There was no truly impenetrable place. The Wandering Cites possessed defenses robust enough to weather almost anything but would fail given enough time. Elder dragons often built their homes within inhospitable locations, such as active volcanoes or caves deep within the Azure Expanse. Yet a rival could drive them from their homes. The Ferren royal palace employed an entire regiment of mages whose sole duty was casting synchronized protective spells that could stymie sieges for weeks, even months.

But none of those equaled the Academy.

While it played at a school, this was an illusion. Runes built into its structure funneled mana from leylines beneath the building, channeling it into a hundred enchantments. It could block almost any hostile magic and weather near any mundane attacks. Even an Archmagus might take hours to crack open its walls.

At the pinnacle of the Academy, both literally and figuratively, was a single room. The circular space, forty feet in diameter and twenty feet tall, had no walls or apparent entrance. Instead, it held ten pillars and ten thrones.

Runes crawled up each pillar, moving onto the domed ceiling and forming arcane, concentric circles. Each of these rings conjured a defense, further reinforcing the room against any and all intrusions. Only two living mages could safely enter, as was intended.

Behind each throne was open air. One could stand beside a seat and overlook Volaris and miles of surrounding lands. Verdant grasslands, rolling plains, farms, rivers, roads, forests, and outlying towns spread in every direction, forming the beating heart of the Ferren kingdom.

Archmagus Alexandria stood by one throne, the same she had used for decades. She was a tall, middle-aged woman with long blonde hair touched with gray tied back into an intricate braid. Her mage robes were simple and unadorned, save a few small embellishments along the sleeves and front. The only jewelry on her body was a pair of earrings and a small gold pendant set with a single, clear diamond.

The headmistress watched Volaris, not with her body but with her magic. Any wind mage could do the same, employing the gales themselves as their eyes and ears. But none had the range and precision as the Winds of Desolation.

A half-dozen streams of consciousness worked in tandem, all but one possessing a fraction of a true mind. Two controlled the wind in all directions for miles, one brushing it across Volaris like a trained painter and a second studying all that it touched. A third sub-mind took in this information, filtering out useless observations and feeding only the most important to her fourth, which cataloged it and cross-referenced it against her memories.

The fifth was responsible for taking those observations and memories and providing only the most relevant to the sixth, her waking mind. It was all done without her direction, rendering a titanic feat effortless.

Alexandria 'watched' as five apprentices exited the Academy, heading towards Volaris' main gate. There, they would rent horses to ease their trip home. Of the five, two had drawn her attention months earlier. Both of Rufus' children were exceptional, the girl for her natural magical talent and the boy for his near-complete lack of such.

Sophia Estton was the strongest of her year, a prodigy with lightning magic who mastered every spell put before her. Alexandria had plotted her trajectory and predicted the girl would reach Mist by winter at the latest. She would likely never become an Archmagus, as she was too much of a replicator rather than an innovator, but that was a gap few managed to bridge.

Leon Estton might lack his sister's talent, but he did have his father's unconscious charisma. He made friends quickly and had taken up a position as an unofficial leader in his class.

Both might become valuable tools, given a few gentle nudges and a handful of years to grow into their roles. And neither was quite as much a puzzle as their would-be advisor.

The boy walked with a black cat tucked into one arm. He carried a covered polearm in his free hand and wore an expression of polite interest as his friend, the Helton heir, spoke with obvious excitement. Yet even as they walked, Alexandria noticed the rhythm of the Aether mage's breathing and the way his eyes roamed, examining his surroundings as if searching for something.

While he had started as among the weakest first-years, the boy had potential. His channels and core were monstrous, larger than most adepts, and his Aether granted him unusual raw power. More than that, he was focused. Ambitious. He had spent more time studying in a week than most apprentices did in a month and had approached several masters for private training.

And his hard work had borne fruit. He was among the first to reach Haze and was within the top ten academically. If he kept up such a pace, the boy would graduate at the top of his class. He was another possible asset, one Alexandria had kept an eye on over the months.

So why, with such a future ahead of him, did the boy decide to end his training early?

Alexandria redirected two sub-minds and felt them 'converse,' turning over possible explanations and comparing them to what she knew of the apprentice's mindset. The simplest answer floated to the top, and it was one all too familiar to the Archmagus.

No mage could keep up such a pace for long. The boy was sixteen and had shown a proclivity for isolation, which left him even more at risk of breaking like dry kindling. But that made little to no sense. He had shown no signs of strain and, if anything, had only worked harder over the months.

Alexandria considered other explanations, but none fit any better. He was not talented enough to catch the eye of a master looking for a personal student. Rufus would never halt the boy's training part-way, so this was a personal choice rather than a command. He had earned a few enemies but none who could push him out, and he had no family to threaten to force his hand regardless.

Mana shifted underneath Alexandria's shoes, drawing her focus away from the idle mystery. She felt the ground rumble, a shaking that was physical and magical in equal parts, and sensed the earth mana twist and warp under the will of another mage.

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This was not unusual by itself. Anyone in the liquid stages would have some effect on ambient mana, and the energy flowing underneath Volaris moved in a thousand directions every day. Yet only one mage could affect every bit of earth mana for miles.

Alexandria opened her eyes and turned to see space twist and warp. A ring of brown and black mana snapped into existence. It was tiny, too small for even her pinky, and made of a twisting, braided rope of dirt and stone. Yet even as she watched, the ring stretched and grew until it measured ten feet from edge to edge.

The inside of the ring was black on black with the faintest ripples near the center. Mana continued to flex as it twisted and distorted space, but soon, these ripples stilled, calmed by another's will. Then, a man stepped through the ring.

Elden had always struck Alexandria as unimpressive. He was short with dark skin and bland, unassuming features. The first hints of silver had crept into black hair, and his build was average, not particularly large or small. He wore loose brown robes edged with bronze, and jewelry glinted on his fingers, wrists, neck, and ears, clinking as he shifted.

Only two things truly stood out. First, his strange, bronze-shaded eyes, which Alexandria knew matched his mana perfectly. Elden had undergone a rare and dangerous alchemic treatment and managed to come out the other end with his eyesight intact.

Second, his earth mana which hung over them like an inexorable weight.

Alexandria took it all in, noting every bit of new jewelry and the mana streaming off them. Her sub-minds refocused again, memorizing Elden's appearance, mana, and clothes, cross-referencing the changes against her memories, and searching for any edge over the man.

"Elden," Alexandria smiled and dipped her head, "You look well as always."

"As do you, Alexandria," Elden returned her smile and took a few steps closer, "Running this place agrees with you. I almost wish I had taken the job."

They both knew it was a lie. King Lyos had offered Alexandria the position first, but she turned it down, feigning reluctance and humility. When he had pushed, she offered to take over only if Elden refused.

He would, of course. Elden was a volatile mixture of insecure bully, bored noble, and bloodthirsty thrill seeker. He only felt alive on the battlefield, butchering men by the hundreds, and would never willingly set that aside. But when King Lyos returned and asked again, Alexandria appeared gracious and modest rather than ambitious and power-hungry.

Alexandria gave a polite laugh and smiled, "I'm sure. And how was your trip south?"

Elden marched to one of the thrones and sat with an exaggerated sigh. The marble seat shifted and broke apart, rearranging itself into something closer to a couch in seconds. Elden's sigh stretched into a yawn as he reclined, one leg kicked up onto the seat as he leaned back.

"Terrible. Antidon agreed to a meeting right away. Drace refused to send out a messenger and put up their shields. I probably could've punched through it in a few days, but Lyos wanted me to 'take things slow.'" Elden rolled his eyes, "So tedious."

King Lyos knew Elden was unsuited for a diplomatic role, but Alexandria could trace his reasoning. If negotiations turned sour, the Earthen Spear would live. Hell, he might win that battle if push came to shove. His Majesty would rather kill a city than risk them joining with a possible enemy.

"We need alles, Elden. You'll have your fight soon enough if Artus is to be believed."

Elden snorted and waved a hand. A few chunks of stone tore free from his seat, forming a sphere in his palm. It was perfectly smooth, shining like a mirror, and as he closed his fist, it broke into pieces again. Ten fragments became a hundred, and as he spread his fragments, they spun and moved, forming a dizzying, intricate pattern.

"If," Elden repeated, "And how is our mighty Seer? Is his vision still oh-so-conveniently clouded?"

Alexandria raised an eyebrow and smiled, "You doubt him?"

"Don't you?" Elden retorted.

"His visions grow clearer every year."

"And yet, no apprentice has seen even a hint of this invasion. Only Artus. Why is that?"

Possibilities once more bloomed, as they had a dozen times over, and Alexandria repeated the same answer she had settled on years earlier.

"Does it matter?" Alexandria shrugged and affected a polite smile, "If Artus is wrong, all we did was strengthen Ferris. And if he is right, we might have saved it."

Elden scoffed but did not counter her point. Instead, he adjusted in his chair and responded, "On that topic, King Lyos has made a decision."

Alexandria caught the flicker on his face and the shiver in the ambient mana. He was a poor mind mage but had learned enough to block her passive empathy senses. She had to rely on mundane tricks, which was a novel change of pace. Unfortunately, people guarded their facial expressions only a hair more than their emotions.

Elden seemed...unhappy? No, not unhappy. Angry. There was a tension in his body, an affected ease in his demeanor that failed to hide the truth. What would get a man like Elden so upset?

Alexandria's smile grew, "Ah, King Lyos has decided to accelerate the student's training, then?"

It was the natural next step in the King's plans. He had already pursued peace treaties with the Tinkerers and sent trained mages out to the wilds to neutralize as many existing threats as possible. He had poured gold into farms, forges, mines, quarries, and roads to strengthen production and supply lines throughout Ferris. Soon, he would propose a genuine standing military like the kingdom had never seen.

But none of those could face off against monsters with the ability to sunder metal and stone with their hands. Only elite war mages, honed like a fine blade, could stand against them.

It was a wise, pragmatic choice that would strengthen Ferris even if the prophesized invaders never came. And it was the sort of thing Elden would take as an insult.

Elden scoffed, "You know?"

"I assumed he would sooner or later."

"And you don't care?"

Alexandria chuckled, "Is my job not to make my students better? If His Majesty helps that goal, all the better."

Elden stood, chunks of rock falling into a messy pile as he stomped toward the center of the room, "It's an outrage! An insult! We are Ferris' strength! This is our glory, not theirs!"

"I don't need glory, Elden," Alexandria replied, "I have nothing to prove to anyone."

The words "unlike you" went unspoken, but she caught how Elden tensed. She saw his fists clench, the unclench. Though he faced away from her, she knew him well enough to picture his face, and the scowl she knew was on it.

Elden turned to face her, and Alexandria felt his mana rumble. She raised an eyebrow and let her faux smile drop away, replaced by an icy expression.

The air between them shivered as a faint mist gathered. The ground shook in unison with Elden's mana, and power flooded toward the two mages, drawn to their unshakeable will.

Archmagi never fought. It was a rule borne not out of honor or pacifism but pragmatism. A clash between two beings at their level might level a city if it got out of hand. Neither could guarantee they would survive, and few mages would take that risk.

But for a brief moment, Alexandria considered it. And she considered Elden.

The earth mage's style was her polar opposite, straightforward to a fault. He crushed, tore, and skewered anything set in his way with stone constructs harder than diamonds and shields near-unbreakable. While he tended to fight at range, this was a preference, and Alexandria knew he could more than handle himself in close quarters.

It was a question of whether she could rip his mental defenses aside before Elden managed to pull together a spell. If she could, she would win. If she could not...

Elden's shoulders untensed, and the rumbling stilled. Alexandria followed his lead after a second, only pausing long enough to flick away some dust that floated down from the ceiling with a brief flex of power.

The Earthen Spear waved a hand, and Alexandria watched as his throne reformed from the bits of stone. It returned to its original, blocky design without the slightest cracks or deformation. An instant later, his ringed portal reappeared behind him.

"Play neutral, Alexandria," Elden said as he turned to leave, "I'm sure it'll help this time."

Then, before he stepped through, Elden glanced over his shoulder and added, "Send my regards to your family."

The ring snapped shut, and Alexandria stared at where Elden had been a second earlier. There was no telling where that portal had led, but for a moment, she was tempted to find out. Killing Elden might cripple Ferris, but it would bring her no small degree of peace.

Then, Alexandria set aside that fantasy and refocused. She flexed her will and tore through space much as Elden had seconds earlier. But while his portal was a braided rope that twisted space open like a drill, hers was a narrow, off-white slice only visible at the right angle.

The Archmagus smoothed the front of her robes, straightened her back, and clamped down on any wayward emotions and expressions. She affixed her first mask, one of a calm, focused, faintly welcoming mother. Then, she stepped through the portal, searching for a particularly reckless young master. It was high time to bring him to heel.