"At last, we have arrived," Eryn announced.

We halted in front of a grand edifice that stood defiantly among the surrounding structures and the bustling streets near the central square. The building was an amalgamation of a mansion and a miniature castle, ensconced behind a formidable fence adorned with a crest of five needles. The nearby sign declared it to be the "Weavers' Guild: Vandaris Branch."

"It is I, Eryn Marion, fifth seat of the branch," she stated with authority.

The guard acknowledged her presence promptly. "Yes, ma'am. We have been expecting you," he replied, unlocking the gate. His attire marked him as distinct from the city's entrance guards.

Escorted inside, we were treated with deference, a clear indication that they were well-informed of my identity. After a brief wait, a servant guided us to a chamber where the guild's officers awaited.

"This way," she said.

As we entered the spacious, oval-shaped hall on the building's highest floor, I marveled at the dark hues that dominated the room, emphasizing its imposing atmosphere. Stained glass windows adorned the domed ceiling, and tapestries depicting intricate designs akin to magical weaves adorned the walls.

Three weavers occupied the round table at the center, and the one in the middle rose to greet us.

"Welcome to the Weavers' Guild. I am Henric Saran, president and first seat of the Vandaris Branch," he introduced himself.

Henric, an attractive man in his mid-thirties with combed-back blond hair and a decorated robe, exuded confidence and a social air, akin to a young president of a successful venture capital firm during an IPO. He seemed to think highly of himself, which was quite evident in his demeanor.

"I am the Archmage, Emberus Blazeus Zandros, from Castle Ameria. It is an honor to be invited to your establishment," I replied, maintaining a standard introduction. The comforting notion of having a fixed address like Castle Ameria did wonders for my sense of stability.

"The honor is ours," chimed in the man to Henric's right, rising from his seat. "Likewise, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," added the woman to his left, following suit.

Yorick, the vice president and second seat, and Nalina, the third seat, presented themselves with a mix of politeness and apprehension. They both had a certain steely nervousness in their expressions, while Eryn remained unfazed.

"Please, take a seat," Henric gestured, and I sat down across from them. Eryn moved to the other end of the table, next to Nalina.

As I seated myself in the ornate wooden chair, I couldn't help but observe my companions. Henric was the only one who seemed truly at ease, while Yorick and Nalina appeared visibly tense.

"I heard you have come from a distant land. How do you find Vandaris thus far?" Henric inquired, initiating the conversation with small talk.

"The architecture is splendid, and the people are lively. It's a good city in my opinion," I replied.

Henric seemed intent on engaging in polite banter before delving into more substantial matters, which indicated that he was not solely preoccupied with his own research—a positive sign.

"Well, I hope you thoroughly enjoy the sight of Vandaris's famous network of canals and sluice gates and take the opportunity to witness one of the city's boat dances," he continued.

"Thank you for the recommendation," I replied, intrigued by the prospect of watching boat dances.

"President, perhaps we should proceed with the main agenda," Yorick whispered to Henric.

"Yes, you're right," Henric concurred, and the inconsequential chatter ceased. It appeared that Yorick served as a reminder for Henric to focus on important matters, which might be valuable for the guild's organizational structure.

"As of now, all we can confirm with our own eyes about you is that you have no mana reserves. However, reports from the Adamant Knights, the Vandaris Adventurers' Guild, and Eryn suggest that you possess a grand form of weaving capable of obliterating an entire legion of fiends," Henric stated with a hint of irritation.

Albert and Petr did mention the city council and the Adventurers' Guild, respectively. The fact that Henric was aware of their reports implied some level of information sharing within the city.

"The mere suggestion that there exists another form of weaving, which follows a different set of rules than the ones we know, is astonishing to us," Henric added.

"I could say the same. From my perspective, my magic is the norm, and weaving is the astonishingly foreign technique," I retorted.

Henric, clearly suspicious, seemed to be testing my willingness to cooperate and the veracity of my claims. I made every effort to appear accommodating and alleviate their concerns, with the hope of fostering a collaborative relationship.

"We would appreciate your assistance in understanding weaving better. In exchange, I shall offer as much information as I can about mage magic," I proposed.

Henric and the other weavers remained cautious, but they seemed willing to entertain the notion. Nalina even hesitantly asked if I could create dragons and fiends out of nothing.

"Hmm… Very well," I agreed.

In the grand hall, I started casting the spell, garnering murmurs of surprise from the weavers. Unlike traditional magic that required complex incantations, weaving demanded simplicity—a single phrase that might have appeared foreign to them.

Yorick held a crystalline medallion, purportedly sensitive to mana, as if to gauge my abilities. However, nothing seemed to register on the device. Their expressions wavered between suspicion, interest, and scorn, except for Eryn, who stared daggers at those who doubted me.

"As a consequence of this spell, I shall summon a baby red dragon under my command for thirty minutes. Summon Monster," I invoked, channeling Arcane energy into a crimson flow spiraling at the center of the hall.

The weavers gasped and stared in awe at the red spiral, as the dragon began taking shape before their eyes. Crimson scales covered its body, and its reptilian head bore sinister eyes and vicious teeth. The dragon was a hatchling, the size of a bull, an appropriate manifestation given the space and location.

"Gyahr!" the dragon roared.

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I could sense their fear and fascination as they beheld the creature I summoned. Yet, after roaring, the dragon obediently laid itself down on the floor, a display of submission to my command.

Henric, with his staff ready, and Yorick, who had fallen back in fear, were in a state of shock. Nalina had taken refuge under the table.

Eryn had observed the situation quietly but had finally had enough. "You all are disgraceful!" she berated them.

Eryn's outburst spurred the weavers to react and regain their composure. They were quick to reassure me of their belief in my magic's authenticity.

"Can that dragon…do anything?" Henric asked with hesitation.

I couldn't help but feel exasperated. Was showing them a real dragon not enough? Did they expect me to perform more?

"Don't worry. It's real. See?" I asserted.

The dragon, following my telepathic command, spread its wings wide and breathed a

fiery blast that filled the hall with heat. I ensured it didn't harm anyone, but the spectacle overwhelmed the weavers.

Henric, Yorick, and Nalina were on the brink of panic. Eryn and I remained calm, but the situation had become tense.

"That's enough! You've convinced us your magic is real," Henric said, trying to regain control.

Apologizing for my unintentional display, I dispelled the dragon, hoping they would now see the potential of my unique abilities.

The crimson wyrm dissolved into the nothingness, leaving behind only the heavy memory of its presence. Once its image faded, a collective exhale echoed from the group of weavers.

A palpable unease hung in the air as they attempted to regain composure. Chairs were righted, tea was sipped with trembling hands, yet the weight of the moment was evident in the deep creases of concern on their faces. Henric, usually the epitome of confidence, looked as if he had been confronted with a ghost from his past. Yorick and Nalina, wide-eyed, seemed trapped between awe and trepidation. Only Eryn stood unaffected, her steady gaze locked on me.

Had I been too theatrical? A silent lament circled in my thoughts.

"My apologies for the display," I began, trying to bridge the gap. "Are you now persuaded of the authenticity of magery?"

Externally, I projected an image of cool confidence, but internally I chastised myself for the rashness of my demonstration.

Henric, taking a moment to find his voice, responded, "Yes, indeed. Your artistry is... beyond words. We were wrong to doubt, and for that, I seek forgiveness."

I nodded, appreciative of his gesture. "Thank you for seeing reason. It's not easy admitting one's misjudgment."

The room, though still charged, began to shift. The initial shock was waning.

A little later...

"Fascinating... To think such an arcane talent lay hidden."

"So, this 'Aether Strand' or 'mana fibers' you speak of..."

In the time that followed, I described the foundations of the magical system, albeit simplifying certain complexities. I tactfully omitted the intricacies of spell preparations. The mechanics of my magical abilities were, after all, rooted in a game from another lifetime.

Eryn, always sharp, synthesized the conversation. "So, the mana we're accustomed to exists externally, in nature and within us. Yet, Lord Xandros draws his power from the Arcane directly?"

Precisely my struggle—using one term for dual meanings. "For clarity," I suggested, "let's use 'magical power' to denote my energy."

Henric's gaze became distant, contemplative. "Imagine harnessing such 'magical power'. The potential..."

"But the mastery," Yorick interjected, "seems a lifetime's pursuit."

Nalina, ever the dreamer, pondered, "Could one blend both forms, I wonder?"

Their conversations diverged into multiple threads, each weaving their own tapestry of ideas. Sensing my cue, I prepared my departure from the council of weavers.

“President Sylem,” I began, my tone measured, “My aspiration is to cultivate a harmonious alliance with your guild, treating us as equal entities.”

Sylem hesitated, his eyes darting away. "I value your overture, but..."

Henric's thoughts were veiled, but his hesitance was palpable. Pushing him into this arrangement would surely strain relations, I reckoned.

Before he could find the words, I interjected, "You needn't provide an answer immediately."

His eyes flitted back, a mingling of gratitude and surprise. “Your brand of magic is no doubt a revelation for traditionalists like us,” I continued, “Perhaps it’s wise to deliberate amongst yourselves. Should you have queries, beckon me and I shall elucidate.”

I might have upended their worldview, I mused. A respite to reassess might be apt. A solitary conclave couldn’t resolve such profound intricacies.

Eryn, ever the voice of reason, chimed in, “Indeed, President. Let’s absorb this newfound knowledge and consult our peers.”

Straightening his stance, Sylem finally met my gaze. “My apologies, Lord Xandros. Your understanding is appreciated.”

Exiting the chamber, I overheard the murmur of weavers. “‘A bolt out of the blue’? What curious vernacular.” “Perhaps a mage’s parlance?”

Feeling a twinge of frustration, I remarked, “It seems the weavers’ guild won’t be my sanctuary tonight.”

Eryn, with a hint of playful chiding, responded, “A difficult lodgment, given recent revelations.”

Concern flickered within me. “I hope my actions haven’t marred your standing.”

A cheeky grin formed on Eryn’s lips. “Well, a confession of fraudulent magic might aid my cause.”

Her jest and my understanding of her innate valor told me she was merely breaking the tension. “If it shields your reputation, maybe I should confess.”

She laughed. “Such a jester.”

As our levity subsided, Eryn's tone grew somber. "I empathize with Henric’s turmoil. I took up weaving in the wake of a fiends onslaught a decade ago, seeking the strength to defend Vandaris."

Her grip tightened as she added, “Henric and I, we've both harnessed weaving to ward off fiends, but his ambition is more specific—to emerge a hero. My dread is seeing your magic overshadow our achievements. Henric’s is to see the status he carved be upended by you.”

Chastising myself internally, I contemplated the parallels with struggles I knew from America.

Searching for words of solace, I posited, “I believe that no external force can negate your accomplishments or the gratitude of those you’ve shielded.”

Caught in our shared introspection, Eryn’s retort was almost a whisper. “Yet the dilemma remains.”

I delved into memory. “Recall the nest encounter. Your wind weaving shielded me. My magic pales in comparison.”

She looked stunned, then veiled her face. “Fine, I’ll concede this once. But don’t make it habitual.”

Our banter faded as I hesitated, recalling my pending rendezvous with Lana. “About that, I’m rather... directionally challenged here.”

She huffed in exasperation. “We must hurry before the districts seal their gates at sunset.”

Guided by Eryn's brisk pace, I absorbed the tapestry of Vandaris—its vibrant markets, artisans mentoring apprentices, joyous children, and somber beggars.

The cityscape evolved as dusk settled, lanterns illuminating the streets. The canals showcased a unique spectacle.

“Is that Henric’s renowned boat dance?” I queried.

Eryn nodded. “Indeed.”

Watching the floating parade, captivated by its splendor, I realized Vandaris had much to offer, and hoped to bridge the gap between its traditions and my alien magic.

Paper Lanterns flickered on the stage, reminiscent of the ethereal glow common in the distant lands of Asia. Dancers in red and white silk seemed to float, their garments flowing with each graceful move. The sounds of music wafted from boats nearby; light notes masking a deeper, melancholic tone. When the dancers twirled together, it reminded me of the distant glow of the city lights.

“The beauty is unmatched, yet there's an undertone of somberness,” I remarked, lost in the spectacle.

Eryn's eyes, usually so fiery, bore a softer, sadder sheen. “It’s a requiem. A dance for those lost to the fiends,” she murmured.

A heavy silence settled between us. I remembered our journey, the vast landscapes, the dangers, the camaraderie. A world of vibrant life and brutal death.

She gestured toward a monument, worn but dignified, marking the site of a brave last stand. “Vandaris faced the fiend onslaught a decade ago,” Eryn’s voice held reverence.

Examining the monument, I murmured an old Baptist prayer. Eryn watched, her expression a mix of curiosity and respect.

“The customs might differ, but the sentiment remains,” I remarked.

The road ahead led us to Commerce Street, marked by the colorful banners of bustling shops. “There,” Eryn pointed, “Lana’s dwelling.”

“I shouldn’t keep you any longer,” I began, but there was gratitude I needed to convey. “Eryn, thank you.”

She played with a strand of her hair, clearly trying to deflect the sentiment. “I merely pointed out a path, nothing more.”

“And yet, it was invaluable. Truly, thank you.”

A smirk. “The famed Archmage, indebted to me? A rare privilege.”

I chuckled, appreciating her attempt at levity. “My title may seem grand, but it’s a guise. Underneath, I’m just… me.”

Eryn’s expression softened. “Beneath the Archmage’s cloak, I see someone genuine. In our world, every day is a gift, every moment uncertain. If there’s a hero who can defy that darkness, perhaps it's you.”

She paused, her gaze locking with mine, a deep well of emotion and resolve. “Wherever your path leads, I believe it will be right. Whether I can walk it with you… only time will tell.”

A heavy silence settled. Eryn gave a small nod, her face a mask once more. “Good night.” And she vanished into the night.