“So, hearing all of that...do you think he’s a half-step ascendant?” Euryphel asked, staring at the gently-bubbling fountain.

“If he is, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Urstes replied. “He's deceptively experienced. From what you’ve told me, he’s engaged in more conflicts than people many times his age.”

“Yes, well...” Euryphel sighed. “What do you think is to be done about it, if he is?”

Urstes frowned. “If so, then he’s brought both trouble and opportunity. The opportunity to strike while the iron is hot, so long as the descendant really is headed for Pardinia. And trouble...” he sighed. “It’s unavoidable at this point. Even if you were to exile Dunai, the Eldemari would have the support she needs to break the peace. It would be easy for her to convince others that sending him away in exile is just a ploy.

“Really, the only option I can conceive of to prevent war...is to kill Dunai.”

Euryphel nodded slowly. Despite Ian’s power, it wasn’t exactly difficult to kill him. A powerful poison would work, or a well-timed explosion. Euryphel had grown uncomfortably familiar with all the ways Ian could die while viewing the loop recording.

He flexed his left hand. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’d have the face to call myself Crowned Prime if I killed my own personal retainer to satisfy Selejo.”

“If he’s really going to ascend,” Urstes continued, “I presume you want more agents stationed in Selejo?”

“I’m torn between sending more agents and withdrawing the majority of them,” the prince muttered.

“Really? You think withdrawing people is the answer?”

Euryphel snorted. “Not really. But you know how the Eldemari operates: She’ll find out the truth about Ian eventually, and when she does, there’s a good chance that most of our people will end up forfeit.”

“But if you send more agents, you can better gauge public sentiment and what the Eldemari’s court chooses to discuss...and perhaps even discern how much she knows.”

Euryphel shook his head dismissively. “We should include the generals in this discussion; there’s a lot to consider.”

“I look forward to what you all end up deciding.” The Steppesinker bowed his head and turned to leave, exiting through the door into an inner palace courtyard.

Ian knocked a few minutes later. When Euryphel opened the door, he was greeted with Ian’s bare torso, the decemancer covered only by a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I didn’t bring any other clothes,” Ian said sheepishly, his worn vestments draped over an arm. “I didn’t expect to sweat so much.”

“It’s fine, I already said I’m sending you back to your room.” The prince ushered Ian into the sun room. After waiting for a few seconds, he opened the door into Ian’s bedroom.

“We’ll meet at noon to eat,” Euryphel said, sensing Ian’s hesitation. “I’ll try to explain what I can then, though we won’t have much time before my next meeting.”

“What should I do until then?”

“Solidify the image from earlier in your mind,” Euryphel instructed. “If it’s enough to keep Ezenti at bay, it’ll be good enough against most anyone.”

—

Ian sat silently in his room, trying to focus on the image he'd used on Ezenti. He wasn’t sure what the prince even meant telling him to solidify the image; was he supposed to try and recreate it?

He tried to envision the multiplicity of ribbons, but the image lacked the vividness and expansiveness he had felt earlier. Further mental effort did little to improve it, and Ian felt as though he was going to give himself a headache before he managed to recreate the vision. Half an hour into the fruitless task, Ian's glossY began to tremor.

He walked over, expecting it to be either his mother, his aunt, or Germaine. Instead, it was Xander. He debated for a moment whether to pick up, before deciding he should let Xander know that he wouldn’t be coming back.

“Xander?” Ian said hesitantly.

“Ian?”

“That’s me,” he replied, chuckling awkwardly.

“Have you seen my messages?” Xander asked, clearly frustrated. “I sent at least ten. Has something happened?”

Has something happened?

Ian looked around. He was in a new bedroom, in a castle, in a different country, and no longer a regular.

“You’ll probably hear about it sometime or other,” Ian said. “I’m dropping out.”

He could imagine Xander’s shocked expression.

Ian sighed. “Look, it’s really not what you think.” He paused, thinking. “In two months, if you’re watching the news coverage of the Fassari Summit, you might see me. I got a job.”

“...But...you just have one more semester,” Xander said. “Even if you have a job now...how are you supposed to get another, without a degree?”

“I’ll manage somehow.” Ian closed his eyes and pressed a palm to his forehead. “Xander, you know I’m not an idiot, right?”

“Really questioning that right now.”

“Y’jeni, man. Trust me. And enjoy having the room to yourself.”

Ian ended the connection.

What more was there to say? His old life had been reduced to a dream that shattered the moment he entered the loop. There was no feasible way for him to return to school, and he likely wouldn’t see Xander ever again. It would be easier for all of them if Ian took the initiative to cut things off cleanly.

Ian tried to resume his image-solidifying, only to be interrupted a minute later by Aunt Julia. Irritated, Ian picked up his glossY and held it to his mouth. “Hello?”

“Good morning nephew,” Aunt Julia began. “Your sister found something interesting.”

Ian yawned. He wasn’t too surprised to hear that Germaine was already awake despite going to bed so late. “What did she find?”

“Did you know that the footage of the exercise between you and the Guard has been withheld from the public?”

“It has?” Ian had no idea.

“Germaine found recent notices saying that a recording would be released to officially announce you as the Crowned Prime’s personal retainer. However, when she checked this morning, there was a new press release explaining that the video wouldn’t be released,” Aunt Julia explained. “Do you have any idea why?”

Ian scratched his head. “It might be that I was too powerful?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe the video is too intimidating,” Ian clarified. “If you wanted to announce someone as your personal retainer, you wouldn’t want an introduction video to terrify everyone.”

There was a pause, as though Aunt Julia were thinking something over. “Well, even if you’re wrong about the reason, there’s likely going to be some video, eventually.”

“Point noted.”

“Your mother says to make sure you get a haircut before you do any more recordings,” Aunt Julia said, her voice growing slightly distant, as though she were tilting her face to the side. “And also, she says that you need to give her some money.”

That’s right, Ian remembered. I still need to sell the soul gems. After the demonstration, he had many more soul gems than before. Even if he only took a fraction of the profit, he figured it should still be enough to support Mother and pay to move Germaine’s studio.

“We can all meet sometime this afternoon, when Euryphel has a meeting,” he suggested. “We can go together to get my soul gems appraised; I have a feeling you won’t let me be conned.”

“Of course not. Oh, also, your mother says that it’s disgraceful that she’s barely seen you once in the past two days.”

Ian sighed. “Also noted.”

“So when this afternoon, exactly?” Aunt Julia asked.

"Half-past noon?”

Ian could hear Aunt Julia repeating his suggestion. He heard indistinct muttering, likely Mother’s response.

“Your mother says that half-past noon is acceptable.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll meet you in your guest room. Bye.”

He let out a groan and stretched. “It’s a wonder anyone gets anything done around here when they’re stuck in meetings half the day.” Even five minute calls felt like a serious bother, not to mention a two-hour meeting. Ian stared at the clock, exhaustion finally setting in from barely having slept the night before. He fumbled for his glossY, eyes half-closed as he set an alarm for forty minutes, giving himself five minutes to make himself presentable after waking up.

—

“Of course you’re asleep,” a voice called out.

Bleary eyed, Ian jolted up, wiping a rivulet of drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Hi.”

Euryphel smirked. “Hi.”

Ian rolled off the bed, almost falling in a heap on the floor.

“How many hours has it been?” Euryphel admonished him, turning away. “Put on some decent clothes and knock on the door when you’re ready.”

Ian had to concede the point: It had been over two hours, and he’d only managed to get on a pair of underwear. He dressed as quickly as possible, then tidied up his hair with a few swift hand movements before knocking rapidly on the door.

“It looks like you got ready in...about two minutes, but it’s fine,” the prince chuckled. He led the way to his salon, motioning for the servants to bring food as he and Ian took a seat.

“So,” Euryphel said, steepling his hands under his chin.

“So,” Ian repeated. “What were the three of you talking about earlier?”

Euryphel looked into his eyes, as though trying to see something hidden within them. He suddenly looked away, then sighed. “You don’t seem to know much about ascendants, do you?”

Ian frowned. “There are no ascendants in the West,” he pointed out. “What’s there to know?”

“Do you know what happens when someone begins to ascend?” Euryphel asked, his voice lowered.

“No.”

“They are greeted by a descendant, from another world.”

“What do you mean, from another world?”

“It’s just as I said,” Euryphel continued, speaking in a crisp monotone. “A descendant will plummet over the world like a fiery comet. It will typically destroy everything in its path until it is satisfied, at which point it will leave.”

“And what does this have to do with me, exactly?” Ian asked, a sense of trepidation coming over him.

“It’s possible that you might already have put this process into motion,” the prince said lightly while nibbling at a finger sandwich.

“...Why would you even think that?”

Euryphel sighed and reached for another sliver of sandwich. “Since none of us have ever interacted with ascendants, it’s difficult to be sure, but there are a number of things about you that are peculiar. We’ll have to work on them so you seem more...normal.”

“Like what?” Ian’s expression darkened. He couldn’t help but suspect that it wasn’t that he was ‘ascending,’ whatever that really meant, but that everyone underestimated the power of decemancy. “Ninety-ninth percentile fire elementalists can blow up entire cities with enough preparation. You wouldn’t be accusing one of them of being an ascendant,” Ian argued.

“There’s a subtle difference between what you’re doing and what they’re doing.” Euryphel took a bite. “You need to eat; there’s only fifteen minutes before I need to go.”

“Are you sure the ‘subtle difference’ isn’t just that decemancy is profoundly different from elementalism?”

“I’m not certain that you’ve started to ascend,” Euryphel riposted. “But I suspect. And since the other primes suspect as well, then it’s natural to assume that others might also suspect. And once that happens, well...the truth will almost entirely cease to matter.”

Ian shook his head, the corners of his mouth curving down, his nostrils slightly flaring. He felt as though the prince was almost playing with him, withholding details and stringing him along. “What subtle differences are you even talking about?”

“Reign in your temper,” Euryphel admonished, eyes narrowing.

“It’s a bit difficult not to be frustrated when you’re being so cryptic,” Ian hissed. Especially when the stakes apparently involve the Eldemari declaring war.

“For one,” Euryphel said, crossing his arms. “Energy around you behaves unnaturally. We could all see it when you fought the Guard because the energy around you was dense enough to be visible.”

“Of course it was behaving unnaturally,” Ian snapped. “I was controlling it.”

“You didn’t realize it, but it wasn’t just Death energy that you were drawing in.”

Ian frowned. “I also technically used Life energy, but I converted it into Death energy first.”

Euryphel shook his head. “We can show you the recorded footage later, but it’s more than that. It looks almost as though the other forms of energy around you begin to disintegrate when they come too close. It’s especially obvious when you’re unconscious and the elementalists try to get in close, though you can also see it when Mo’qin confronts you.”

Ian was completely unconvinced. “The Alabaster blasted an enormous hole in my Death cocoon,” he stated. “Didn’t exactly feel like his plasma-beam got disintegrated when it nearly took off my head.”

Euryphel covered his face with a hand. “Ian, stop splitting hairs.”

Ian glared.

“Come on,” Euryphel said, looking at him from the side, loose side bangs partially covering his eyes. “Don’t be so unpleasant. I’m not intentionally trying to keep information from you; I also am not certain that you’ve started to ascend. But it’s always better to err on the side of caution than just make excuses.”

Ian took in a deep breath and reached down to grab a small, triangular sandwich. “Sorry.” He took a few small bites as he decided on his next question. “Why does ascending involve a descendant?”

Euryphel sighed lightly. “I really wish I could tell you more definitively, but the arrival of a descendant always heralds the departure of an ascendant.”

“But what about the ascendants living in the East?”

“Those are the ones that came back.”

“When they returned...it wasn’t like those descendants?” Ian murmured.

Euryphel shook his head slowly. “Everything I know indicates that they simply...reappeared. There was nothing destructive like we see whenever a descendant comes down.”

“You seem to think that just because I possibly commenced my ascension in Pardinia, the descendant will appear there. But wouldn’t it just follow me? For instance, if I travel to the opposite side of the world, it would be a waste to touch down in Selejo.”

“That’s not how it works,” the prince replied bitterly. “However they find this world, they always seem to head directly to the ascension site."

Ian frowned. It was as though these descendants followed a signal flare, plummeting to their final destination without adjusting course.

“Well, why not just meet the descendant head on? If they’re like a natural disaster, I think a small army of practitioners would be enough to defend a city.”

Euryphel seemed to consider his idea for a moment. “It’s not the worst idea, but I think you might be underestimating the power of the descendants.” Euryphel grabbed his glossY. “This is an ascension site from fifty years ago. It took place on a remote piece of rock in the Adrilli Isles.”

As Ian grabbed the glossY, it took him a moment to fully comprehend what he was seeing. The top half of the device was filled with the image of a rugged island filled with gnarled trees and vibrant grass. Euryphel called it a piece of rock, but the island was large enough to fall off-screen despite the distant camera angle. At the island’s center was a jagged mountain covered in greenery: a dormant volcano.

Below that image was another, taken from almost exactly the same angle. That was the only similarity between the two images: The dormant volcano’s top half had been violently ripped off, as though a child ripped the head from a stuffed bear. Lava and smoke spewed messily from a fissure running the island through like some terrible, splintered maw. It seemed like a scene from a fairy tale, like some ignorant fool had traded all his lush trees for hot ashes, forsaken all his bounty for desolation.

Ian couldn’t understand why anyone, be they a descendant or otherwise, would bring such wanton destruction.

He peeled his eyes from the screen. “And the descendant left, just like that, after destroying this island?”

“That’s right.”

“Couldn’t the other ascendants–the ones who have returned–do anything?”

Euryphel raised an eyebrow. “They haven’t ever interfered so far as I’m aware. From what I understand, it’s best to avoid involving ascendants.”

Ian gave the prince a look.

“You haven’t ascended yet,” Euryphel replied, admonishing him. “Now hurry and eat: You have all of two minutes before I need to send you off and head to my meeting.”

Ian picked up a small sandwich and stuffed half of it in his mouth, eating most of it in one bite. “I still have one more question. If I started my ascension in Pardin, I can see why the Eldemari might become...” Ian wasn’t sure which word would be appropriate.

“Confrontational,” Euryphel said lightly.

What an understatement. “Sure. But why would she go to war over it? Wouldn’t she rather spend her efforts preparing a defense?”

“Well,” the prince murmured, the corners of his mouth curving downward. “It’s because the only way to stop a descendant is to kill its quarry.”