Everyone stepped forward into the mandala. Aunt Julia looked unfazed, likely having already used the array before. Germaine was nearly bouncing with anticipation, her eyes staring intently at the intricate script of the array.

Adricaius resumed his explanation. “One of the most restrictive limitations of the array is that it must be activated by a Dark practitioner.” From where Adricaius’ finger lay against the array, darkness ebbed forth and began to saturate the golden inscriptions. Soon the entire array was black, golden light shining intermittently around the edges.

It was unlike any array Ian had seen before: They typically glowed blue, gray, or white; upon activation, rather than turning black, the light would flare in intensity for the briefest of moments before dissipating. While Patriarch Roman’s array wasn’t completely novel, it was unique.

Ian shifted his foot onto part of the blackened script, noting as it seemed to ripple on contact.

“Everyone around me, please,” Adricaius called out, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. Everyone walked to the center of the array, the only area devoid of writing. There was just enough space for the three of them to stand by the Dark practitioner’s kneeling form.

Adricaius grunted, then slammed a dark-coated palm against the array. In a flash of darkness, Ian felt as though he’d been flung through space, his stomach lurching. Before he could make sense of the feeling, he found himself roughly deposited on brick flooring. For a moment he wondered if they’d failed to make the transfer...only to notice that the walls were now covered in sanguine red inscriptions in a script that was too small to make out.

Ian took in a deep breath, then rose to his feet and dusted off his trousers. “Thank you, Uncle; that was quite smooth.”

Germaine was still hunched over on the ground, her hair in disarray. “Need a second, please.”

Ian gave Aunt Julia a questioning look. The woman shook her head and returned a small smile. Rather than falling over in transit, Aunt Julia had arrived standing, the picture of poise. She walked over and grabbed Germaine’s hand, tugging her to her feet.

Still wobbly, Germaine brushed herself off and unzipped her jacket. “It’s a lot warmer in here,” she commented.

Adricaius was still on his knees, his hand laid upon the array. With every breath, more darkness ebbed back into his hand until the array shone a glowing scarlet. With a slightly haggard breath, he stood to his feet and nodded towards Aunt Julia.

“Alright, it’s time to go up,” Aunt Julia stated. “Nobody aside from Matriarch Mercy is expecting either of you for secrecy reasons, of course.”

While I’m glad they managed to keep our arrival under wraps...I don’t have faith this won’t devolve into a spectacle. Ian sighed. I suppose I’ve put this off for long enough.

As soon as he knew he was going to ascend, Ian stopped worrying about involving himself with his family. Just a week ago he never imagined he’d be stepping foot in the Feather enclave, the seat of the Dunais...a place that he and Germaine had never been permitted to enter.

Aunt Julia walked over and placed both hands on his shoulders, drawing his attention. Her gaze focused on his, expression pensive.

“You were always welcome here after you came of age,” she said softly. “Demetrius’ disownment only extended to you while you were minors.”

Ian really didn’t want to debate the family’s politics right now. Regardless of whether we were allowed to visit Feather, nobody ever deigned to bring Demetrius’ unwanted regular children. How were we supposed to arrive without financial assistance? Even as a successful artist, Germaine hardly made enough to pay for her materials and living expenses, let alone a ticket to Feather.

But the real kicker was that even though they had an ally in Aunt Julia, the woman had never brought them along. The loop wedding was the first time she intervened to bring us back into the fold, but that wasn’t even real!

Aunt Julia seemed to recognize his annoyance and turned away. Adricaius shot her a concerned look, but didn’t press. Everyone followed Aunt Julia towards a doorway at the back of the room. She slid the door to the left, revealing a dim hallway. Aunt Julia led them around a corner and slid two doors apart and proceeded to walk up an unadorned staircase.

Ian could sense tens of people in the nearby vicinity. Nobody yet seemed to have noticed their presence, their movements unhurried.

“Where are we going first?” Germaine wondered, her fingers hovering lightly over the stairway’s banister.

Aunt Julia and Adricaius answered as one: “The matriarch.”

Germaine coughed, glancing down at her jacket, jeans, and sweater. “Dressed like this...?”

Aunt Julia chuckled. “We’ll take you to the coatroom first. She’s aware that you’ve been traveling, so don't be too concerned about your appearance.”

As they approached a second set of doors at the top of the staircase, Ian began to breathe slowly in an attempt to calm himself down. He knew that there was no reason for him to feel apprehensive, but he couldn’t shake his discomfort.

This was the Feather enclave, the mysterious realm Father had mentioned only in passing: a mansion filled with servants, practitioners, relics, and the history of his ancestors. He barely remembered his Father anymore, let alone the man’s tales...but he remembered how his stories made him feel. As he followed Aunt Julia up to the ground level, the Dunai estate with its mysterious array room and antique sliding doors affirmed his impression of a place secluded from the outside world.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed Aunt Julia sliding open the last set of doors. He was the last in their group to enter the hallway, a white corridor with ornate crown molding; a painting and antique table lay to the left, while on the right Ian could make out an alcove with two plush sitting chairs and a small armoire.

Aunt Julia led them to the left, their steps falling lightly on the slate-gray rug that covered the pale wood. Germaine looked like she wanted to ask questions about some of the art they passed by on their way, but she kept her mouth shut, likely trying to avoid other people’s attention. Ian thought that Aunt Julia must have noticed Germaine’s interest; for her to remain silent, it really was best to move quietly.

They arrived at what appeared to be the reception area, a spacious room covered by a sky-blue ceiling with frescoed clouds that continued onto the walls, outlined against the white in shades of light pink, orange, and blue. Aunt Julia walked over to a set of wooden doors and slid them apart, revealing a walk-in closet filled with winter attire. The closet was well-organized, appearing neither overfilled nor empty.

“You should use the visitors’ area,” Aunt Julia instructed, pointing at an almost-empty stretch of rack closest to the entrance. Ian and Germaine shrugged out of their jackets and set their hats atop the hangers. After smoothing out his hair, Ian turned back and nodded to Aunt Julia and Adricaius, both of whom had similarly shed their jackets.

“Ready?” Adricaius asked.

“Ready,” Germaine replied; Ian could detect a tinge of nervousness in the quiver of her voice. If I feel out of place here, Germaine must feel even more so.

He reached and grabbed her hand. She reacted by squeezing his fingers and punching him in the arm with her free fist.

She snorted softly and gave him a small grin. “Ready, Ian?”

He returned the smile. At least we’re here together. “Always.”

—

“You missed a rotation,” Mercy murmured, appraising the finger movements of her niece.

Angelique kept her attention on the puzzle: a colorful ball composed of smooth, rotating pieces. Sweat beaded on her brow as she continued the repetitive, precise movements required to balance the ball’s inner and outer layers.

Five minutes later, Mercy called the exercise to a halt. “Better than yesterday,” she observed, picking up the ball from Angelique’s hands. “Do you feel yourself getting faster?”

The ten-year-old frowned, but bowed her head respectfully. “Maybe?”

Mercy snorted and suppressed a chuckle. The candor of youth was endearing, though she wondered if the budding Beginning practitioner wasn’t already precisely aware of how her actions were being perceived. Being aware of how she was being perceived, however, didn’t mean that she’d change her behavior.

“You’re dismissed for today. Continue with the precision exercises for another hour; if you’re able to shave off another two seconds, start on the three-layer variant.”

“Thank you, Matriarch!” Angelique smiled. Mercy could detect the faintest bit of annoyance on the girl’s brow as she regarded the ball now replaced on the table. The girl blinked rapidly, then snatched the ball and headed out the door.

Once the girl was out of earshot, Mercy allowed herself to laugh as she sat down at the antique oak table, her snug dress straining slightly against the movement of her diaphragm. Little Angelique... The girl was an early bloomer, but gaining a Beginning affinity so early wasn’t ideal: growing up was hard enough without the affinity screaming every one of your flaws into your head; moreover, an early Beginning practitioner was most susceptible to overreading into people’s behavior. Angelique was only ten, but if she didn’t practice now...she’d be unprepared later.

All the better to focus her on more physically-inclined uses for Beginning, Mercy thought. Suddenly, her ears picked up on the sound of muffled footsteps in the hall. Four people, she thought, her heart beginning to race. They’ve arrived.

A knock came on the door.

“Come in,” Mercy called out, her voice placid.

Julia slid open the door. “Hello, grandmother,” she said, inclining her head.

Y’jeni, stop making me feel old, Julia.

Marcus slid into the room after her, bowing his head. “Matriarch.”

Mercy inclined her head in turn and stood from her seat, receiving the rest of her guests standing. A young woman entered next, the spitting image of Julia in her youth. Not to mention myself.

“Matriarch,” Germaine said, bowing her head. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

And finally, the last through the door was a young man that Mercy recognized not for his Dunai features–the boy didn’t take after his father–but because of his notoriety. She could tell that he’d divested himself of ambient Death energy to be inconspicuous, but she could see hints of it lingering over him, especially on parts of his arms and torso. Combat injuries?

And he seems...unsettled, Mercy realized. He’s not scared...nor does he seem anxious. But the way his eyes are taking in the room gives the impression that he’s juggling warring thoughts.

Mercy introduced herself first, her head dipping forward. “Hello, great-grandson.”

Julian leveled his gaze at her, bowing his head back. “The Skai’aren greets the Matriarch.”

He must not think particularly well of me to introduce himself with his own courtesy name, Mercy noted. She’d expect such treatment from a stranger. How cheeky.

Julia’s brow twitched; Mercy knew she’d likely come to a similar conclusion.

“What brings the two of you to Feather?” Mercy asked, smiling gently. Julia had been fairly tightlipped, but Mercy thought she had a fairly good sense of what was going on. Ever since the Fassari Summit, she’d been voraciously following the conflict between the SPU and its neighbors, soaking up every bit of information she could find.

“Matriarch, I’m looking for a place to shelter for the foreseeable future,” Germaine stated.

Mercy nodded her head, unsurprised. She wouldn’t be able to offer refuge to her great-grandson, but he had to already know that. While some might consider offering the the Skai’aren’s sister refuge an invitation for disaster, Mercy wasn’t overly concerned: If the western powers were willing to blatantly attack a regular in Kester, they were in for a world of trouble. “I probably shouldn’t say it, but...I’m pleased you didn’t bring the Veribus with you. For you, we have room.”

Germaine’s knuckles tightened at the jibe to their mother, but she bowed her head and stepped backward toward Julia. “Thank you.”

Unlike his sister, Julian regarded Mercy with increased interest after her remark. “Why do you think I’m here, Matriarch? I’m interested in how a practitioner of your caliber would deconstruct the situation.”

Mercy chuckled. Even if he doesn’t look like Demetrius, he sure does talk like him. “You’re looking to escape the Eldemari’s eye,” Mercy stated, starting with the big picture. “The SPU’s Beginning practitioners likely deemed going East unlikely enough to be worth pursuing.”

The decemancer nodded, his lips curling into a small smile. “Something like that. There’s more to it than just evading her detection, but that’s of little consequence.”

So he is here for something more than just hiding, Mercy realized. It’s the descendant, isn’t it? Mercy had seen the Eldemari’s broadcast just the other night. While the sovereign had framed things selectively, everything coincided with Mercy’s own conclusions. He’s looking to prepare himself for ascension. She considered whether he was in the East to find one of the returned ascendants, but almost immediately rejected the idea: The Eldemari would know if he met with one of the old recluses. Moreover, just being a half-step ascendant isn’t enough to demand their time. Mercy remembered one half-step ascendant decades ago that got himself killed pursuing one of the returnees to tell him information.

They’re called recluses and eccentrics for a reason. Either something about ascending made you weird, or only the weird ones returned; Mercy still had a running bet about which one it was with an old friend in Sussea.

That meant the decemancer was here to either meet a peak decemancer, or to investigate and procure superior combat technology. Her intuition was pointing her to the former.

Instantly a few names came to mind: powerful decemancers scattered across the continent. Her knowledge was most complete with respect to the North, the region in which she had the most experience and connections.

“You’re also looking to learn,” Mercy postulated. Julian’s blink betrayed a trace of surprise. Seems like I’m on the right track. “Many would already consider you a master without parallel, but I think we both know just how helpful another perspective can be. Affinity is, ultimately, just a number. I’m not going to probe the topic since you seem to have a specific destination in mind, but I wish you luck.”

“Thank you.”

Julia cleared her throat. “Grandmother, are the rooms prepared?”

Mercy snorted. “Of course, dear. Ask any of the help and they’ll be able to escort Germaine to hers.” Her eyes gravitated to Julian once more. “Nobody has seen you besides those present in this room?”

The decemancer nodded. “Yes.”

Good thing I told people to stay in their rooms this afternoon, Mercy thought. The staff had seemed mildly confused at the open-ended order to stay inside for an indeterminate period of time, but Mercy hadn’t known when the prodigal Dunais were arriving.

“We should try to keep it that way,” she replied. “Julia, what do you think about this entire situation?”

“Julian should stay here for the night, but leave early tomorrow. Ideally he won’t interact with anyone other than us. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve already prepared to keep him close.”

Mercy smiled. “That I have. If you and Marcus are willing to help Germaine to her chambers, I’ll bring the Skai’aren to his room myself.”