Jace stepped out of the elevator. They had arrived at another garden. This one, however, was indoors. It was nearly five stories tall, and encompassed the entire breadth of the floor. Plants with broad leaves and fronds filled every inch. They seemed suited to the warm environment. Every breath he took felt like it was half air and half water. He wanted to spit it out, but couldn’t.

A single empty boardwalk paved through a valley of broad-leafed plants. Fluorescent lanterns flanked it, but more light radiated from the overhead ceiling lamps, which were bright enough to mimic daylight. They glared off the windows at the edge of the floor. Jace could barely see the panorama of the city beyond.

“It is just ahead,” the otter-creature said, motioning down the path with one of his webbed hands. “Please enjoy yourselves.” He stayed in the elevator, even as doors hissed shut.

“Should…should we be worried that they brought us right to Stenol?” Jace asked. “Kinfild, something about this doesn’t make sense.”

Lessa added, “Or that they knew your name?”

“I’ll call it fortune until we can tell otherwise,” said Kinfild. “They wouldn’t try to assassinate Stenol in front of a crowd, that is for certain—it would be a diplomatic disaster, no matter where Stenol is from.”

“Can they even kill him?” Jace whispered. “He’s stronger than you, right?”

“Indeed.” Kinfild rubbed his shoulder. “A single shot won’t do much. Put enough low-level soldiers together, all with Aes rifles? It would be enough firepower.”

They followed the path. Chatter leaked out from beyond the fronds, originating from an amphitheatre debossed into the floor. They lingered at the edge, peering out from behind a set of fronds. People lined the seats, and more armed soldiers in silver plate armor stood at the top of the ampitheatre, unmoving aside from the occasional tap of a finger against a rifle.

They pushed through the fronds and entered the theatre. A soldier turned to them immediatly and held out a hand. “You three weren’t invited.”

Lessa blurted out, “I’m pretty sure that otter guy just said that we—”

Before she could finish, a different soldier dashed over, his armour clattering. He said, “It’s alright. Stenol requested their presence.” He motioned towards the amphitheater with his hand and told Kinfild, “Please take a seat.”

“Apologies for the confusion, and thank you,” Kinfild said.

Jace shut his eyes. Requested their presence?

Stenol better have some good information for them.

They continued down the set of moss-covered amphiteatre stairs, passing between an intermittent spattering of patrons. There were many different species, and Jace couldn’t focus on a single one. Everyone wore long, colourful coats and suits, and hats with holographic plumes. Beside every important-looking person sat an entourage of well-dressed servants and kyborg companions.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Lessa whispered to Jace. He didn’t respond.

“Now’s not the time to talk like that.” Kinfild’s voice was soft enough that Jace could barely hear it. They took their seats without delay.

Next to them sat a middle-aged human man in a red coat with elaborate gold embroidery. His attendants remained silent and stared straight ahead. The man stared at them for a second, then sneered, “You are almost late.”

Kinfild didn’t reply, and neither did Lessa. Did they both not hear, or were they just minding their own business? He didn’t know. Any other day, he could have been convinced that the man was worth ignoring, but the way he stared and the way he spoke made Jace feel otherwise. He had a suspicion the man might cause a fuss if he didn’t get a response.

Jace whispered, “But Kinfild is not late. Please, mind your own business.”

“That is an aggressive stance for a servant to take, especially one of the illustrious wizard Kinfild.” The man paused, as if choking on his words. “It did say to arrive early on our invitation.”

Jace flinched, but he conjured a response quickly, and, forcing as much formality into his words, he said, “And it never specified to what extent.”

The man laughed, then turned his head in the opposite direction. “It is about to start.”

“What is?”

“I haven’t the slightest of clues.” With a disgruntled exhale, the man leaned back against the stone casually. “But you do not refuse an invitation from Elder Byseg Stenol.”

Jace inched away, then glanced at Kinfild and Lessa. They both shrugged, then Lessa asked, “It didn't say on your invite?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“No,” stated the man. “On yours?”

Lessa provided, “Dunno. We didn’t get one.” Jace bit his lip, but he was thankful to have a little assistance in the conversation—or, as it might have been, an interrogation.

The man smoothed out his coat with a flustered flick of his hand. His mouth opened, but he never had a chance to speak. The guards all snapped to attention, and their armour clattered

“That’s quite enough,” Kinfild whispered. He laid a hand on Jace’s shoulder, then looked up at the opposite side of the amphitheatre.

From behind the fronds, a regal man with light grey skin and white hair emerged. He wore an ivory robe with bright gold embroidery, and a thick red sash ran across his body—from his right shoulder to left hip. His body was broad and shoulders wide. With each step, the air seemed to pulse away from him, amplified by the long staff he carried. In an instance, Jace knew: that was Byseg Stenol.

For good measure, a tag appeared above his head: [Level 36 Aes Wielder – Soul-Circle Opening – Ninth Stage]

The Elder walked across the theatre until he reached the pond at the center. He stepped up onto the platform in its middle, then pressed his staff against the marble. “Good evening,” he began.

The nearby soldiers held their rifles ready to use, but didn’t raise. At any moment, they might turn on Stenol. But…in front of so many other (supposedly) important people? It didn’t seem smart, and that concerned Jace even more.

The guards showed no hostility to the Elder at all.

The crowd began murmuring. They glanced at each other and spoke in quiet voices. Stenol raised a hand, and immediately, they obeyed. The guards obediently took a step back. Not a single one of them hesitated.

These weren’t assassins.

“How powerful is this guy?” Lessa whispered. Jace leaned closer, curious about the answer as well.

“Officially?” Kinfild set his hands on his knees. “He has no political station or military power. But, outside the Starrealm, his wisdom is known and trusted…and many come to listen. Many powerful men act on his counsel.”

Stenol turned in a half-circle, observing every member of the crowd with his gaze. When it reached Jace, he felt a chill run down his spine.

“He just scanned out spirits,” Kinfolk whispered. “He knows what you are.”

Good. Great. Jace only grimaced.

Stenol felt like a snake wrapped up in the skin of a…well, a humanoid man. He looked very strong, wise, and still had some shreds of handsomeness, but there was something terrible beneath.

Jace’s newest quest was starting to feel more appropriate.

“It is late,” said Stenol. “The galaxy’s days are running short. The darklings are roaming free at night, and it is likely that they will begin venturing out at daytime. Black lightning crackles in the nebulae beyond the Wall. The worldjumpers are arriving.” Stenol smiled, then tilted his staff towards Jace, revealing him to the crowd. “He and Kinfild have come, seeking my advice and wisdom. And they have come to the perfect place.”

All heads turned towards Jace. He lowered his head sheepishly, expecting them to shower him with questions or barrage him with quests and requests. No one said anything, but he caught a few scowls out the corner of his eye.

“My wisdom is this: the Enemy Beyond the Wall will return soon,” Stenol continued. “A month, a year, perhaps ten. Within your lifetimes, I guarantee it. It is likely that the Starrealm’s settlements and fortress-worlds outside the Wall have already fallen. How long until the Wall is breached, and if then, how will the Starrealm defend the galaxy? Can we trust a star-nation”—he thrust his arm out towards the window, and Jace suspected he pointed in the general direction of the Starrealm’s lands—“all the way across the galaxy, to protect our worlds? To protect the empires you have built?”

A man in a pale blue double-breasted coat stood up. All across his chest were holographic projections of military awards. “Koedor’s people cannot trust the Starrealm,” he said.

“And they are wise not to, archduke,” said Stenol.

Jace gnawed his lip. The way Stenol spoke was placating, while also sycophantic. It was manipulative. Jace looked down at Kinfild. “What is Stenol doing?”

Kinfild turned his head back towards Jace. Concern glittered in his eyes. “He’s…never spoken about the Starrealm like this before.”

“I’ve gathered you all here today simply to hear my humble counsel,” Stenol said, his voice now booming around the room. Red Aes blazed around his throat, strengthening his vocal cords and making his voice louder than before. Dust floated out of his hand—remainder of a technique card activating, though Jace hadn’t seen the card’s name.

“Five thousand years ago, the Starrealm defeated the Enemy and banished their dark forces beyond the Wall,” Stenol continued. “To ensure that evil could never again conquer the galaxy, they pleaded with the Split for an assurance—that, if the Enemy was rising again, the Split would summon four mighty heroes to aid us.” Stenol chuckled coldly. “Ten years ago, the Split kept its promise. Those four mighty heroes arrived. Bound to the Starrealm’s corruption and weakness, they failed. They didn’t vanquish the Enemy; they disappeared. We thought that our doom had been postponed. Now, we know that we were deceived, for the darkness is rising again.

“The new worldjumpers will be no different. They will tie themselves inextricably to the Starrealm, and they will fail again. We cannot trust in the Starrealm, and we cannot trust in the worldjumpers. We must take action into our own hands.”

A blonde-haired woman stood, her dress rippling and her tiara glimmering. “The Wall is guarded by the Watchmen.”

“The Watchmen have grown blind,” Stenol spat. “They are more likely to open the gates to the Enemy than defend the wall.” He tapped his staff against the pedestal. “You’re married to one, aren’t you, Princess? You’ve seen how they operate first hand.”

The comment earned a spattering of laughter from the crowd. When they quieted down, a stocky, three-foot tall man with a long, gray beard—a dwarf, perhaps?—asked, “What do you suggest, Elder Stenol?”

“Be ready,” Stenol said. “If the Starrealm’s incompetence is laid bare, I would advise that you take aggressive and decisive action. If all of the empires of the east join in an alliance and declare war on the Starrealm, you will stand in the streets of Kinath-Aertes by the next Changing of the Season. You have been amassing armies and weapons. I’ve seen your starfleets, and I’ve witnessed your displays of military might. You will be victorious.” He tapped his staff, then stepped back from the pedestal. “I pray that you listen and hold my counsel deep within your hearts. That is all I have to say.”