Eric compulsively tugged on the edge of his tailcoat to straighten it. Not for the first time today. Then he ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he should cut it before the ceremony. There was enough time, right? Megan, for her part, was constantly running a hand over the sleeves of her red robe. Both of them were wearing more elaborate versions of their usual uniforms. It was required by their respective teachers.

“This is a formal ceremony,” Ehran had said. “You have to look the part. The people think you’re distinguished and expert. Even if you’re not, you have to appear so.”

It said something to the tension of the moment that Eric could only manage a thin smile at the joke. Ehran had clapped him on the shoulder then and changed to a serious tone. “You’ve more than earned this, Eric. You deserve what’s coming.”

His mentor, along with the Archmage, had departed through the large door after that, leaving their apprentices to a nervous silence. That parting comment was the greatest source of anxiety. Eric decided that his uniform looked fine, and moved away from the mirror. Megan took his place at once, checking her hair, which was already fine. They couldn’t help but obsess over tiny details, wondering when they’d be called in to end this nightmare.

“Are you going back?” Megan asked, speaking for the first time in some minutes.

Eric turned in the midst of his pacing, frowning. He didn’t take long to consider his reply. “No. Not if I can avoid it. You?”

She looked at him in the mirror, and he could tell that she’d gone through a similar thought process over the past week. “No. I’ve made a life here, and I want to see it complete.”

Eric nodded in agreement. “But the question is, will Samuel let us stay?”

“That’s a good point,” Megan said, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “He wouldn’t just send us back against our wills, will he?”

“He might not be the one who gets to choose,” Eric said solemnly. “Arcana told him to bring us here. He might order our return as well. We don’t really belong here, after all.”

Her brow furrowed as she thought about that. They didn’t get much of a chance to consider the thought further, however, as the door opened, revealing a Royal Herald, one of the men and women in charge of guarding official ceremonies. They were rarely put to work, even in a busy capital such as Milagre. The man, clad head to toe in shining black chainmail and a bright red surcoat, pushed the door wide open.

“Now entering our heroes,” he said, his voice booming out across the throne room. “Eric Breeden and Megan Richards.”

A storm of applause started up. There must have been a couple hundred people in the room, Eric thought wildly. As he stumbled forward to take the lead, he saw all of them lined on either side of the throne room, all clapping enthusiastically. Members of the Royal Guard kept the crowd at bay, but it was clear they were only just managing it. Eric couldn’t help hesitating as soon as he was inside, and Megan bumped into him from behind.

“Keep moving,” Ehran’s voice came from his left. He got a light hit in the small of his back, which propelled him forward. “Just ignore them.”

That was easier said than done, Eric thought, as he started down the walkway again. It seemed to stretch for miles. Doing his best to keep his head level, he paced forward, keeping his gaze locked on the queen. He tuned out the shouts of his name coming from the audience. Somehow, he managed to make it to the base of the throne dais without tripping or stumbling on his feet, which felt very much like cement bricks by now.

He went down on one knee before the Queen, as was proper. Beside him, Megan copied the action, and they both lowered their heads. The crowd gradually fell silent, and the Queen stood. She was wearing a more ceremonial version of the armor Eric had seen on her, and her long silver hair was tied back in an elaborate bun. She carried a sword on her hip, the official weapon of the Ciayol line. Close up, Eric could make out the crossed scythes pattern, the emblem of Bora Bora.

“Rise, Eric Breeden,” the Queen said, her voice smooth. It carried without effort across the silent room. Eric rose shakily to his feet and looked the queen in her eyes. “First and foremost, I must thank you. Your tireless efforts and quick action were what saved this palace from certain destruction.”

Eric bobbed his head, unable to speak. The Queen seemed to expect nothing else and continued. “It is fitting that I, as the sovereign ruler of this nation, reward you for your valiant efforts. What I offer cannot compare to the adulation that the people have for you, but I offer it nonetheless.”

She beckoned imperiously to someone just outside of Eric’s vision, and Ehran appeared, walking with a slow and deliberate pace. He was carrying a wrapped bundle of cloth in his arms, and Eric caught the flash of a wolf’s head crest. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself. He must have mistook the heraldry for something else. Please, he thought in panic, please just let it be the Chevalier thing again.

“I have spoken with your Master and the Captain of Issho-Ni. While your journey of mastery will never end, as it does for us all, they agree completely that you have what it takes to deserve the mantle of Master.”

She undid the simple knot on the wrapping and pulled it out. A pristine white robe, cut identical to Ehran’s, with red fabric around the hems. On the back was a stylized version of the wolf head’s crest, and below it, a symbol he didn’t know. It looked like a sword, but it appeared to be descending from the sky. Obviously, it was a reference to the fact that he was not from Ahya, though the crowd was not to know it.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Eric complied numbly as the Queen stepped behind him, robe raised, and put it onto his shoulders. The measurements were perfect, of course. It was tied closed with a red sash bearing white thread, and Ehran attached a shiny new leather belt to go with it. Then the red sword, which Ehran had gotten without Eric knowing, was slid into the belt. The Queen moved back around him, her coy smile widening.

“Thank you once again,” she said, her voice increasing in volume. “Thank you for your service and your life. Master Eric Breeden.”

She then stuck out her hand, and Eric shook it as the crowd echoed the title and his name. Then they broke into applause again, and Queen Elena gestured, indicating that he should take a step back. He complied, not sure when the proceedings had ended. His consciousness seemed stuck back at the door. He was just aware enough to register that now the Queen was addressing Megan.

“Megan Richards. I begin once again by thanking you. It is thanks to your initiative and wit that we were able to call our allies to our aid. Lord Bragg has informed us that you were the one to establish contact. Likewise, he and I agree totally that you are worthy of the mantle of Master.”

Samuel stepped forward, and with a lazy flick of his hand, Megan’s red robe vanished. In its place was an elaborate white mage’s robe, with black trimming and golden thread. Still a Paragon Apprentice, but now so much more. She too looked stunned at the sudden change, unable to prevent herself from looking down, as if she couldn’t believe it. Eric saw the heraldry on her back. It was the unlidded eye of Arcana, placed just above the same sword heraldry. So they were to both be of the same house, he thought.

“Thank you for your wisdom, your initiative, and your brilliance,” the Queen said. “Master Megan Richards.”

Master. Megan Richards. Master Richards. Once again the crowd whispered an affirmation of the appointment. Then the Queen put one hand on each shoulder, turning them to face the people, who promptly clapped their hands numb and shouted themselves horse in praise. Eric forced himself to look straight ahead, as did Megan, refusing to acknowledge that this moment had come. For if they did, the weight of it all would surely crush them.

“Well now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Ehran and Samuel had led them away from the palace, down the Queen’s Road, to Mandra’s Tavern. For the first time in years, the establishment was closed. The restaurant and the tavern was to be the site of a private party for the two, giving them some much-needed privacy. All the friends they’d made during their time was in the large taproom, and they congratulated the pair enthusiastically. Even an hour later, Eric was still half-stunned, only coming too as Emma approached him and nudged him with an elbow.

“Speak for yourself,” Eric said with a sigh. “I’m the one that’s going to suffer through the next few months of praise and adulation.”

“Anyone else would sound happy about that,” Johan said, passing him by with a full tankard. “I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“I’m not like other people,” Eric replied shortly. “You should know that.”

Johan shrugged as if he’d expected nothing less. “True. But now I have a new thing to needle you with. Life is great.”

“How is it going with Moran’s company?” Eric asked suddenly. He’d only just remembered that Johan was the second-in-command, and wanted to change the subject. “I assume you’re keeping it going.”

“Oh,” Johan said, the cocky grin fading from his face. “Right. About that. I’m not a leader.”

“You’re not going to close the company, are you?”

“Well,” Johan stretched the word out, his eyes slowly turning back to stare at Eric. “The thing is…”

“No,” Eric said at once. “Absolutely not.”

“But you’d be much better at it than me!” Johan said. “All I care about is working for a paycheck. You’re the strategist. Besides, Moran would have wanted it this way. He didn’t get a few years to change my lazy nature.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Emma said, idly brushing something off her shoulders to avoid making eye contact with Eric. “It’s a good plan for the future, and much safer than what you’ve already gone through.”

“But I don’t have the connections to run a company,” Eric protested. “Moran had years of building a client list.”

“Well, what are you going to do for work then?” Emma asked. “You’ll need to earn gold for our house.”

Eric chewed his lip reflectively as he glanced at Samuel. The Archmage had been an eager participant of the party since its start. “Well, that depends. I don’t know if I’m going to stay or not.”

Emma leaned away from him, frowning. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you? Wait. You don’t mean that Samuel will send you away, will you?”

Eric could only shrug. “Megan and I think it’s possible, but we haven’t talked about it with him yet. Arcana only said that we were needed for the fight. Now that it’s over, we don’t know what’ll happen to us.”

Samuel, who had been engrossed in a bowl of thick beef stew, noticed everyone staring at him and looked up slowly from his meal. He let out a sigh. “Well, I suppose there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. I know what questions you’re going to ask me. So I’ll answer them now. You’re free to choose.”

“Really?” Megan interrupted, breaking away from where she’d been sitting with Michael’s arm around her shoulders. She stood and paced over to stand right next to Samuel. “We don’t have to go back home?”

“If that’s what you want,” Samuel said with a shrug. “I asked Arcana, and he says there’s no law against it. As long as you continue to obey the laws of the land, you’re welcome here.”

Eric stared, wide-eyed, his brain slow in processing the words that Samuel had said. Then they sank in, and a broad grin spread across his face. Suddenly, the future wasn’t filled with uncertainty and dread. He looked around at Johan and gave a solemn nod. His old friend understood his meaning at once and grinned in return. Megan and Rachel hugged each other, laughing with delight as they danced in a small circle. Even Samuel grinned at the affecting scene.

A small tug on the sleeve of his new robe got Eric’s attention, and he looked down to see Emma smiling slightly up at him. “Well now, that is good news. I prefer that my husband stays in the same world as me, after all.”