“Finally,” Kenna whistled. “The power of light is mine!”

Next to her, blue dolphins made of light were doing somersaults across the air. Laveny was staring at them, twirling her fingers like a conductor. Her focus was extraordinary, and he’d found out that once her mind was on something, nothing could distract her unless someone shook her body to wake her up from her partial trance. He looked at her dolphins again. They were so realistic.

“How does it feel?” Demund asked. “This is the first time I’ve taught someone with no powers at all.”

“Peculiar,” Kenna grinned, “like a sixth sense. So this is what people with powers experience. So? Is it time for water? Or do I have to do what Laveny is doing?”

“No, she’s a special case,” Demund shook his head. “It’s time to create water.”

“Excellent. I won’t need to carry around a bottle anymore.”

Someone tugged on his shirt. He looked sideways to find Laveny holding a stuffed dolphin in her arms.

“It’s my turn now,” she said in a small voice.

“Alright, alright,” Demund said, glancing at Kenna. She made an okay sign with her fingers. Laveny was prioritized.

“Have you practiced water enough?” Demund asked. The girl nodded enthusiastically, putting out her hands. A ball of water formed before her, and she let it drop into a cup that was on the table. The process hadn’t taken three seconds.

“And wind?”

She closed her eyes, and a small breeze make their hair sway. Demund nodded in satisfaction.

“Try moving the flower.”

Laveny opened her eyes and glared at the flower inside of the small vase. As if an invisible hand had grabbed it, it floated upwards, hovering in the air for a few seconds before dropping back down.

“I don’t know why telekinesis is harder than moving water or air,” she muttered, hugging her dolphin. “Air is easier because of less mass. But water…is it because of polarity?”

“Honestly, I’ve never analyzed the science of it,” Demund shrugged. “But there’s something called efficiency when casting spells. Water is something that has been developed for a long time, but telekinesis—not so much.”

Efficiency was something he’d never cared about as Shaden. But he had learned water magic from an incantation, while telekinesis was something he’d taught himself. There was no doubt which spell was more efficient.

“Hmm.”

Laveny seemed to be lost in thought. No doubt she was forming something extraordinary in that genius mind of hers. She’d taught herself how to change light’s color and shape without him ever showing her how. He wouldn’t be so surprised if she managed to make his magic more efficient.

It wasn’t the best feeling.

“But it’s time for fire,” Demund announced, taking in a deep breath. “Are you ready? Fire can be dangerous.”

Laveny nodded. “I’m ready! I can handle myself. I’ve dealt with more dangerous machines. This will be a piece of cake.”

“Magic is still unpredictable,” Kenna said, pinching the girl’s cheek. “Always proceed with caution, okay?”

“I know!”

She put out her hand like usual. Honestly, it was him that was nervous. There was the danger of being burnt, and it would entirely be on him. He circulated, feeling much more at peace, then held her hand.

“No palm, only finger,” he told her.

“But I learn fast with palm.”

“Just for now, since it’s dangerous.”

She did as she was told with a small pout. Demund closed his eyes and moved his mana through her hand up to her finger, weaving his magic at the tip of her skin. No, a little further. He’d use more mana, but it would be safer. The difference was meager.

The tiniest flame burst into life before their eyes.

“It’s so small,” Laveny observed. “That’s it?”

“Of course not.”

Slowly, he increased the size of the flame to two—no, three times. Now it was like a candle, burning steadily though with no smell. Now they’d simply have to maintain it for a while until Laveny got the hang of it.

The size of the flame suddenly doubled again. Demund nearly flinched.

“Laveny, was that you?” he asked. She looked at him innocently.

It was her. She’d fed her mana into his spell. Had she done it subconsciously? He narrowed his eyes. Her smile looked suspicious.

“Be safe,” Kenna told them. They both nodded.

After around a minute, the fire increased in size once more, though less visibly. Demund was sure of it now. She was powering the fire alongside him, interfering with his magic. So he lessened his output, and the fire shrank.

The fire flared up again. He decreased his power. And again. He did the same. A few minutes later, he cut off his flow of magic, and the flame flickered out.

“I was so close!” Laveny yelled into her dolphin, burying her face in it. She peeked out, looking at him. “Can we do it again? The same way, please.”

“You could’ve told me beforehand,” Demund said. “I was worried you were trying to explode the fire in our faces.”

Kenna crossed her arms. “Laveny? Were you not following instructions again?”

“N-no.”

“What did Deion and I say about lying?”

“But I wasn’t lying.” Laveny eyed him. “Right?”

Demund shrugged, causing Kenna’s frown to deepen.

“Three laps around the field before dinner,” Kenna stated.

Demund had the urge to poke Laveny’s pouting cheeks, but he held out his hand again since he was there as a teacher. “It’s partly my fault too,” he said. “But your idea was good. Transitioning the flow of mana until you can take over—was a great attempt. I never thought about it. It might work.”

“It will work,” Laveny humphed. “See? I was being productive. So…no running?”

Kenna’s smile was as still as stone.

“We can run together,” Demund suggested a little nervously. While Kenna never became angry at anything—and had no powers—it didn’t make her tall stature and muscular body less intimidating. Her quiet smile could make an elephant hesitate.

“Y-yeah,” Laveny agreed.

This was the second time he’d seen her smile of death. The first was when Laveny had splashed him with water. Intentional or not, Kenna hadn’t taken her actions too kindly, making her spend the rest of the time before dinner running until her clothes were drenched with sweat. Demund had cautiously told Kenna that maybe it was too much for the girl, but she’d shaken her head.

“Actions have consequences, mistakes have consequences,” she’d stated. “Don’t worry. She’s stronger than you think.”

But they continued to practice with fire, and though Laveny wanted to go on because ‘she almost had it,’ there were thirty minutes left until dinner and their run had to be completed. Under Kenna’s watchful eye, they went out to the field and began their three laps. Three wasn’t that much anyway.

Laveny wasn’t talkative outside of their lessons. They ran in silence, feeling the sea breeze on their faces. Maybe he shouldn’t have offered to run, but it would feel weird to stay inside doing nothing until dinner. He wasn’t much of a speaker either. They finished their run without exchanging a word.

Maybe next time. The girl was hard to approach. When amused, she could be the enthusiast, but when not, her bored expression could make the funniest comedian run away in tears. She ran in without saying anything, leaving him behind with Kenna.

Demund wiped his forehead. “Is she upset?”

“Maybe. Likely not. Likely disappointed.”

“With me?”

Kenna smacked him on the back. “Course not. I haven’t seen her this amused in a long time. You’re doing great. Have some confidence.”

“Ah—thanks.”

“Now, go wash your sweat off, and don’t be late for dinner.”

“Got it.”

He found Kenna to be akin to a motherly figure at the facility. After all, she was the one who took care of them, organizing their day. Deion came to check on them once in a while, but over a week had passed since he’d last visited. That brought up the question—where were Laveny’s parents?

Her situation could be similar to his. But she was much younger than him. Maybe those with extremely powerful abilities were scouted early.

Thinking back, there were times when Laveny’s eyes were wide awake. It was whenever Deion visited. Maybe…he was her father?!

Yeah right. Deion had graduated last year, and Laveny was eleven. Demund finished his shower, wondering what dinner would be.

Things had been surprisingly uneventful during the few weeks he’d been there. He hadn’t gotten the chance to ask Deion about Enariss, nor did he have any means of contacting him. It was at these times that he felt like a prisoner, however relaxing his current life was.

What would his friends be doing? He dried his hair. His classes were all prerecorded. His tests were given by Kenna, so his old life seemed to grow further away from him. Much like his time with the Jakhar Kishaks and the Nieuts. Though this time, it was much more blatant.

It was easier, was it not? He didn’t need to take care of animals. He didn’t need to clean or do various chores. He didn’t need to walk for hours. Yes, it was easier.

But the vague feeling of anxiousness didn’t go away. It was closer to uncertainty. Fear of losing his friends.

What if he was stuck here until he graduated? Nothing had been specified.

He headed to dinner to find Laveny talking excitedly with Deion. Deion had his usual smile on with an expression that didn’t reveal much. After seeing Demund, he raised a hand to greet him, motioning him to the seat next to Laveny. She didn’t seem to care much but looked slightly annoyed that he’d interrupted their conversation.

“I was waiting for you, Demund,” Deion began, clasping his hands on the table. “We have some matters to discuss.”

Demund nodded. “And that is…?”

“A certain person will arrive here tomorrow, someone you know,” Deion told him.

Demund’s eyes lit up. “Is it Enariss? Or Jothan?”

“Neither of your friends are nearby as they are busy at the moment,” Deion shook his head. “It will be someone with more time in her hands—along with her assistant.”

“Where are Enariss and Jothan?” he blurted. He couldn’t help but ask.

“Jothan is attending school as any student here would. As for Enariss—she is busy traveling.”

“Traveling for what? You—you said…”

He glanced at Laveny. She was playing with her plate. “You said she could be in danger,” he said softly.

“Two months from now, there will be an outbreak.”

Demund looked up. Deion was staring at him with his stone-cold eyes. Unwavering and chilling. Dead serious. He could hear Laveny’s plate clink beside him.

“An—outbreak?”

“A surge, a release, an invasion. Call it whatever you want,” Deion continued. “You’ve proven yourself. It’s about time that you knew. Laveny?”

The girl did something because a small drone rolled up beside them, making a beeping noise. A large hologram appeared before them, displaying the map of the Preliminary Islands. There was a red circle on the southern edge of the main island of Portanary. Deion pointed at it.

“Do you know what that is?”

Demund gulped. “A…city?”

“Not quite. It’s a research facility, perhaps the first of its kind.”

“I’m guessing it’s for powers.”

“You’re quick to catch on.”

“So—what will happen?” Demund asked, feeling intrigued. As ominous as this felt, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating harder.

“Where do you think powers come from?” Deion asked instead. “They never make it clear during history class, do they? Take a guess.”

“Evolution? That’s what the textbook says. That’s where the term SAP comes from. Supernatural acclimatization particles.”

“It’s true that people adapted to SAP. But where does it come from?”

“I thought it was inherent.” Because mana was inherent.

“Maybe. We knew little about them before powers began to emerge. Then where do powers come from? Does someone get powers by possessing SAP?”

“I don’t think so.”

“This—”

The red circle glowed ominously. “Is where it all began. The origin of powers and the surge of SAP. The creation of the world as we know it.”

Demund eyed the circle again. “Began? Like an experiment gone wrong? But that doesn’t make much sense. There are so many kinds of powers, and each of them is too complex to just—happen.”

“You’re right. Powers are complex. But it was an experiment that went wrong many years ago, and the aftereffects of that experiment continue. Have you noticed anything strange about the wildlife?”

“A few. The birds are bigger. The plants are bigger.”

Deion nodded. “While only humans can obtain powers, nature adapts in different ways. One of the tasks you receive as a student here is culling the wildlife.”

Demund remembered Jothan’s letter. “Sounds dangerous.”

“And that is why there is a minimum requirement of a C rating. Even with non-offensive abilities, those who possess a high concentration of SAP tend to have superhuman physiques. The problem begins when the experiment’s influence spreads beyond the Islands. There aren’t nearly enough heroes to protect everyone. But problems should be stopped at their roots.”

“So—in two months, something will happen that will cause more SAP to spread if it isn’t stopped.”

“Yes.”

The screen flickered off, and the drone drove away.

“Each time, heroes must be assembled. Talented hero candidates are recruited as well.”

“And Enariss is one of them?”

Deion nodded. Demund had never heard about this.

“So—so what happens?” he asked.

“The outbreaks come in different forms,” Deion said, “and each of them are caused by SAP. Though there are many talented individuals, there was never a way to properly control SAP. Only temporary solutions. But now there is someone who can control it—and teach it.”

Demund felt something drop in his chest. “You don’t mean me.”

“Don’t be anxious. The world’s well-being doesn’t rest on your shoulders. But you represent what the future can become—a world where people don’t have to rely on superpowers.”

His throat felt clogged. Demund didn’t know what to say. Was he that important?

“Of course, nothing is certain,” Deion smiled. “We are experimenting. Take it easy, and take it slowly.”

“Is it really that important?” Laveny asked.

“Yes. Especially for you,” Deion told her. He turned to Demund. “There will be a point in time where you will feel limited in your ability to control SAP,” he said with certainty. “Anyone who develops their power is bound to meet a wall. But Laveny here—she has no limits. She will be able to help you when your progress halts.”

Demund glanced at Laveny. She was suppressing a smug grin.

“But—it’s time for dinner. We talked for a while, didn’t we?”

Dinner was served by Kenna to Laveny’s disappointment, but she still looked happy that Deion was there to eat with them. He told her about his trips around the globe, of meeting their friends and eating new foods. When Deion revealed that he’d put snacks from afar in the fridge, Laveny clapped, obviously delighted.

“Remember to share it,” Deion told her. “Sharing is?”

“Caring,” Laveny muttered.

“How long have you two known each other for?” Demund asked when he got an opportunity.

“Six years, seven months, two weeks, four days, eight hours, twenty-six minutes, and forty-two seconds!” Laveny answered with a bright smile.

“You memorized that?”

Laveny brought up her tablet where a clock was ticking. “It’s basic addition and subtraction.”

“Oh.”

Six years? From what he knew, Laveny had grown up in the Islands. It could only mean that Deion had visited—if not frequented—the Islands before he had graduated. Demund frowned internally. Was that possible? To go back and forth like that?

Then again, he and Enariss were in similar situations. It made him feel prouder of himself, though Deion was still a mystery to him. He’d always thought of him as a cool upperclassman.

Demund’s curiosity got the better of him. “Did you…grow up in the Islands?”

“No. Don’t think too much about it.”

It sounded like an order, so Demund shut his mouth and resumed eating. From Deion’s perspective, it would make sense to keep his identity a secret since there could be those who could misuse the information. Here was someone who was a part of something much bigger than he could imagine. A true hero’s life. And he’d been given an opportunity to be a part of it.

Demund felt something warm and bubbly in his chest. A part of something bigger. Creating the future with his hands.

Dinner ended too quickly, and Deion, being the busy hero he was, headed to where a small plane was parked to fly away. There was no pilot. Laveny waved towards him, telling him to visit more often while Kenna smiled with her arms crossed. Demund could only watch. Two months. What would happen then? He wanted to ask more. But Deion was going.

“Oh, right.”

Deion turned towards them one last time. “The person who’s coming tomorrow is upset at you, Demund. It’s not wise to cross her. She can be quite influential. Try not to get on her bad side.”

“What! Who is this person?”

Deion waved, and the door closed behind him. The plane soon took off with a gust of wind, quickly vanishing into the sky. It was free time now, so Demund went back to his room to practice his magic, but his focus was already ruined.

Who? Who would be upset at him? He couldn’t think of anyone. He didn’t know anyone famous, did he?

Not being able to concentrate, he headed to the kitchen to get some juice. He spotted Laveny in her office typing furiously on the computer while dolphins of light and water swam around her. Her talent was terrifying. Quietly, he passed the room and obtained his glass of drink, taking a big sip.

“Wow,” he muttered.

The juice was pretty good. He put the rest of it back in the fridge and began heading back. If there was one bad thing, it was that he didn’t have any friends he could hang out with. If only Jothan or Enariss were there, or Riley or Rhyne. Things would be much more fun. He wished he had access to his chats. Did he want to brag? Maybe a little.

He heard noises coming from the training room and decided to peek inside. Kenna was working out to the sound of upbeat music, carrying what seemed to be three—maybe four times his weight. According to her, that was her idea of ‘fun.’ Constant progress and improvement. After this, she would go to Laveny before bed to read her some bedtime stories. They slept early at around ten when all the main lights went off.

Only now did he realize that they were all preparing. For this—outbreak. There was still too much he didn’t know, but now, his time there seemed to have meaning.

“For a better future…” he muttered. It felt surreal.

He turned back to head to his room. Once he got inside, he changed into pajamas and reviewed some class materials. Memorization came to him easily. Before bed, he would expend all of his mana and wake up with a fresh mind.

He could hear Kenna’s music faintly through the walls. He was getting used to this life.

Demund frowned. Music?

Learning magic?

His eyes widened. There had been someone who’d told him to message her when he’d succeeded in teaching magic to other people. Someone famous, someone who he had met a few months ago at the Junior’s Advancement.

And he’d completely forgotten about her.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

“Well—I guess I should thank you for your help.”

Shaden dropped a stone into the hole he’d created, and it vanished after crossing the entrance, turning into dark mush. He closed the hole, reopened it with his other hand, and reached inside, willing the stone to come to him. The object solidified in his grasp, and he fetched it out. The stone was the same as it had been a few seconds ago.

“You left me no choice,” the Guardian growled, “but I must say that it is amusing. I have seen those who learn quickly—but they all had their tools. You are without any, yet here you stand, able to create a hole into your…shadow.”

As Shaden had been unable to open a portal to the Spirit Realm directly, he’d instead looked for other methods to tinker with space—and the answer had been in the tree portals all along. They were, in fact, of a similar property to the shadow he’d received, and with a little bit of examination, he’d successfully mimicked a portal…though he’d lost a hand in the process. The moment he’d reached inside, the shadow had devoured his arm. He’d healed it back, but it hadn’t been pleasant.

“The shadow is my tool,” Shaden muttered, testing out his dimensional storage again. It would be terrible if he put something in and never got it back. “Besides, I still don’t know how to teleport.”

The storage was a byproduct of his experiments. And given his failure, he didn’t dare to jump into the entrance he’d created.

“Yet, you do.”

“Only with your assistance,” Shaden sighed. “It doesn’t feel like mine.”

“And yet, you are close to making magic that is yours.”

Shaden stared at his portal.

Teleportation sounded simple in theory. Once he could open a portal, all he had to do was open the second one and then connect the two within the Spirit Realm (or the shadow in this case). Kind of like a supernatural wormhole. But the spirit side of things had a strange property of twisting reality. All and any form of matter that entered the spirit realm would ‘decompose’ in a sense, losing its physical properties and becoming nonmaterial. The process was usually slow, according to the Guardian, but his shadow seemed to devour whatever entered it. Hence the danger.

Only by repelling the shadow’s influence through circulating could he maintain his hand. And even then, it was dangerous. The shadow had never harmed him directly; losing his hand had been the result of his foolishness. Experimenting with it had shown him how little he knew about it.

“If only I knew how to open my spirit directly,” Shaden sighed.

“Impossible for a human,” the dragon stated. “You are physical by birth. If you take my blood—”

“No thanks,” Shaden refused.

He put his hand into the shadowy hole, immediately feeling it trying to consume his very being. Even a child could tell that the shadow was not meant to be opened. But he wasn’t one to back down. A raging river of mana poured out of him into the shadow’s gaping hole, and he used it to navigate the unknown depths of the mysterious entity. It devoured his mana hungrily, but he increased the output, preventing himself from being overpowered.

It was bottomless. A seemingly endless abyss of hunger and darkness. And so, so very lonely—?

The shadow slapped his face.

Shaden blinked. “Huh?”

Suddenly, his hand was spat out by the hole, and the shadow retreated back inside of him, refusing to come out. When he called for it, it ignored him, throwing a kind of fit inside of his body as if trying to complain. He looked at his hand, confused.

“Huh?”

“Ah,” the Guardian said. “The shadow has personality.”

“I mean, yes, I know that,” Shaden muttered, remembering all the times the shadow had saved him. “But this is new.”

He stood there for a moment before shrugging. “I guess that’s it. It was…educational, being here. I won’t see you again for a while. But the moment you do something harmful—”

Shaden slid a finger across his throat. The dragon raised its head, a breath of hot wind coming out from its nostrils.

“I have pride unlike petty creatures,” the dragon grumbled. “I do not resort to underhanded tactics.”

“Good. I’ll go tell the princesses that they no longer need to die prematurely then.”

“It is for the peace of the kingdom that—”

Shaden raised an eyebrow. The dragon closed its mouth momentarily.

“You will need a mark,” the Guardian told him, slowly holding out its claw. “The princesses will be wary. Accept this as a token of apology.”

Something emerged at the tip of the dragon’s claw—a small round pearl that was the color of dull silver. It floated onto Shaden’s hand. When he closed his fingers around it, it reacted to his presence, glowing faintly.

“What I give you is ancient magic,” the dragon told him. “A primeval spell embedded into our very existence. My children will know that I sent you.”

“How do I use it?”

“Having it on you will be enough. This is the extent of my hospitality,” the dragon stated, curling its body into the darkness, hiding deeper into the cave. “I shall give you no more.”

“This marble-looking thing? That’s it?”

The dragon didn’t respond. Through their connection, he could tell that it had fallen into a deep slumber. Shaden scratched his cheek.

From the Guardian’s perspective, he was the intruder. It was upset at him—if dragons could get upset. It wished to sleep until he was gone. It despised his presence but had no choice but to amuse him because of the snare in its heart. Now, the pest was finally leaving.

“Maybe I was the one who marked the princesses first, but you went too far with it,” Shaden argued. “Besides, you were going to kill them eventually.”

He knew he was speaking to no one. How tragic that their goodbyes were so distasteful. They’d both harmed each other, restricted each other. Sure, he’d begun it, but—hah. At least he’d learned some magic.

He eyed the dragon one last time. Kicking the floor in frustration, Shaden closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was back in the small reading room that he and Prince Boren frequented. The prince looked up when he arrived, lowering his book.

“How was your final audience with the Guardian?” he asked.

The prince had returned to the palace a week after Shaden had suppressed the Guardian. With the King’s written decree that his children would not perish with his passing, he’d regained a lot of life in his eyes, though the wariness remained.

“So-so. He gave me this,” Shaden said, holding up the small silver marble. The moment he did, Markendrath’s head shot up, and the small dragon shivered mildly, its eyes dilating.

Boren’s face had hardened as well. He placed his hand on his kindred’s head, trying to calm him.

“What fear and awe I feel,” Boren breathed, inspecting the ball. “It is as if I am in the Guardian’s presence.”

“Really? I don’t feel anything.”

“It is subtle. But a child recognizes its parent. Would you cover it once more?”

He did, tucking it in his pocket. Boren’s face visibly relaxed.

The prince didn’t know that he had the Guardian’s life in his hands. He hadn’t told them of the events that had unfolded. All he knew was that he’d made a contract with the mighty dragon, and rumor had it that Shaden had threatened the King with the city’s safety. People remembered the sudden, roaring storm and the lightning strike on the palace. Very few knew that it had been him who had caused it.

As such, Boren still worried for him. He seemed to be misunderstanding something, but the Guardian had insisted upon secrecy.

“A nation whose King genuflects to a child is a subject of contempt,” the dragon had spoken. “You do not understand the weight of authority. I have listened to your demands—now, do not let the Crown be sullied by your inexperience.”

Honor, prestige, power, politics, and whatnot—Shaden knew little about these things. The dragon had phrased things harshly, but Shaden knew that it was right. He didn’t have the knowledge nor will to bear that position of dominance. Being secretive in the shadows—wasn’t that what his family stood for anyway?

“You’ve done well to bear everything,” the prince said, lowering his head. “I cannot thank you enough.”

The prince thought that he was being experimented on by the Guardian. Shaden waved his hands shyly, holding back a grin.

“A prince shouldn’t lower his head, right?” he said. “I didn’t do much.”

Boren shook his head. “You don’t understand. This will be a turning point in history. For the princes and princesses to not die breaks all tradition. Beliefs will be overturned. Celebrations will be renamed.”

“Maybe you could fake your deaths?”

“Possibly. But the people are not blind. The court will be busy for some time sorting out the fine details. It will be a few years until things are made public. In the meantime, is there anything you would like to do? I could hold a feast with you as my honored guest.”

“Too showy,” Shaden shook his head. “I don’t know anyone.”

“You can make acquaintances.”

“With who? The nobles?”

“There would be merchants, poets, scholars, mages, and more. Anyone who would please you.”

“I’m supposed to be covert,” Shaden smiled. “But I appreciate it. Besides, what greater acquaintance than the Prince of Melern himself?”

Boren snorted but looked pleased nonetheless. He stretched broadly, getting up from his seat.

“How about some sweets to celebrate with? I know a splendid location.”

“Then I’d like to buy some for my family as well.”

They headed out of the door. But someone was waiting outside for them and seeing them emerge, the individual bowed his head, properly greeting the prince. He did the same for Shaden, but Shaden felt displeasure for the man was none other than—

“Minister Practol,” the prince said. “Why, I’ve not seen you since the time you taught my sister. What brings you here?”

“A letter, my lord, for the young lord. From Eilae of the Veurbois.”

He reached into his chest pocket and carefully took out an ornate envelope with a platinum seal, embroidered with subtle markings. Shaden accepted it, avoiding eye contact with the old man. Practol’s promise of loyalty to the throne still echoed inside of his mind, and though the Guardian was technically under his control, he hadn’t been able to truly forgive the man.

Was he immature for it? Given the man’s situation, anyone would have done the same. Still, his firm belief that the families were completely loyal to Skotos had never been shattered so clearly.

“No words will acquit me from what I have committed, but I wish you the best of travels,” Practol told him. Bowing again, he turned around and walked away.

“Don’t think too harshly of him,” the prince told Shaden. “He is a kind man, and perhaps weak of heart, but his fear has made him a master of his craft.”

Shaden couldn’t answer the prince.

“Let’s get going,” he said instead. “I want to visit all of the bakeries before I leave Raconel.”

With a shimmer of light, the two of them were gone, whisked away to the aromatic streets of the capital. And Shaden decided to keep his eyes on the future because grumbling about the past was something only fools did.

He truly did, more than any other time, look forward to meeting Eilae again. And this time, finally, for once—

It would be as enjoyable as he expected.