The Colonel and Commandant-Castellan of Saint-Denis, Ignace Reynaud, often called the Beacon of Saint-Denis, is the last remaining original military Magus of the La Réunion recolonization effort. His mastery of Conjuration and Transmutation added to his sapient Spirit, the Molten Oreade Sinoe, has earned him the fear of Humanity’s enemies. It is his Signature Spell, “Ruinous Gate” that earned him his nickname, its incandescence illuminating even the darkest night.

Extract from “The Council of La Réunion” by Tanaka Inagi, First Librarian of La Réunion

One week later.

Damien was furious. He held out the public version of the Council’s minutes, which were notably devoid of any mentions of Jules’s plots, and looked his father in the eyes. “How did he get away with that, dad? He was conspiring to Conjure a Planar Ally powerful enough to overthrow the Council, and he just gets a slap on the wrist? What happened?”

Étienne sipped at a cup of coffee. “I did all I could. It just wasn’t possible, politically speaking, to impeach him. Jules has an excellent reputation in both branches of the military as a veteran retired because of an injury, and that’s half the Council. I convinced Ignace to vote on excluding him from the Education and Diplomatic Boards, but he refused to go any further.”

Damien was still enraged. He asked the question he cared about. “What about Manon and Jean? Will they allow him to just...” He choked at the thought. “Will they just let him do whatever he wants to her? The Geas could have killed her for saving me.”

“The Board of Education will convene tomorrow. I believe the teachers that oversaw last week’s training are on it?” Étienne pointed out.

Damien forced himself to think a moment. “And Roland is on it too, right?” He mused.

Damien looked blankly at Étienne for a moment. After a few seconds, he let out a relieved breath. “Her Geas has already been erased?”

“Of course. Jules must’ve been really happy to have never told his daughter what he intended to have her do with Herne. His official position is that he feared interference in an act of familial tradition. No one believes one word of it, of course, but his family has been linked to the Hunter for a good dozen generations…. We can’t just call that bullshit.” Étienne explained, still bitter. “He’ll release Jean from his Geas shortly. I expect that in light of the trauma inflicted upon Manon by the Geas he cast on her, the Education Board will deprive him of his parental authority. I hear Julia’s been pushing hard the d’Ursels to shelter her.”

Damien felt a smile appear unbidden upon his face. “If it’s not possible, we could build one more room...” He said teasingly. “One more person would liven up the house, right dad?” He said while preparing to go out.

Étienne groaned, mock-entertaining the notion “You know that I already have to delegate half as much work as before just to cook and clean up behind you two, right? Let Julia and the d’Ursels take good care of Manon, will you?” He stood up, preparing to leave for a meeting with one of his subordinates. “I hear there was a fire in the Mayor’s Manor’s garden. Nothing dangerous, but a very old oak has burned to a crisp. Did you hear about that?”

“The sun was hitting hard this week. Maybe the groundskeeper forgot to water it?” Damien said, hiding a malicious smile by pretending to tie up his laces.

Jules’s study was even tidier than usual. Two respectably huge files had recently disappeared from the drawers, sent back almost complete to the Council’s archives. A few pieces of torn paper were still visible, but slowly rotting in a plant pot suspended under the window at Jules’s left. The master of the manor was chain-signing Council decisions when someone knocked.

“Come in, Virgil,” Jules said, not looking away from his work.

A bald man sporting a butler’s uniform entered. Jules nodded towards the refreshments being lain down before him. Somewhere in the house, a clock struck five times. He swiftly read and signed one last communique, then looked in the strikingly vivid green eyes of his majordomo.

“Now tell me, Virgil. Did you find out how my ceremonial oak was burned to a crisp?” He asked, playing ominously with a paper cutter.

The butler bowed once, then answered. “A cursory investigation has revealed that the anti-translocation Alarm spells that I cast on the fences when you won the elections have been dispelled by a competent, but relatively low-tier Enchanter shortly after the manor's fence were approached by an authorized visitor, Master Jules. The fence has also suffered minor cosmetic damages, invisible to the inattentive observer, and consistent with exposure to considerable heat.”

He took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I believe that this contains one of Mistress Manon’s hairs. My theory is that the intruder, a Fire-based Enchanter, used it by approaching an out-of-the-way portion of the fences without triggering the proximity Wards, as mistress Manon was authorized to be near them, then proceeded to dispel the Anti-teleportation Alarms. They then used a translocation spell and committed the - ” He shuddered. “Act of vandalism, by way of multiple low-Tier Fire-based spells.”

Jules nodded. “I see. Were you aware of the vulnerabilities of your Warding, Virgil?”

A sheen of sweat appeared on the butler’s head. “Yes, Master,” he answered. “I believe I brought them to your attention, but you dismissed them as theoretical, Master.”

Jules thought a moment. “Yes, I believe I did. Do you believe the Council would accept these findings as evidence, Virgil?”

Virgil shook his head. “The fire could be dismissed as natural, considering the heatwave of the last two weeks. And - ” he hesitated

“Go on, Virgil.”

“Legally speaking, the installation of the Alarm spells on what is technically public property could be construed as a misdemeanor of some kind, Master. I would not presume to advise you on a political matter, of course, but I believe you declined to advise the Council of their existence…” The butler pointed out.

“I see. In that case, I shall concentrate on another plan. Virgil, I’d like you to compose a list of young mages with no particular backing and a more than average potential. I think the youth of this island needs some patronage.” Jules ordered his manservant.

Virgil bowed. “Your generosity knows no bound, Master. I thank you on their behalf.”

At that, Jules let out a short laugh. “Thank you, Virgil. I would like dinner to be ready in three hours.”

“As you wish,” Virgil said, leaving the study and closing the door.

“I should leave him more free time to progress in his Craft,” Jules whispered to himself. “Good, loyal help is so hard to find...” He sighed and took up a wooden carving depicting a homing pigeon.

He held the sculpture’s head near his mouth, and whispered, “My lord, I regret to inform you that I will be unable to take control of the Council. Herne and his Wild Hunt cannot be invoked without your personal intervention and my daughter’s cooperation, which may not be forthcoming. I am at your disposal if you wish to use up my remaining political or personal power to mount any effort when necessary. Respectfully, and with my most sincere apologies. Jules Addington.”

He put it down and opened the windows. “Animate object,” he cast. The carving took wing, let out a trill, and flew south.

Damien was leaving doctor Ferrand’s clinic with Julia and Jean. Manon had received the news of her oncoming liberation from her father’s authority with a mix of anguish and joy. She had finally become able to free Cûn Anûn and let him roam in his docile form, that of a beagle made of oaken wood and covered with hair-like creeper plants. Its 'ears' -two enormous round leaves- were especially comical, and had even caused Julia to smirk.

“Damien, if you are free I’d like to discuss my project for the Solstice celebration with you,” Julia asked.

Damien had an inkling of Julia’s intentions and nodded. “Sure, I thought you would want my help with that. I’ll ask for the Harpies’ materials.”

“What are the rules again?” Jean asked, taking in the role of the respectable upperclassman for once and making the two younger kids sigh.

“Let’s see,” Damien said, pretending to concentrate. “We have to ‘show our mastery of magic’ by using ‘Signature Spells or Items we have conceived and created by ourselves or with our classmates’ help, preferably under one of our tutor’s supervision.’ Is that correct, Julia?” He mock-asked.

“Extracted word for word from the official presentation.” She deadpanned at him. “What did you do for yours last year, Jean?” She asked.

“Hum… Well, I was supposed to show my use of Lucille as a Message relay...” Jean hesitated.

“How did it go? There was a contagion of flu, I was stuck in bed…” Damien said. "Dad was a bit upset about someone being ridiculous, but there was a big spike of activity in the Diplomatic Board right afterward and I never got around to asking him what actually happened."

“Manon was sick too, now that I think of it,” Jean remembered, avoiding the question. “I wonder if her father forbade her to demonstrate...”

“You haven’t answered him.” Julia reminded the boy. “Do you want me to tell him? I was there.”

“Alright. You know that our Demi-human friends sometimes send dignitaries to see the Solstice celebrations?” Jean asked Damien.

Damien nodded. “Yes, dad’s always busy with the Diplomatic Board in December to prepare for that.”

“Well, last year, Shameek, the Orc’s Chief Shaman came. You know, the one Orc who looks old, all scrawny with a big cane full of shiny charms and fobs?” Jean’s tone was pained now.

Damien could guess where this was going. “Did Lucille act like a magpie would?” Damien guessed, already laughing.

“It went for some kind of crystal. The most beautiful of Shameek’s trinkets. It looked a little like a Core, but smaller than usual. A beautiful golden bird’s skull.”

“I've heard about Shameek. Not friendly, dad said. How did he react?” Damien asked

“He had a Lesser Magma Elemental roast Lucille.” Julia answered in Jean’s stead.

Damien shivered sympathetically. A defeated Familiar was normally sent back to a Pocket Dimension under their Conjurer’s control, and couldn’t be manifested for a duration depending on their nature. Lucille, for example, was smarter than most Familiars, even some Spirits, and could dodge most attacks without problems. However, it lacked offensive abilities and could take days to regenerate after it was forcefully dematerialized by physical or magical damages.

“Speaking of birds,” Jean said, “Lucille saw some strange pigeon flying overhead. Link Sight”

“It’s made of wood!” He exclaimed. “I bet it's one of Jules’s quasi-golems. It’s high… Fifty meters or so.”

“Too far for me” Julia sighed. “I only have close-distance and AoE spells, and causing snowfall in summer would be… conspicuous”

“I’ll try,” Damien announced, unsheathing his sword. “Sunfire infestation!”

A wave of brilliant mites of burning light rose from his sword and dispersed in the sky, some even touching their target, even far over the spell's theoretical range limit. Étienne, who was just heading home, saw his son, sword unsheathed and casting offensive spells in the middle of the street.

“You, young man, are in trouble.” He said, advancing rapidly.

“It's not what it looks like!” His son cried out, reddening.

A couple of hours later, an animated pigeon carving landed on a great pine’s branch, near a clearing in the heart of Lëordan’s Garden. The elf’s old eyes noticed it as soon as it touched down, noting scorched points on it. Signs of an attempt to intercept it, no doubt.

“What does the scheming one wish to tell me, mmm?” Lëordan asked the construct.

The ancient elf listened to Jules’s message and shook his head. “I should have known. Foolish and power-hungry. I shall not use him if the equilibrium breaks. His daughter might be necessary if it comes to it...” He glanced at the two mountains. “The first true test will come soon. If it holds under this wave, all will be well.”

At a gaze from the Archdruid, the wooden carving ceased moving, its sculpted talons fusing into the great tree’s branch. Lëordan moved, and the tree in the center of the clearing that he was busy examining before the interruption – a sapling slightly higher than him that no human would be able to identify – shook ever so slightly.