Inside Roderick's mind, a voice slipped in like silk over glass.
"Ooh… who's this one? Ronan?"
The sound made something tighten behind his eyes. Roderick exhaled slowly through his nose, already bracing himself. Of all times…
"Samantha's brother," he answered flatly, pushing the thought aside as if distance alone could dull her interest.
A soft, delighted hum followed. "Ahh… that brat she keeps going on about." Lianxi's tone curled, languid and curious, like a cat circling something fragile. "Now I'm really curious about what his dreams look like…"
Roderick's jaw tightened. "Ugh. Don't use that tone." He dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his temples as if he could knead the irritation out. "How the hell are you a light spirit with that much… whatever this is in your system? Isn't light supposed to mean purity?"
Silence.
Then, when she spoke again, her voice had changed.
Gone was the teasing lilt. What remained was quieter. Deeper. Distant, like something echoing through a hollow space he couldn't see.
"You wouldn't understand…"
The shift made him pause. His brow furrowed slightly. "…Then explain it to me." His tone softened despite himself. "Maybe I'll understand."
For a heartbeat, there was nothing—just the faint hum of his own thoughts.
Then—
"La la la~ I'm not listening! Not listening! La la la!"
The sudden childish sing-song slammed into his patience like a thrown stone.
Roderick froze, staring ahead as if the air itself had offended him. Slowly, deliberately, he rubbed his temples again.
"…Great. Here we go again." His voice flattened into resignation. "Fine. I won't ask. Just go rest already."
A soft, satisfied giggle brushed against his mind, light as a feather—and then she was gone.
The quiet she left behind felt heavier than the noise.
By evening, the Mindward Tower stood wrapped in dim gold light, its tall windows swallowing the last traces of dusk. Inside, the air carried the faint scent of ink, aged parchment, and something metallic—like magic worn thin from constant use.
In one of the inner chambers, Elder Arnold stood at the centre of a long table strewn with diagrams. Lines of arcane circles overlapped across parchment sheets, complex and meticulous. Other elders leaned in, voices low but sharp with focus.
"This iteration might stabilise the cycle," one murmured, tapping a marked intersection.
Another adjusted his spectacles, squinting. "We've said that before. Still… this one feels closer."
Arnold's gaze moved across the blueprint, steady and unreadable. "We've tested enough variations. If this holds—" he paused, fingers pressing lightly against the parchment, "—we move to implementation."
A flicker of anticipation passed through the room.
"Then we shouldn't delay," Arnold added, straightening. "We begin construction immediately."
A ripple of agreement followed, quieter but firmer now.
"Yes, sir."
"Understood."
Arnold nodded once. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we work."
Chairs shifted. Robes whispered against stone. One by one, the elders filed out, their footsteps echoing faintly along the corridor.
Arnold was the last to leave.
The hallway beyond was nearly empty, lit by soft amber lamps that reflected across polished marble floors. His footsteps were unhurried, measured, each one echoing into the stillness.
"Good evening, Elder Arnold."
Arnold turned slightly.
Vaelric approached with a respectful incline of his head, though his pace didn't quite match the calm of his greeting. There was tension in the set of his shoulders, something held too tightly beneath the surface.
"Good evening," Arnold returned with a small nod. "What brings you here, Mr. Vaelric?"
Vaelric fell into step half a pace behind him. For a moment, he said nothing—only the quiet rhythm of their footsteps filled the space between them.
"I reviewed your assigned team," he said finally.
Arnold didn't slow. "And?"
A hesitation. Vaelric's fingers curled slightly at his side before he spoke again. "I don't think it's a wise choice."
That earned him a glance.
"Explain."
Vaelric exhaled through his nose. "Most of our Master Tier disciples are away. I understand why you selected from the Adopt Tier." His voice tightened slightly. "But three of them—Ronan, Darius, Sylphie—they don't belong to any faction or family."
Arnold's gaze returned forward. "And?"
"And Ronan is already entangled with both Viridion and Flamecrest." Vaelric's tone sharpened despite his effort to restrain it. "You call it a ranking battle. They won't."
Arnold's expression didn't change. "If they make a scene over an academy match, they make fools of themselves."
Vaelric's jaw flexed. "You're underestimating what's happening." His voice dropped, quieter now—but heavier. "The balance is shifting. When someone without backing shows potential, the families will act. They'll pull him in. Offer resources we can't match."
His hand tightened into a fist.
"And if we stand in the way," he continued, "it won't be seen as neutrality. It will be seen as interference."
Arnold walked on, unbothered.
Vaelric pressed on, the restraint finally cracking at the edges. "If this escalates, you'll have to answer to the council. And most of them—" he gave a short, humourless breath, "—aren't exactly impartial."
Arnold stopped.
The sudden halt forced Vaelric to do the same.
For a moment, the hallway felt narrower.
"Don't worry," Arnold said, his voice calm, almost quiet.
He turned his head slightly.
"I will handle it."
The certainty in his tone left no space for argument.
Vaelric opened his mouth—then closed it again.
Arnold lifted a hand in a small, dismissive gesture, already moving forward once more.
The conversation was over.
Vaelric remained where he stood for a second longer, his expression tightening as he watched Arnold's retreating figure, the light catching briefly on the polished floor between them.
For the next few days, Ronan's world narrowed to exhaustion.
Morning drills. Precision exercises. Repetition until muscle memory burned deeper than thought itself.
Samantha watched like a hawk that had learned patience the hard way. Ms. Amara said less—but when she did, it cut cleaner.
By the fourth day, Ronan's body no longer protested.
It simply… endured.
That morning, as he dragged himself out of bed, his thoughts flickered with a dull kind of anticipation.
Orin and the others should be back today…
The idea surfaced slowly, like something rising through heavy water.
Aether pool training…
Then another thought, sharper—carrying a faint spark of life.
And tonight…
A crooked smile tugged weakly at his lips as he pulled on his clothes.
Roderick said he's ready to lose all his coin.
He almost laughed.
Almost.
By the time he reached Mr. Alden's training ground, his steps had already slowed.
"You're ten minutes late."
The words cracked through the air like a whip.
Ronan flinched instinctively, his shoulders tightening before he even fully registered the voice.
Samantha stood with her arms crossed, one foot tapping lightly against the ground. Her gaze locked onto him, sharp and unyielding.
Ronan opened his mouth—then closed it again.
There was nothing worth saying.
"…Sorry," he muttered instead.
Her eyes didn't soften.
"Warm up," she said.
And just like that—
The day began.
By the end of the session, Ronan wasn't sure how he was still upright.
His limbs felt distant. Heavy. Each step dragged slightly behind his intent, like his body had stopped fully obeying him somewhere halfway through the day.
Then—
Smack.
A hand landed squarely on his back.
Ronan jolted forward a step, vision blurring for a second.
"What the hell happened to you, man?"
Darius's voice carried its usual energy—too loud, too alive for Ronan's current state.
Ronan turned his head slowly.
He stared.
Said nothing.
His expression alone answered everything.
Darius blinked once… then snorted. "Damn. She really went all out, huh?"
Kael approached from the side, composed as ever, though there was a faint trace of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
"How about dinner at Ember Hearth?" he said, tone even. "The food's good. It might help." His gaze shifted between them. "Roderick invited everyone."
Then, more pointedly—
"So behave."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
His eyes flicked toward Ronan… then Darius.
Darius scoffed, folding his arms. "When have we ever caused trouble for you?"
Ronan let out a dry, breathless huff.
"Look at me," he murmured, lifting one hand weakly before letting it drop again. "Do I look like I can even stand, let alone cause trouble?"
Kael reached out, patting Garrick's shoulder beside him.
"You're my best man tonight."
Garrick grinned easily. "Don't worry. I'll make sure they don't burn the place down."
Ronan groaned under his breath, already moving forward again. "I don't have the energy to argue."
The others laughed, the sound spilling easily into the open air as they made their way toward the inn.
The sky above had softened into gold and amber, the last light of day stretching long shadows across the path.
The Ember Hearth Inn welcomed them before they even stepped inside.
Warm light spilt from its windows, flickering gently against the evening air. The scent of roasted meat, spiced broth, and fresh bread drifted outward, wrapping around them like an embrace.
Ronan inhaled—and for the first time that day, something in his chest loosened.
Inside, the low hum of conversation and clinking cups filled the space. A staff member greeted them with a polite bow, and Kael stepped forward, mentioning Roderick's name.
They were led upstairs without delay.
The private room was already alive with light.
A grand chandelier hung above a large round table, its glow reflecting off polished wood and glass. Shadows danced faintly along the walls, shifting with every flicker of flame.
Around the table sat familiar faces.
Roderick. Orin. Leon. Eryk. Dorian. Oliver.
As Ronan stepped inside, Orin rose smoothly from his seat.
"Good evening, Ronan."
The greeting was steady. Warm.
Ronan paused.
For a brief second, it felt… out of place.
"Good?" he echoed under his breath, the word catching slightly as if it didn't quite fit his day.
Then he forced a crooked smile.
"Ah… yeah. Good evening."
Roderick gestured toward the empty seats. "We all know each other. No need for formalities."
Ronan dropped into a chair with more relief than grace, the wood creaking faintly under the sudden weight.
"I called everyone here," Roderick continued, leaning back slightly, "to discuss the expedition."
That caught Ronan's attention.
"We leave tomorrow morning."
Ronan blinked.
"…Tomorrow?"
The word came out sharper than he intended.
"I thought we had more time."
Roderick exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So did I."
A brief pause.
"We don't."
Kael leaned back in his chair, arms resting loosely. "Even with a fast-flying boat, it'll take two or three days to reach the site."
Murmurs followed. Nods. Quiet calculations passing between them.
The initial tension lingered—but only for a moment.
Food arrived.
Then drinks.
Then—
Stories.
At first, it was cautious. Measured.
But as the evening wore on, the room shifted.
Laughter came easier. Voices overlapped. Old experiences were dragged into the open, polished, exaggerated, and contested.
Ronan found himself listening more than speaking, the exhaustion in his body slowly easing under the warmth of the room, the rhythm of conversation, the simple presence of others.
For a while, he almost forgot the weight pressing on his shoulders.
Almost.
Because across the table—
Oliver remained still.
Quiet.
His gaze rarely lifted. And when it did, it slid past Ronan and Darius as if they weren't worth the effort.
But when it touched Kael—
There was something colder there.
Something that didn't belong to the rest of the room.
And it didn't go unnoticed.