Chapter 9

The city had changed while we were gone, transformed into something I barely recognized beneath its familiar stone and mortar facade.

We hadn't even reached the palace gates before I noticed it. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable, like a melody played in a different key. Fewer merchants hawked their wares on the cobblestone streets, their usual boisterous calls replaced by hushed murmurs. Fewer smiles graced the faces of passersby, and those that did appear seemed forced, brittle things that might shatter at the slightest provocation. People kept their heads down, moving quickly through the plazas as if the very air carried some unseen threat. Their footsteps echoed with an urgency that spoke of fear lurking in every shadow.

And yet, despite this atmosphere of barely contained dread, the whispers followed us everywhere we went.

They weren't even trying to hide it anymore. The citizens who had once avoided speaking of magic in public now seemed compelled to discuss the very thing that terrified them most.

I caught phrases drifting past on the wind like autumn leaves, each one a fragment of the story that had already begun to spread through the kingdom like wildfire.

"The Sage of Systems has returned..."

"Did you hear about the flare in Krael's Hollow?"

"They say he burned the land itself, turned stone to glass..."

"The very mountains still smoke from his power..."

Liora rode beside me, her posture rigid in the saddle but her expression carefully controlled. She had always possessed an uncanny ability to read the currents of public sentiment, and I could see the concern etched in the fine lines around her eyes. Her horse's reins were held with the practiced grip of someone ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice.

"They're afraid of you," she said, her voice barely audible above the clatter of hooves on stone.I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, watching the palace towers grow larger against the grey sky. The familiar spires that had once welcomed me home now seemed to loom with an ominous weight, their shadows stretching across the city like grasping fingers.

"They should be," I replied, and meant every word.

The admission hung between us like a blade. I had crossed lines at Krael's Hollow that could never be uncrossed, wielded power that had fundamentally altered not just the landscape but my very relationship with the kingdom I had sworn to serve. The young mage who had left weeks ago to investigate a simple leyline disturbance was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous and infinitely more necessary.

By the time we reached the outer gates, a courier was already waiting for us. The sight of him standing there, patient as a statue, sent a chill down my spine. He was wrapped in the pale grey of the royal messengers, his face hidden beneath the deep shadows of his hood. The official seal of the crown glinted dully on his chest, catching what little sunlight filtered through the overcast sky.He handed me a sealed letter without speaking a single word, his movements sharp and efficient. Before I could even acknowledge the delivery, he had already turned and vanished back into the labyrinthine alleys that crisscrossed the outer districts, disappearing like smoke into the crowd.I broke the wax seal with my thumb, feeling the familiar tingle of minor ward magic that protected all official correspondence. The parchment crackled as I unfolded it, and I recognized Varis's precise handwriting immediately.

Do not approach the palace openly. The walls have ears today, and those ears belong to people who would see you silenced. The Archives, third floor, west chamber. Come at once. Time grows short.

Signed, V

I folded the letter carefully and tucked it away in the inner pocket of my traveling cloak, feeling the weight of its implications settle over me like a shroud. Whatever had transpired in my absence, it was clear that the political landscape had shifted dramatically. The fact that Varis felt the need for such secrecy spoke volumes about the danger we now faced.

"Change of plans," I muttered to Liora, adjusting my horse's reins with hands that remained steady through sheer force of will. "We're taking a detour through the merchant quarter."

She didn't ask questions, though I could see the curiosity burning in her dark eyes. That was one of the many reasons I valued her companionship. Liora understood that some conversations were better left for private chambers, away from the countless eyes and ears that monitored every corner of the capital.

The Royal Archives occupied an entire wing of the palace complex, their ancient stones weathered by centuries of wind and rain. We approached through the scholars' entrance, a side door typically used by researchers and scribes that would attract far less attention than the main gates. The afternoon light slanted through narrow windows, casting long shadows across the corridors lined with countless volumes of accumulated knowledge.

Varis was waiting when we arrived, though not in his usual chambers with their comfortable chairs and warm hearth. Instead, he had chosen a small, windowless room deep in the bowels of the Archives, a space normally reserved for storing the most sensitive documents. The chamber was lined from floor to ceiling with old ledgers and locked cabinets, their brass fittings green with age. Dust motes danced in the light of a single oil lamp, and the air carried the weight of secrets that had been buried for generations.

The Royal Archives smelled of dust and iron and parchment, but underneath those familiar scents lurked something else. Something that spoke of hidden knowledge and dangerous truths that were best left undisturbed.

Varis sat at a simple wooden table, his weathered hands folded before him with the patience of a man who had spent decades navigating the treacherous waters of court politics. His grey hair was pulled back in its usual style, but I noticed new lines around his eyes, stress markers that hadn't been there when I left. His old eyes, however, remained as sharp as ever, missing nothing as they took in my travel-stained appearance and the weariness that I couldn't quite conceal.

"You took longer than I expected," he said dryly, though there was relief in his voice that he couldn't entirely suppress.

"Monsters don't wait for road clearances," I replied, settling into the chair across from him. "And apparently, neither do political conspiracies."

He didn't smile at my attempt at levity. The gravity of the situation was written clearly across his features, in the tight set of his jaw and the way his fingers drummed silently against the table's surface.

I reached into my pack and withdrew the object that had consumed my thoughts for the entire journey home. The silver glyph fragment caught the lamplight as I set it on the table between us, its surface inscribed with markings that seemed to shift and writhe in the dancing shadows. Even in this contained state, I could feel the residual power thrumming through the metal, a reminder of the forces that had been unleashed at Krael's Hollow.

Varis didn't reach for it. In fact, he seemed to recoil slightly, as if the very sight of the fragment was enough to confirm his worst fears.

But the moment his eyes met the intricate markings etched into its surface, his expression darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

"Where did you find this cursed thing?" His voice carried the weight of iron striking stone, each word carefully measured and heavy with implications.

"Krael's Hollow," I said, watching his reaction carefully. "Buried deep in the nexus chamber after I managed to stabilize the leylines."

"You stabilized them by incinerating half the valley and everything in it." His tone was flat, accusatory.

I didn't rise to the bait, though I felt the familiar surge of defensive anger. The decisions I had made at Krael's Hollow had been necessary, born from circumstances that left no room for gentler solutions.

"And in doing so, I found this," I said flatly, gesturing toward the fragment. "A glyph from a restricted class that shouldn't exist outside the highest circles of magical authority."Varis's fingers tightened around the sleeve of his robes, a nervous gesture I had rarely seen from the usually composed archivist.

"You shouldn't even know how to recognize markings like these," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This knowledge is forbidden to all but the most senior members of the Mage Council.""I've been studying extensively during my travels," I replied, keeping my tone carefully neutral. "Amazing what you can learn when survival depends on expanding your understanding of dangerous magic."

For a long moment, Varis said nothing. The silence stretched between us like a taut wire, filled with unspoken implications and half-formed fears. The lamplight flickered, casting our shadows in strange patterns against the walls lined with forgotten knowledge.

Then, very quietly, he spoke the words I had been dreading.

"You realize what this means, don't you? What it represents?"

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of that understanding settle over me like a burial shroud.

"This wasn't the work of some rogue sorcerer operating from the shadows. No minor noble dabbling in powers beyond their comprehension." I paused, letting the full implications sink in. "Only the kingdom's highest-ranking mages have access to glyphs like this. Only those who sit in the inner circles of power and influence."

Varis's face had gone pale in the lamplight, making him look older than his considerable years."Possession of this fragment alone is enough to have you executed," he said softly, his words carrying the finality of a death sentence. "Not by the king's justice. Not through any court of law. By the Mage Council itself, in one of their midnight tribunals where questions are never asked and answers are never given."

Before I could formulate a response to this sobering revelation, there was a sharp knock at the chamber door. The sound echoed in the small space like a gunshot, causing all three of us to freeze in place.

Liora tensed immediately, her hand drifting to the pommel of her sword with the practiced ease of a warrior who had survived too many ambushes to count. Her eyes fixed on the door, calculating distances and escape routes in the space of a heartbeat.

A second knock followed, more insistent than the first. Then, instead of voices or demands for entry, a folded letter slid under the door with the whisper of parchment against stone. The royal seal was clearly visible even from across the room, its red wax gleaming like a drop of blood in the lamplight.

Varis retrieved the letter with movements that seemed far too careful, as if he expected it to burst into flames at his touch. He broke the seal and read the contents in absolute silence, his expression growing darker with each line of text.

"Of course," he muttered finally, his voice thick with bitter resignation. "The timing couldn't be more perfect."

"What is it?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

"A summons," he said, tossing the letter onto the table with obvious disgust. "The Court demands your immediate presence. They're not even bothering with the pretense of a formal invitation."