressured. As far as he knows, the outer watch commanders will contain the disruption before it reaches the Collegium.”
"Then we still have the element of surprise," Asteria said, stepping out of the alley. "Stay close.”
They moved swiftly through the nearest thoroughfare. The usual crowds of merchants, scholars, and dignitaries were thin, hurried along by squads of City Watchmen in blue-and-white tabards marching toward the distant explosions. The non-violence wards woven into the very foundation of the city hummed around them, leaving everyone even more confused about how the explosions kept coming.
I doubt anyone has ever dared to attack the city without any intention of causing harm.
Not trusting that would be enough, Orion kept his head down, letting the silver-blue fog mask their approach as they neared the heart of the Magocracy.
This time, they slipped past two patrols without issue, pressing deeper into the district until they reached their target.
The Arcane Collegium stood before them, an architectural masterpiece resembling fine glasswork, built on the scale of a town. The structure was forged from silver and blue crystal, its spires so dense they appeared almost black against the overcast sky.
They approached the grand entrance, guarded by a line of massive, powerful golems. The forty-foot gates, made of clear blue crystal, thrummed with mana. As Orion and Asteria reached the threshold, the gates silently parted.
“Huh,” he muttered.
“Your father must have given you permission,” she said in a strange tone.
It was no secret that Orion intended to spend some time in the Collegium after the war to learn all it had to offer and prepare for the next steps in his life, but he hadn’t expected Antares to grant him such access before things were even finalized.
It didn’t fit his image, but he wasn’t going to look too far into it now, of all times.
More importantly, the receiving courtyard was completely empty.
Even at night, during his last incursion here, there were several people hanging around, going about the duties necessary to keep the Collegium running, yet now there was nobody.
Or rather, there was only one person, hidden behind a shroud of bent light.
His mother noticed before he did, though she didn’t seem alarmed. He kept a wary eye on the approaching figure the Wraithgem projected in his mind, since his physical senses couldn’t detect it.
“Come on, follow me!” A familiar voice whispered harshly, then did something, sending a ripple of mana over them.
Orion almost reacted, barely refraining from ripping the spell apart, when something clicked in his mind. “Naerys?” he asked, even as the cool sensation of an illusion settled around him.
“Obviously,” the invisible form of his father’s apprentice muttered. Now that he had a lock on her position, he inspected her.
Piercing through the illusion with ease, his glasses gave him what he sought.
Naerys — Lady of the Shroud
Class: [Mistress of Falsehoods] [A-rank]
Level: 121
Mind: 911
Attunement: 995
Body: 130
Traits: Mana Manipulation [A-rank]; [Veil of Falsehood] [A-rank]; [Remembrance] [A-rank]; [Rejection] [A-rank]
“Huh,” he muttered, even as his feet led him behind his mother.
He’d always known Naerys was strong and talented, of course. His father wouldn’t have accepted any less from his pupil, especially now that he was Speaker, but he hadn’t known she’d reached tier three or made so much progress.
Or that she was an Extra Ranker, for that matter. The sheer number of stats one could accumulate with an A-rank class was frankly staggering, and she seemed to have done very well for herself.
Not yet capable of contesting someone as powerful as his mother, much less the true monsters like Yue, but well on the way to getting there sooner rather than later.
The last time he’d seen her, almost exactly a year ago, she’d been at the top of tier two. She must have worked very hard to remain worthy of Father’s tutelage.
The interior corridors were vast and eerie, especially because their footsteps made no sound. The air inside felt sterile after so long in the city's buzz.
Orion let the Wraithgem catalog the layout until a booming voice echoed down the hall, muffled but still audible.
They turned a corner and found the gilded double doors of the Senate, guarded by twin spearmen, though a closer look revealed that these, too, were golems of sorts, and, from the familiar hue of the magic, his father’s creations.
“Don’t hesitate; they won’t harm you, of all people,” Naerys said.
Still unable to see her, Orion nonetheless turned toward where the Wraithgem said she was and had to ask.
“What’s actually going on with you?”
He couldn’t confirm it, but he was pretty sure she’d just given him a deadpan look. “What does it look like? I’m giving you a chance to stop this madness before it comes to pass. I do not have the power to do anything about it,” she said bitterly. “But Master told me you were the one who found proof of Ulysses’ betrayal.”
That was… perhaps not surprising. Still. “How did you know we’d come?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” she replied. “Master built a tracker for your signature after you disappeared into the wastes. It started buzzing an hour ago, and I knew you were in the city.”
Orion opened and closed his mouth several times, only to be cut off by his mother’s exasperated sigh. “I’ll have words with him once this is over.”
Knowing exactly how the last time they’d done that had gone down, Orion was suddenly less eager to take vengeance on his father for his breach of privacy.
He shook his head, and with nothing else to hold him back, he pushed the doors open.
The Senate chamber was a vast, circular amphitheater carved from seamless crystal. More than sixty Archmages sat in throne-like chairs arranged in concentric rings. The atmosphere felt oddly informal, resembling an exclusive club rather than a governing body. Mages lounged in their seats, sipping from crystal goblets or jotting notes on floating parchment.
No one looked more than annoyed at having to participate in this session, but then again, many of them had lived through the tumultuous times before the Magocracy. Coups were nothing new to them.
At the highest tier sat First Senator Yztet, a wispy, skeletal mage holding a silver gavel. Spider-like arcs of superheated lightning danced across his narrow shoulders, poised to strike the crystal walls to enforce order.
The fact that he had them so visible meant he’d needed to calm the room more than once.
At the central podium, at the bottom of the concentric rings, stood Venerable Archmage Ulysses.
The ancient mage was as commanding as last time. Broad-shouldered and heavily muscled beneath his deep emerald robes, he gripped a thick bone staff, likely taken from a great beast. His short-cropped white beard framed a face etched with supreme confidence. He exuded an invisible presence, and his subconscious control over the local Field was so precise that not a single mote of mana escaped his grasp.
“Even now, the Speaker is gallivanting around Cyril while the city is under attack," Ulysses rumbled, raising his arms and spreading them to emphasize his point. "He leaves our supply lines to burn as he chases glory in the wastes. We cannot afford a leader who treats the Magocracy as an inconvenience, driving him away from his studies.”
The thud of the gilded doors striking the crystal walls interrupted the admittedly effective speech as the illusions that kept them hidden faded.
Ulysses stopped mid-sentence as the Senators turned. His eyes locked onto Orion, then flicked to Asteria. For a fraction of a second, his confident facade slipped, replaced by a calculating look as he adjusted his plans.
The chamber fell silent. A pair of actual guards stationed near the inner entrance stepped forward, weaving binding spells and ready to apprehend the intruders.
"Hold, Wardens," a voice commanded from the middle rings.
Archmage Suketh rose from his throne. It did Orion well to see his old mentor climbing back up the rungs of power after years in exile at the Lunar Sanctum. He stepped to the edge of his tier, looked down at the guards, then across the room to the highest seats.
"The Veil Priestess of the Sanctum and the son of the Speaker stand before us," Suketh declared, his voice ringing clear through the crystal rotunda. “If they risk breaching a locked city to stand on this floor, they bring news we must hear.”
Suketh turned his gaze toward a gilded throne in the inner circle. "I ask that they be granted protection and access to the floor.”
Though he was technically speaking to the First Senator, his eyes were locked on a different throne. Sitting within it was Archmage Ephebius Antonius Mallon.
The ancient founder of the Magocracy didn’t look like much these days. Wrapped in a comfortable robe, he looked more like a gentle grandfather than the magical powerhouse who had forged Cyril from the ashes of petty kingdoms. Yet the other Archmages instinctively deferred to him, waiting to see how he’d respond.
Mallon shifted in his plush seat, resting his chin on a weathered hand. His sharp eyes studied Orion, pinning him in place, and he felt as if they were seeing everything about him.
Mallon spoke softly, though the room’s acoustics carried his voice to every ear. "Antares’s son has braved much to stand here. Let the boy speak.”
The guards retreated into the shadows at once. Yztet’s lightning flared briefly, signaling his assent.
Ulysses did not step down from the podium, his broad chest expanding as he drew a breath. "This is an emergency session of the Senate, Venerable Mallon. We do not have time to indulge the Speaker’s whelp while the country burns.”
“We have time for the truth, Venerable Ulysses," Mallon countered gently, though a hint of steel sent a ripple through the room. “Go on, boy."