Fengyu dropped to his knees, his body bowing low in reverence.
"We beg for forgiveness!" he shouted, his voice pitched too high, keeping his gaze cast downward.
"Master is generous. He will let this slide." He dared to glanced up, but without raising his head.
"We tried to sneak out to visit our families," he stammered again, desperate to lie the mage out of his suspicion.
The room felt impossibly tense, the air thick with the weight of his false submission. His heart pounded in his chest, as he awaited the mage's reaction, praying that his performance would be convincing enough.
"And where are you heading to?"
Fengyu's mind raced.
"Pantax," he deadpanned.
That would be even more pathetic, had Master Brug already known about the last events. Still, a big gamble.
The mage's expression twisted with disdain, his voice laced with annoyance.
"Go back where you came from."
He waved a hand dismissively, and the motion sent a sharp, invisible force pushing them back toward the gates.
Facing the looming vision of returning to the cursed crimson mountains, Fengyu froze.
It was at that precise moment that Mokai chose to collapse onto his bum. The missile, he had been clutching, shot out of his hand in a surprisingly high arc. It sailed through the air, its trajectory perfect, and struck the liquid surface of the gates.
The moment it made contact, the surface rippled, the fluidness of the gates turning solid, freezing instantly into the familiar shimmering glass.
"Idiots," exclaimed Master Brug.
"Take them to the reception desk and send them back to Mytharok with a proper reprimand letter!" He told the accompanying figure and left with the sweeping movement of his robes.
The other person that only now emerged from the shadows of the corridor was a low-ranking mage - or perhaps more accurately, a scribe or a clerk. His robes were far less ornate than Master Brug's, the fabric plain and unadorned, save for the faint stitching of the Guild's insignia on his lapel.
He cast them the same look of disdain, as if arrogance itself had been passed down from the higher mage.
Fengyu maintained his masquerade.
"After you," he murmured lowly, gesturing toward the door.
The mage strode ahead, and Fengyu followed, his back hunched, shoulders drawn inward in a perfect display of meek submission. Seline and Kaelyn fell into step behind him.
Mokai, however, rose slowly, his face unimpressed. As he walked, he muttered under his breath, as if he were trying to commit an unfamiliar equation to memory - one that refused to stick.
They started through a narrow, low corridor leading out of the cellar. The passage was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, the rough-hewn walls pressing close. At the end of the passage, a staircase spiralled upward. The ascent was steep.
As they emerged from the staircase, the shift in atmosphere was undeniable. The plain, utilitarian corridors gave way to an increasingly elaborate interior - polished stone floors gleamed under their feet, intricate gold-inlaid murals lined the walls, and the air itself seemed richer.
In the end they reached a vast, multi-storied hall, each level adorned with a colonnaded terrace that overlooked the main floor. The ceiling soared so high above them that they could not discern the patterns it was painted with.
Directly ahead of them, positioned like a throne of bureaucracy, stood the main reception desk - a massive structure of carved wood and enchanted in crystal, where clerks in mage robes bustled, their quills scratching over parchment.
Behind the desk, a grand staircase of marble dominated the space, its banisters twisting into elaborate, rune-etched shapes that pulsed faintly with arcane energy. It led to the first level, where, set into the grand wall, was a single enormous gate - clearly the primary one, its shimmering surface reflecting the entire hall. Towering above main floor, its colossal arch was carved from a single slab of black onyx, veined with jagged white lines and deep crimson spots, like the marbled flesh of freshly cut meat, still slick with blood. The red streaks almost seemed to pulse, as though the stone itself was alive.
Above it, the next levels housed additional gates, smaller but by their sheer number no less imposing, at least three on each floor, their frames etched with glowing symbols.
The entire hall was a symphony of order and power, a place where magic was not just practiced but controlled, regulated, and meticulously recorded.
The grand gate's hall swallowed them whole.
The crimson dust and grime clinging to their robes, once dulled by the shadows of the cellar, now stood out in stark contrast - like dried blood smeared across pristine silk. Even their boots left faint marks on otherwise immaculate floors, betraying the rugged journey they had endured.
The mage accompanying them also noticed their definitely too worn down appearance. His gaze lingered on them longer than Fengyu found comfortable, his eyes scanning with a quiet, assessing judgment.
Afraid that he may have second thoughts about Master Brug's hasty decision, Fengyu decided the masquerade was not over yet. He need to act. Precisely, make some nuisance.
He pretended to trip. With a theatrical stumble, he exaggerated his fall, sliding awkwardly across the gleaming floor all the way up to the reception desk. As he reached it, he let out a forced gasp, planting his hands on the wooden surface for support, his face contorted in an exaggerated wince.
The attending clerk watched, his eyes narrowing slightly, clearly unimpressed but seemingly too bewildered to act.
Fengyu flashed a quick, apologetic grin, giving a small bow.
This left his companions dumbfounded.
Mokai's brows shot up, clearly appreciating his ingenuity but sure he would never do such a thing himself. Oh, right he had already done - down there in the cellar. At least, there had been a minimum number of witnesses.
But Fengyu's dramatic slip was just enough to shift the mage's focus, distracting him from any further scrutiny. He decided to get rid of them as soon as possible in case this idiot could cause any further troubles.
It was all that Fengyu hoped for.
With an exaggerated sigh, the mage addressed the attending clerk.
"Send them back to Mytharok. With a reprimand. Ask the Temple to keep a better eye on their disciples and teach them better!" His tone dripped with annoyance, clearly eager to put the whole incident behind him.
Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel, and made a hasty retreat.
The attending clerk's gaze shifted from the mage's retreating form back to them. His expression, once tinged with clear exasperation, softened and morphed into something more of a curiosity. He studied them for a moment longer, weighing the peculiarities of their appearance, their dishevelled robes, and the faint, lingering dust that clung to their clothes.
"What have you done to annoy Attendant Fey that much?" he asked conversationally.
"Oh, nothing. Simply existing." Fengyu answered playfully, still leaning heavily on the surface of the desk.
The others joined him in front of the reception with carefully blank expressions.
The clerk studied them once again, scribbled something on the piece of paper, took out a missile envelope from the drawer and stuck the paper into it. Then, he took out one more envelope, this time a screamy red one, from another drawer. He pressed his hand to it and murmured something. He motioned to the servant waiting at the side and passed him both the missile and the red envelope.
"Third floor, second gate," he said.
Returning his attention to Fengyu, he plastered a fake smile on his face.
"I wish you a pleasant journey. Follow the assistant, please."
As they circled the structure of the reception desk heading towards the marble staircase, Fengyu could swear, the clerk blinked at him with, this time, a genuine smile.
They climbed the grand stairs to the first level and went to the right past the primary gate, to the smaller side staircase that led them to the third floor. The second gate on the third floor was one of the smaller gates – a simple stone arch with glowing runes.
The assistant pressed the tip of the missile to the shimmering glass of the gates. The missile entered it smoothly and the glass started to ripple turning liquid. The connection established. He stepped back and motioned them forwards. Just as they were engulfed by the tendrils of the liquid he hurtled the red envelope after them.
For Fengyu, whatever had caused that strange unravelling of the fabric last time, the eerie slowness, the glimpse beyond, was absent now. It was just the disorienting plunge through blur of colours. The pull, the rushing motion, the shift from one place to another. It was overwhelming, but already somewhat familiar. Fengyu let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Whatever had changed before, whatever had made the last journey different, was no longer at play. And for now, that was a relief.
However, just as he felt the jolt of the journey's inevitable end, another sensation assaulted his senses – the searing pain of his right forearm. He felt agonized as he hit the stone platform of the gates landing in Mytharok.
Now, lying on the cold stone, cradling his aching arm, Fengyu tilted his head back and stared up at the gate above him. It was the same as before - alive, pulsing, shifting - but now, in his exhaustion, it seemed monstrous.
The iridescent light danced across its surface, stretching and recoiling like sinew beneath translucent skin. The deep blues and purples swirled into molten golds and burning reds, each colour bleeding into the next with an unnatural fluidity.
The tendrils of energy slithered along its edges, coiling and twisting as if tasting the air, reaching for something unseen. The faint electric hum resonated in his bones, a soundless vibration thrumming in his chest. It expanded and contracted in slow, rhythmic pulses, like the inhale and exhale of a slumbering beast.
For a moment, he felt as if it were watching him. Not just a tool, not just a passage - but something aware, something… suffering. The thought almost brought a bout of nausea over him, but he was too weary to do anything except breathe and stare.
Next to him, Mokai, Seline, and Kaelyn struggled to steady themselves, their bodies bent forward as they caught their breath. Their chests rose and fell heavily, shoulders slack with exhaustion.
Perhaps, now that they were here, their bodies finally allowed the weight of everything to crash down. The urgency that had carried them forward was gone. They were out of immediate danger. And with that realization came the crushing force of fatigue, sinking into their limbs, demanding rest.
For now, none of them spoke. Only the sound of their ragged breathing filled the air, mingling with the faint electric hum of the still liquid pulsing gate above them. The morning sun shining on them as if it was the most ordinary of the mornings there could be.
Then, the red envelope arrived.
A voice - sharp, imperious, and laced with utter disdain - boomed through the air, shaking the very stones beneath them.
"TO THE ESTEEMED TEMPLE OF MYTHAROK,"
The tone was anything but respectful. The words practically dripped with irritation.
"IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT YOUR DISCIPLES - INCOMPETENT, INSOLENT, AND WOEFULLY UNPREPARED - HAVE ATTEMPTED AFFAIRS FAR BEYOND THEIR STATION."
Fengyu cringed as the sheer volume of the voice rattled in his skull. Around him, Kaelyn pinched the bridge of her nose, and Mokai looked as if he was already planning ways to get back at the sender.
"WE EXPECT THE TEMPLE TO REIN IN ITS WAYWARD DISCIPLES IMMEDIATELY. ENSURE THAT THEY DO NOT ATTEMPT INDEPENDENT GATE TRAVEL PREMATURELY - OR, PREFERABLY, EVER AGAIN."
"WITH REGARDS, THE RECEPTION DESK OF THE MAGIC GUILD."
With a final snap, the envelope disintegrated into a whirlwind of glowing red embers, which spiralled into the air before vanishing.
Silence settled around them.
Mokai gave a slow blink. "Subtle." he muttered.
Seline let out a slow breath. "That actually went pretty well."
A guardian on duty approached, his expression a blend of curiosity and amusement. Clearly, he was enjoying the spectacle. But as he took in their dishevelled state, his smirk faltered. His gaze swept over each of them before freezing on Mokai.
His eyes widened.
Beneath the layers of grime and the cursed crimson dust, he had recognized it - the royal robes of Lord Ryosei's son.
"Guardians! Somebody! People from Pantax! Let immediately the High Monk know!" he shouted suddenly alert.
At last somebody intelligent. Fengyu remained sprawled on the cold stone. He was glad for the commotion of the red envelope stunt as well as immediate discovery of Mokai's identity. This distracted him from the searing pain in his forearm as well as allowed him to better conceal it. He was also immensely exhausted and did not want to think about hours of interrogation that inevitably awaited them.
"Are there any news from Pantax?" asked Mokai half anxiously, but the guardian only looked at him.
"You are the news from Pantax," he said softly. "We had no contact with Pantax since you had left. And now we cannot establish a connection. We are probing all the time," he explained.
"We are coming from this other world Pantax collided with. Give me paper and ink! I know the incantation between that world and the Magic Guild! Quick! What are you waiting for?!" Mokai pushed the guardian impatiently.
He apparently did not understand what he was talking about but provided some paper and pen.
"This can be useful." Mokai urged him.
"This indeed is useful," said the man in the simple temple robes of muted grey, who appeared out of nowhere. "Send it to Master Kaelji immediately."
"Yes, Master," the guardian nodded and stepped aside.
Mokai's expression smoothed again. He regained his composure. The plight of Pantax was unknown. He could only hope for the best.
The master regarded them carefully, seemingly assessing their well-being after the ardours journey. As the assessment was conducted to his satisfaction, he nodded and motioned them to follow.
He had the air of quiet dignity. His face was sharp and defined, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His long black hair, neatly tied at the back, fell smoothly past his shoulders. His skin was lightly tanned, showing signs of a life spent on training fields or possible on a battlefield.
Instead of being led to some distant, mysterious inner quarters of the temple, they found themselves on the way to the guest quarters. The familiar space felt almost welcoming after everything they had endured. Inside, temple servants were already at work, preparing steaming baths, the scent of calming herbs wafting through the air.
They found the high monk and several other elders waiting for them in the dining room of the courtyard. They had been awaited with a supple meal.
In the course of the breakfast, Mokai and Kaelyn gave a succinct, but truthful, account of their journey, however carefully leaving out any speculations they may have had about the Temple or the Guild. The elders listened intently.
"You have done well." The high monk finally nodded. "We will need to discuss the nature of the recent events in greater detail. I am sure you also have a lot of questions. But for now, rest. You are all weary from your travels. Tomorrow Master Gun," he motioned to the man who welcomed them on the stone platform of the gates, "will meet you in the library, possibly with other elders. He will try to answer all your questions."
His gaze focused on Fengyu.
"Think carefully what you want to ask and how you going to do this." He ended.
All four of them exchanged uncertain glances. Of course, they had a lot of questions but which of them should they ask?
The elders rose from their seats.
Fengyu felt the pressure of the high monk's gaze linger on him for a moment longer before the man turn and walked away.
The others followed.