“Staff meetings...” Kael grumbled. He was, by nature, quite lazy. Tedious things like this were not his cup of tea. The only reason he remained in the academy at all to instruct the next generation of mages was because it was easier and more rewarding than adventuring. These lands had long been scoured bare of their bounty and the road, for all its perks, did not suit him when he could remain here in comfort. All students received an 800 square foot suite and professor got the same, to themselves. Eat and drink and sleep, either alone or with any manner of buxom young women who were impressed at his status as an official archmage of Amistad.

And Lernin ensured his 'needs' were well met. Kael might be a lazy, slothful man, but he was incredibly talented. Earning his title in his mid twenties and making several great contributions to the field of magic. It was just common sense to 'sell', what they called 'merit', all of his personal spells and reaping the rewards. To mages it was seen as wise and selfless, but Kael benefited more than he'd ever imagined. Continued to.

“Why are we here?” Tyr groaned. Iscari remained placid and well behaved, but he was grumpy. Barely given two hours of rest before being dragged forcefully out of bed by Kael. Of all the professors he was aware of, only Abaddon was not in attendance. Even the professor of herpetology was here, stroking the feathered lizard the size of a squirrel that dozed lazily on his chest. All of the vocations, not just 'magical' staff were present.

“You're here...” Lernin entered the room flanked by two men clad in green and blue robes respectively. “Because of your positions. Your fathers will need to be made aware of all that we discuss today, but if you reveal any content of this conversation to anyone else – I will expel you. Talent or not, primus or not. Do I make myself clear?”

Tyr shrugged, Iscari nodded. Neither of them had any idea what was going on. Sort of hard to make a promise with that being the case.

“As for my colleagues unaware of recent developments...” Lernin sighed. “I'll keep it brief. Hastur is back.”

Gasps of awe, a few of fear. Everyone seemed to know who this 'Hastur' was, except for Tyr, who searched his memory and came up wanting again. Iscari gripped his communication amulet, sending a file to Tyr. Lit up in azure mana, he scrolled through the holographic projection while Lernin waited patiently for him to finish reading. Nodding at their cooperation and allowing some of the younger staff to review their own file.

It's good that they seem to get along. He pondered. Lernin had been concerned admitting two primus' not only to the same academy, but the same school year. Historically, those few who attended had caused quite a bit of grief for the faculty in the past – but Octavian had been resolute. Even going so far as to threaten coming himself, which nobody wanted. He was a man who did not have the 'patience' of Jartor. Or rather the complete apathy to what mages were up to as long as long as it was beyond the borders of his realm.

Hastur Casterling was a mage. A talented one. They called him 'Bloody Hastur' even in his youth – possessive of a unique predilection for cruelty. At first, it had been a little eccentric, but nothing overly concerning, until he was found in possession of a black book. Notably, the book of Solomon. Utilizing the secrets within to make an attempt at mastering the discipline of anima. Ejected from the academies, he'd killed nearly two hundred bounty hunters before abruptly disappearing.

Calling himself an 'archmage', he was anything but. One did not earn the title of archmage via talent or power alone. It was a title given only to those who furthered the cause of magical research, or contributed a great deal to magical society as a whole, all by merit. Hastur had given nothing, only taking and killing when he didn't get his way. Eventually falling into 'madness', that was how the story went.

He was a wanted man in the twin empires, the republic, and most of the successor states – Amistad most of all. For all the evil he'd wrought, and the shame he'd brought to their nation.

Lernin knew otherwise, though. Hastur was not mad, he was as sharp as he'd ever been. A veritable force of nature and one of the greatest mages of the modern era, few were his equal. Of all the students in living memory, 'Bloody Hastur' was one of the most talented alumnus of the Red Dragon Academy.

“He's...” Tyr read the biographical summary several more times to ensure he was doing so correctly and that his eyes hadn't failed him.

“Yes.” Lernin replied with a sigh. “He is my father. Evidently still alive, and he's returned – in the employ of Baccia, standing at the right hand of the Gran Taurus. The great bull, an affectionate name for their despot. Hastur has tried to strike at Amistad before, with some success – but it never held for long. Now, with the Brotherhood lands and Baccia engaged in a military treaty, their recent diplomatic actions make a lot more sense. With a nation or two behind him...”

He shook his head free of dark thoughts. Having long sworn off relations with this ignoble man, every time he tried to return he'd send Lernin a message. Begging him to 'see the light' and join his old man in his research. Lernin hated his father, but Hastur still loved his son – or so he claimed.

“We aren't sure how long we have. A year, ten, twenty. It doesn't matter to him, because he's capable of extending his life to the point where he appears much younger than you'd think. Hence why we haven't been able to catch him. Everyone's been looking for an old man, while he could've been under our noses the whole time. Thus, I need you...”

Lernin pointed at the boys.

“To communicate this to your fathers. I can send a missive, and they'll ignore it. You know how they feel about mages. Perhaps now that there is a real threat of military action at the border, they'll listen. As for the staff, you already know what to do. Those too junior to remember the last time this happened, five years ago, see to the seniors. Don't worry, you'll all be fine – this is just a formality. Even my father and an army would find it hard to threaten us within these walls. For the time being, suspend out of academy activities, and continue instructing. Of course, no mentioning this to the students, there is no need to ruin their school year when we've no time table.”

That was concerning. No timetable. The fact that his father had acted without sending a message first. It was like a game between them, with Hastur explaining his 'grand plan' and toying with Lernin, who would attempt to stop him, very successfully in the past. Three times in total, and yet the headmaster had always been four steps behind his old man. It was almost like he wanted to lose. That's what made it a game.

But this time, maybe. Maybe with the aid of a primus or two they could squash this problem before it engulfed all of Amistad in a war that nobody wanted.

Tyr and Iscari were excused from the meeting, that was all they needed to know. As for the others, there were few among them who didn't feel fear in the face of the coming storm. Lernin couldn't blame them.

“Wilhelm will see to the wards. Check all of those both within and without the academy. The council is patrolling the borders, so you need not travel further than the towers. Professor Abaddon is handling those outside, and contacting the magical beasts that keep the boundary secure.”

“What of the other academies?” Kael asked. There were six great academies, and several lesser. Thousands of lives were at stake. He didn't care if the fogeys in the council were under threat, but despite his claims otherwise – he cared for the children. It was the only thing he cared for beyond himself.

“They are aware.” Lernin replied with a knowing glance. “Asmon has promised support courtesy of his cleared borders. Evidently, someone from the academy saw to that, and he considers it a debt. Milano and the western states have refused. Naturally, they've offered us a loan, and that's about it...” He sighed. Their situation was dire. Without their natural allies in Amateus, the situation was certainly not ideal.

“Otherwise, continue classes as normal. Is there a man or woman here who does not trust the fact that I'll take care of each and every one of you?”

A uniform shaking of heads. Lernin was young, younger than some of them – but like Kael, he was part of the 'new guard'. Exceptional talent and knowledge. And they trusted him. He'd done everything for them, securing additional funding where he could to see that their classes were well supplied and their salaries were increased. Ensuring that they'd been safe and protected, even when many had called him too young to be a headmaster, he'd proven himself many times over.

“We're with you, headmaster.”

–

“...Yes? Apologies, son, but I'm quite busy at the moment. The savages in the south are at it again and I'm inundated by the idiots in the senate to provide aid. To imagine that they were afforded such wealthy territories and can't handle a few ashkaari.... Wait... Jartor?”

“Hello again, old friend.” Jartor smirked, unexpectedly staring at the face of his sworn brother from across the desk. Two holograms with only their upper bodies emitted from the devices their respective children had lined across from one another. “How have you been?”

“Haven't I just said? Do you have no ears astride that thick skull of yours?” Octavian threw a finger into the hologram, an archaic symbol of disdain considered inappropriate by cultured men.

Jartor laughed, abruptly stopping and staring at the man through the hologram with those flinty eyes of his. “How about I come down there and shove that finger up your--”

“I wish you would!” Octavian waved it away like it was no concern of his. “That way, we can finally settle the score and I can show you how a real primus does things. Maybe then, you can get a grip of your borders and do as I've done instead of walking about doing however you please. Some poor excuse for an emperor you are. Oh, yes. Men deserve their agency, what a joke!”

“Settle the score?” Jartor replied, tilting his head in that irritatingly familiar way he did. Like a dog, Octavian had always hated that. “Last I checked, I was up by eight duels. I'm sorry to say that the gap will only get wider if you don't watch your mouth. Little brother.”

There was a confrontation in their eyes, leaving both the boys nervous. If they'd a mind for it, they could meet within the day and level an entire mountain in the process. Fortunately, it was just… Banter? Neither Iscari nor Tyr had ever grown up around 'brothers'. Men grew close over centuries of knowing one another, and this was fairly standard – by the primus' reckoning. What with both of the old men bursting into honest laughter, smiling widely. Tyr hadn't seen his own father ever make a face like that.

“It's good to see you, my brother.”

“And you. So? What kind of trouble has my boy gotten into now?” Jartor turned a steely gaze toward Tyr. By all estimates, he could not be able to see his son – yet he turned within the hologram to stare directly at him. Despite the fact that Tyr was outside of the ninety degree angle of visibility offered by the mana projection component of the amulet.

Iscari stepped back, offering an apologetic glance to Tyr and nervously clenching his hands. Of course he couldn't see them, it wasn't possible and he could not use magic as Octavian could, but he could hear them breathing through the output. Enough to know they were there.

It didn't take long for Tyr to explain things, and the request of the academy that the twin empires help in their plight against not only Hastur – but Baccia and the Brotherhood as well.

“Hmm...” Octavian mused. He was very handsome, with none of the femininity present in his son. All man, wide of chin and well kept. “Ah, and a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, young Tyr. It is good to see you two back together again. Just like your father and I. Or it would be. Can I trust you to not be a negative influence on our future emperor?”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright then. What do you make of this, Jartor?”

“I don't make anything of it. They're leveraging our children in the thought that we'll excuse one another from the treaty and fix their problems for them. I have no intention of doing so.” Jartor shook his head, and that was that. There would be no changing the mind of the 'lion'. Not ever. Compared to his father, Tyr was not very stubborn at all, whereas Jartor's will was as insurmountable as the sky itself. Never to be conquered. “Haran will not offer aid to Amistad. Not militarily. If they need for money, food, anything else I'll oblige. Our harvest this year was very favorable. You can tell them that, but I'm no dog come to heel to resolve an internal dispute.”

Octavian, however, was more calculating. He gave a much longer moment to process the information before making a decision. “I am of the same conclusion. There will be no aid from Varia either. Perhaps Alexandros will humor your request, but I highly doubt it.”

“...Why?” Iscari asked, aghast at the idea that they'd leave innocent people to suffer and die under a potentially impending crisis. His father had always been a 'man of the people'. Someone who cared about the insignificant to the point where he had abolished ancient nobility and executed those who had flaunted their privilege to cause such a turn of events.

“Why indeed...” Jartor hummed. “Your father and I have never agreed on our approach – but that's irrelevant. It is not the duty of the primus to solve your problems. It is our duty to protect our territories and ensure that mankind as a whole is safe. Is humanity under threat?”

“No, but--”

“If we rose every time those petty states saw it necessary to skirmish at their borders and quarrel amongst themselves, we'd find our work never through. To send my people to die to help those who insist on their independence is not our way. The council requesting our assistance is another thing entirely.”

“But they won't...” Octavian added. “Those men are too petty and too proud. Ancient treaties bind our hands. What do you think the Republic would do if we were to march our respective legions into the successor states?”

“It's for the greater good!” Iscari protested. “For peace!”

“Easy to say, harder to prove.” His father replied. “You are sharp witted, my son, but you've never understood the finer art of ruling a nation. We move into the successor states, and war will erupt. The Republic that has thus far remained fairly docile will conquer the western states, and view our breaking of a treaty they are not bound to as Cassus Belli to expand their territory. At that point, it won't be just Amistad under threat – but Milano, the baronies... Many will die.”

“Alexandros would be a fool to do so.” Tyr frowned, resulting in a barking laugh from his own father. He couldn't decide if it was mocking or not...

“The Republic is not ruled by Alexandros.” Octavian said calmly. “Lyra is ruled by the senate, unlike the empires. They would do so without any order from their primus, because Alexandros does not lord over them. He takes very little interest in state. They have long desired to expand, but we have not humored them. As a future primus yourself, you should understand how important it is to maintain balance between the nations. Lyra expanding into the successor states would result in mass casualties, we would be obligated to respond. They are not a meek people, and likely wish we would. There is wisdom in simply watching.”

“So you'll... What?” Iscari was incensed by their inaction. He'd known of the squabbles in the successor states and knew why they didn't act immediately, but to not even consider the possibility was ridiculous. “Let Amistad be conquered? And then...? I'm sorry father, but I don't understand!”

“Yes.” Jartor would answer in lieu of his oath brother. “Until such a thing is done that violates successor treaty – we cannot act. You say it's for the greater good, but this is naive. If such a time comes where we must choose between a great war, or a lesser war, we must choose the lesser. This is the duty of a primus. To sacrifice a hundred thousand in concern of the million. I speak on behalf of Ragnar when I say there will be no aid from Oresund either, sans the obvious guard offered my son operating on charter.”

Iscari stormed off, clenching his fists and near ripping the door of their suite off its hinges in the process, leaving Tyr alone in the room with his father and Octavian.

“He's always been emotional.” Octavian sighed. “Just like this mother. Forgive him for his disrespect, my brother.”

“You've not known my own son long enough to know how much I empathize with you, brother.” Jartor chuckled wryly. He seemed to have changed in the presence of his oldest friend, adopting a softer and more understanding demeanor than Tyr was used to. “And speaking of... Tyr, you understand why we cannot act?”

Tyr nodded. He did. While it was regrettable – the cooler heads of the centuries old primus' were a source of great wisdom. Something he had only begun to respect as part of his recent growth. “I do. I only wonder how we should behave. As princes, should we not be expected to excuse ourselves? Because if they come, I will fight. You know that I will.”

“I do.” Jartor nodded. “I know you better than you might expect. Just like your old man when he was your age, all full of bravado. So eager to a fight.”

“I'm not sure I want to fight at all.” Tyr frowned, conflicted. “I really hurt Alex's feelings, I think, and while as irredeemable as I am in her eyes, I don't want to make it worse.”

“...Interesting.”

“All drama and marital complications aside, that's a good question.” Octavian interrupted before Tyr could say anything more. “I will contact Alexandros. He is a good man, but he does not speak for his nation. He, like your father, has taken to protection over sovereignty. Though, it is concerning...”

“Indeed.” Jartor replied. “Tyr, if ever a time comes where you find yourself facing Hastur, you should run. Pride or not, I have no idea how strong he has become. If I knew you'd obey me, I'd bring you home right now. Hastur Casterling is not who he seems.”

“Run?” Tyr stared his father in the eyes. “These mages are so tiny and frail. Not at all what I expected.”

“Aye.” Jartor nodded. “But I'll repeat myself when I say that he is not who he seems. Not an ordinary mage, boy.”

“I do not fear him.”

“You should.” Octavian added his two cents now. “To be caught in the trappings of pride is understandable, but it is not our way. Hastur is a master of anima, and we've no idea how strong he's gotten in the time he's been away. If he's truly unlocked the legacy left behind by Solomon, he may be an incredible threat. Even to us. This is a reason why we do not act. While I too do not fear this man either, our numbers are dwindling. We cannot risk another primus falling. Without us...”

“Magic...” Jartor spat. Tyr could hear his saliva striking the floor, and the sounds of a servant scrambling to clean it from the marble. “It can do great things, Tyr, and now you've seen it. I pray that you never see the horrors it can wreak at the hands of the truly mad. There is a good reason why I, and your grandfather before me, consider magic such a threat. Why we seek to control and measure it. It has a price, and when taken to the extreme, the price is terrible. Both on the world, and on the man who wields it. It is a problem for Amistad to solve. We've allowed them to gallivant for long enough. Now is the time for them to show their worth. And if you're keen to stand by them, do so. There is merit in a man who will not move, but know your limitations.”

What he didn't add, was the necessity of a culling. Tyr fancied himself hard, but he was still just a boy on the inside. Jartor knew this. A boy all twisted, with a poor excuse for a father and large gaps in his education. He'd never been a good father, not without his Signe. He'd needed her, but she'd perished, for all her incredible talent the impossible had been done, taking her from him.

Magic did indeed have a terrible price. That which was given was taken, without exception. There were secrets of the world that only an awakened, those he could not share with his son. Too many mages abounded in the successor states. In the grander scheme, this was not good.

“I would still advise you to return to Haran, Tyr.” Octavian said.

And it wasn't Tyr himself, but Jartor that would answer. “He will not listen. Will you, Tyr?”

Tyr shook his head, and Octavian chuckled jovially. Making some comment of 'like father, like son'.

“Then prepare yourself. That isn't an order, but a request from your sovereign. Consider this your first mission as a future primus and scion of our house. Progress, grow, and be ready for what is to come. Do you understand?”

Tyr nodded. There was no need for further conversation, the nails digging into the flesh of his palms were just enough to keep him silent and agreeable. He'd be ready.