Igern looked up, towards the mending palace cracks and the closing void gaps. Towards the falling debris, which now moved up, back to their original positions, or, at least, as close as they could go.
Some renovations and adjustments would be needed, the marble walls and ceilings merging into a misshapen surface, one that, even when remaining firm and standing, was a mockery of its previous magnificence.
But, even so, the ability of crossing space with magic, to invade, control and modify pocket dimensions from outside was impossible to attain for most mages. For most meaning all of them except one.
This was the power of the Director, a power rivaling the gods themselves.
One Igern envied. If he could reach it, if he could obtain it, even just for a minute, he would be able to…
“Hey, you.”
The consequences didn’t matter. They never had.
“Styrger.”
His eyebrows twitched. He tried to shape an ice spear, but the flinching, piercing pain in his chest stopped him. He needed more time to heal his Esca. “You’re getting on my nerves.”
Not as much as Dianthus did, but close.
“I hope those nerves you speak of are the ones in your fancy ears, since you’re so insistent on ignoring your elders.” Carthagia said. “Now quit being such a perched chicken and get your ass down here.”
Really fucking close.
But he obeyed, jumping down the misaligned debris. His Esca complained, his blood boiling under the mockery of a dishonored, defeated, imprisoned head.
He was of the Tyrant Paradigm. A Paradigm not exactly known for being merciful, patient and understanding. He never harbored any intentions of playing games or joining jokes.
Kings laughed at jesters, tyrants chopped their heads. Or whatever remained in this case.
And yet he recognized those intense feelings as a result of forcefully opening his Esca not long ago. Carthagia’s words bothered him, yes, but he wasn’t so far gone to try to kill him.
Not sunken deep enough to become a witch.
Creftalia deactivated the barrier the moment he got close, which bothered him even more. What if he had gone with the intention of killing them? She knew that her grandfather was pushing him to at least retaliate in some way. All that trust would only get her killed someday.
“A-are you hurt?” Creftalia asked, looking up and down at him repeatedly.
“No.” At least, not in a way she could treat him.
“Oh, he is, but the wounds of the heart are not so easy to fix, even more so if they come from the blood-”
With a quick move, he snatched the cage from Creftalia’s hands.
“Ah!”
Enough of this damned old man, he was going to yeet him through the window. Maybe he managed to crash him against the pocket dimension’s edge. And, if not, at least he wouldn’t have to hear him anymore.
Igern turned, and then, a sharp stab dug into his mind, stopping his muscles.
“Now, now, son of Styrger, why don’t you listen to me for a bit while they don’t listen?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m going to call you that as long as you insist on following in his footsteps.” Before Igern complained that no, he wasn’t, Carthagia added. “On the suicidal mission, the-end-justifies-the-means shit both of you have.”
“It’s not the same.” Igern said through gritted teeth, wanting to smash the cage against something. In fact, he had tried to, several times, but the skills of an Archmage were no joke, nullifying his body completely.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
His mind wanted to, but, every time he gave the order to his body to move, it didn’t connect, the intention lost somewhere.
Where were the Luacae? How far did they end up? Did Carthagia estimate their positions when picking Creftalia’s position?
He glanced at Creftalia, who had a stupid expression on her face, like when she was lost in thought. So, even she was under a spell.
“As I said, let’s talk while they don’t listen. You and me, man to man.”
“Man to head.”
“Hah, didn’t know you made jokes.”
“I don’t.”
“You should make some every now and then, it’s good for the mind. In fact, mages that laugh more accumulate corruption slower than mages who don’t. A smile a day-”
“Is this what you wanted to say?” His patience was running thin, so thin it had stopped existing since a while ago.
Carthagia sighed. “I hope you don’t treat your dates like this… Alright, calm down, I don’t even know how your eyebrows can keep on twitching even under my control. That amount of spite you’re running with it's not sane, you’ll pop a vein doing that.”
“...”
“You need to understand, I’m an old man, I like to ramble.”
“Get to the point.” One of his fingers moved. Good.
Carthagia sighed, rolling his eyes. “How's the split? It’s not fifty-fifty, is it? It’s never equal with hybrids. One part always has a deeper reach than the other.”
Igern froze, choking on his tongue… even when it was more him biting it, a metallic taste filling his mouth. “Why are you asking-”
“There’s not much to do in a cage without a body, so we talk. And me and your father are something like shelf neighborhoods. He rambles about you a lot, his beloved successor.”
“...”
“Don’t give me that scary look, I find Styrger’s ideas a bunch of ridiculous rubbish! And yet, even trash has something of value. So, I’d like that little something of value to do me a tiny favor.”
“No.”
“I know how to break that spell.”
“... Speak.”
…
Winter looked up to the mending pocket dimension.
During all her life, she had defeated innumerable mages, some with Escas more evolved than her, with more resources, with more allies… Even when the gap between her and her enemy was immense, she had some ideas of how to defeat them. All of them. Without counting on luck or fate, just on her skills.
She knew how to confront any mage in and out the Mergifari. Any except the Director.
Her mind went blank when thinking about it. Not out of fear or respect, she simply didn’t know how.
Knowing a mage’s Paradigm meant knowing their strengths and weaknesses, and not even that helped. The Director was simply out of reach.
Wait for her to die of age.
Wait for her to die of Corruption.
Those were the only options she’d been given from everyone. To wait.
She was a hunter, where waiting was part of the hunt. Even so, waiting for the other party to drop dead on her own…
I want to fight her. Before she dies, I want to find a way to reach her. Those were her deepest thoughts, the ones she hadn’t shared even with the Queen.
She hadn’t become a mage for political power, lasting beauty, increased intelligence or longer life. Even when she had three of those things already, they didn’t matter. Just some extras.
The thing she wanted the most was to fight. The stronger her enemy, the better.
And the Director was the strongest. A dying star, one supposed to crash and burn someday. One that deep down, Winter hoped lasted a little longer. As long as she needed to find a way to reach it.
If you have to die, let me be the one to kill you.
It wasn’t personal, even with the conflicts between Arhontissa and the Mergifari at the present. She didn’t care about politics, never had.
“Winter.”
Snapped away from her thoughts, she turned, looking at Igern, who was carrying Creftalia under one arm like a sack of potatoes and a cage in the other. A cage with a very disheveled head inside.
It wasn’t so messy before… “Igern, don’t shake the Silver Cages, they are fragile.”
She saw him open and close his mouth, not a hint of guilt in his face, before he cleared his throat. “We know who took Dianthus.”
Winter’s expression changed, no longer interested in the cage’s state. “Who?”
“Oi, don’t steal my moment. Look at me.” Cathagia said.
Winter looked down before squinting, pressing her lips in a thin line. “If you answer me with some stupid riddle or joke…”
“It’s an easy one. Really easy, even someone like you will have no problem guessing it.” When Winter didn’t say anything, simply pulled out her shotgun, he added. “Someone who already took a mage from you, which I guess makes your disgust for him not so baseless.”
Winter’s eyes widened slightly, and the next instant, she rushed out.
“Don’t kill him! Was kicking down the palace’s door necessary?”
“She does that sometimes…” Creftalia said.