After the Audience
Aeros left Orion's chamber with his head buzzing and his feet loud in the empty hall. Stormhaven Palace always felt like a museum crossed with a training yard—old portraits and fresh scuffs everywhere. He palmed the cool stone rail as he turned a corner and almost walked straight into his friends.
"Hey! There he is," Lin called, waving him over. She had a basket of herbs on her arm and ink smudged on one cheek. "We were arguing about heat-grafting moonlotus. You want the tie-breaker?"
"Depends," Aeros said, grinning. "Am I agreeing with you or getting kicked out?"
"With me," she said, as if that should be obvious.
Jin leaned on the wall, all sharp angles and restless fingers. "She's wrong. Again. Sun-aspected infusion will cook the root if you're not careful."
Mila snorted. "You almost set the lab on fire last time."
"That was research," Jin said.
Aeros glanced at the basket. "Moonlotus doesn't like being bullied. Slow feed. Two days. Let its own marrow do the work."
Lin shot Jin an I-told-you look. "Thank you."
Jin held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Scholar wins."
Mila folded her arms, eyes sliding to Aeros. "So? Big talk with the patriarch. You okay?"
"Yeah," Aeros said. "He said I'm ready. Which I think is grandpa-speak for 'don't be stupid.'"
"That's definitely grandpa-speak," Mila said, smiling.
Jin nudged Aeros' shoulder. "You're going to crush those trials. Just…maybe don't test every trap because you're curious."
"No promises," Aeros said.
Lin's smile softened. "We're proud of you. You've worked for this."
"Thanks," Aeros said, meaning it. "We all have. When I get back, I'm stealing your notes, Lin. Jin, you're making me not-burn soup. Mila… just keep scaring everyone into good posture."
Mila laughed. "I accept."
They traded quick hugs and easy jabs, then Aeros peeled away, walking out under a rim of sky that made the palace look smaller than it ever felt. He checked his NetCrystal out of habit; no new pings. Caius and Nyxthar were already off doing… whatever Caius and a Heavenseizing Panther get up to. Fine. They'd cross paths when the world felt like it.
NetCrystals blinked on wrists and belts all around him—calls, market boards, sect missions, gossip. The empire breathed through those little shards. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and headed toward his family wing.
The sky cracked.
Not sound—pressure. The air folded like a page. People in the plaza froze and looked up.
A tear in space rolled open, neat as a curtain parting. A figure stepped out in a robe the color of thunder with dragons and tigers stitched along the hem, set one foot on nothing, and the world set a stair under him. He dropped the last dozen meters in a casual glide.
"Uncle," Aeros said, already grinning.
Serus landed, blink-shifted, and had him in a headlock before the echoes finished. "Who told you to get taller when I wasn't looking?"
"Mercy," Aeros wheezed, laughing. "You're going to dent the heir."
"You're not the heir," Serus said, knuckling his scalp anyway. He let go, eyes warm. Up close he looked like a storm given a shape: silver hair, dragon horns, beautiful brown skin, that easy loose-shouldered balance that said every direction was forward. Power hummed around him the way heat does around stone at noon.
"You look good," Serus said. "Not dead. I love that for you."
"I try to maintain it," Aeros said. "You're back early."
"Mm." The joking thinned. "Things outside are noisy. Also, I heard someone thinks he's ready for the world."
"Someone," Aeros agreed. "I'm excited. And kind of sick."
"That's normal." Serus clapped his shoulder. "Lucky you: I'm your Dao protector. We leave at noon tomorrow."
"So soon?"
"You want to waste the nerves or use them?" Serus asked, already walking. "Come on. City first. Food second. Lectures throughout."
They cut through the inner gates into the capital's heart. The Sky Market hung and gleamed, stacked on floating platforms: star-silk sellers, rune-carvers, fruit that glowed from the inside, bottled winds, a woman hawking "legally acquired" meteor teeth. Aeros tried not to get lost in it and failed with dignity.
"The market got bigger," he said.
"Everything does," Serus said. "Keep your purse shut unless you're buying something to save your life."
"Define save-my-life."
"Not 'a cape that makes you look mysterious.'"
They drifted past the Crystal Gardens, paths of breathing light, trees that sang when wind moved through them. Cultivators sat cross-legged under crystal boughs. Someone practiced a slow spear form in a clearing, blade tracing circles that caught and bent sunlight.
"Peaceful here," Aeros said.
"Good place to decide you've been dumb," Serus said.
They hit the Food District on a draft of spice and sugar. Stalls hissed and steamed; street vendors flipped batter that floated before it cooked. They ducked into The Celestial Feast before a squad from a visiting sect crowded the door.
"Same as always," Serus told the attendant, then to Aeros: "You'll like it. They put stars in soup."
"You're kidding."
"You'll see."
Plates came quick: a deep red broth that sparked against the spoon ("Broth of Suns," the server warned cheerfully), something pale and cold that tasted like frost and citrus, skewers that bled blue fire when you bit them and then went sweet. Serus watched him try everything, amused.
"So," Aeros asked around a careful mouthful, "the outer realms. What do they really feel like?"
Serus leaned back. "Each one's got a flavor. Some make you feel brave by accident. Some make you feel small on purpose. There's a world where sound moves like syrup. There's a city that lives on the back of a turtle the size of a moon. There's also a lot of empty space and people doing the wrong thing for the right reason."
"And the Shadow Rifts?" Aeros asked, trying not to cough when the broth fizzed.
"More of them. Too many near transit lines," Serus said, face tightening. "Someone's poking the web, seeing where it tears. Eclipsed Sons have been quiet in a way that isn't."
Aeros set his spoon down. "We walk into that?"
"We walk around, past, and sometimes through it," Serus said. "So: rules. One, don't flash unless flashing saves lives. Two, you don't owe anyone your story. Three, if it smells like fate, I stab it."
Aeros laughed. "That's the plan?"
"That's the start," Serus said, smiling again. "Finish your soup, Neph."
They traded more stories—Serus' brisk little sketches of places he'd bled in, people he'd respected, food he regretted. Aeros listened, filing everything in the place where fear and excitement shake hands.
When the plates were clean, Serus paid with a nod—Stormhaven tabs traveled fast. They stepped back into the avenue as lanterns woke along the walks and the market's topmost platforms blinked on like new stars.
Serus glanced sideways. "Last chance to back out."
Aeros breathed the city in—the noise, the warmth, the way the palace looked from here, half myth and half home. "I'd only come running after you."
"Good," Serus said. "Then sleep. Pack. Say the things you want said."
Aeros nodded. "Thanks for coming back."
"Don't thank me yet," Serus said, and his grin flashed, all teeth and pride. "Save it for when I don't let you die."