"I saw the mountains of another world cutting through the sky above Pantax, layered over the Azure Peaks like a second skin - it wasn't metaphor, Shengyu. It was real."
He said it quietly, without drama, but the words carried weight, enough to capture his brother's full attention.
Fengyu continued, giving a steady, measured account of what followed.
He spoke of the gates inverter - a device that Master Lira had somehow luckily produced at the spot and just in time. He described the deployment of the gatebreaker bomb. And how, in the aftermath, he had been flung into Firme - the alien world. The mythical beasts poaching gang there, the half-mage. He focused on his return – journey back to Mytharok with a brief and tightly managed stop at the Magic Guild.
He kept to the essentials, careful to sound like someone who had cooperated, followed orders, and come back intact. A disguise. Only when he was done, and the last word left his mouth, did he realize how curated it all was.
He gave his brother the story that would be passed around halls and read in reports. The official account. Clean. Respectable.
He left it there. Left out the things that mattered most - the mural's mystery, the little beast latching into his skin, the stolen book now in his possession, and the strange bond beginning to form with people he barely had known a few days ago.
Somewhere, mid-sentence, he'd chosen. Something in him had tilted. His instincts no longer rested entirely in the tranquil Soliraen courtyards or in the safety of his carefully cultivated detachment. They reached, almost despite him, toward those he'd stood beside - uncertain and afraid and alive - facing the unknown danger together.
Kaelyn, Seline, Mokai. He hadn't meant to care. And yet… he had.
When did that happen? he wondered.
He was still Soliraen, but…
Lord Shengyu watched him with a calm, almost detached expression.
Then, quietly he said, "You've changed… More than I expected."
He folded his hands on the table, gaze steady.
"Mytharok's influence grows, Solirae will need a hand in the matter."
"You're going to send a diplomat?"
"A presence. A command. Solirae needs a force capable of navigating this… strange alliance. Not soldiers. Not spies. Something in between."
Fengyu blinked. "And you want me to…?"
"Form it. Lead it."
There was no sarcasm in his voice. Just that maddening calm that always made Fengyu wonder how far ahead his brother was really playing.
"You can call it whatever you want," he added. "But from now on, you'll be our commander of Mytharok affairs."
Fengyu leaned back slowly. The words were absurd - and yet they made a twisted kind of sense.
Here was his brother, laying a new game at his feet.
Fengyu had never been one to follow orders - especially not from his brother. But now, in the wake of everything that had happened - the temple, the knowledge he had gained, the strange visions - he couldn't deny that something else was pulling at him. A sense of responsibility he had tried to outrun for so long.
"Yes, brother. I will do it."
The words left his mouth before he had the chance to doubt them.
Had he really said that?
The next days blurred together in a flurry of official appointments and formalities. Fengyu's official title was soon spread across the halls, delivered to him in the form of a fine scroll sealed in wax. Commander of Interdimensional Affairs - written in the flowing script. That could not be more ridiculous.
He was given a sprawling office in the palace, overlooking the Soliraen gardens, with windows that let the sunlight spill in as though to soften the weight of his new responsibilities. His office was furnished with elegant but sparse simplicity.
He was no longer just the spoiled younger brother of Lord Shengyu, the one who avoided taking anything seriously. He was a commander now, given an office, staff, and a role.
The more Fengyu thought about it, the more it seemed like a well-played game. He'd been maneuvered into this position. His brother, with his calculating calm, had crafted this appointment to solidify on his sudden change of heart. Had he tricked him?
Fengyu had found himself caught between two worlds - his old one, where he sidestepped all responsibility, and this new one, where his brother's quiet influence had left him no choice but to step forward.
There were reports, meetings, all the usual machinery of power: a series of newly drafted correspondences, the briefings he would have to digest, the occasional letter from the Temple or the Guild - all now part of his daily routine.
The strangest part, though, was the weight that had come with it. Not the weight of the work itself, but the quiet realization that he couldn't run anymore, not the way he had before. And also that he did not want to.
The military training followed swiftly. The title of a Commander was a military post, through and through. Fengyu realized it the moment the training schedule was placed in his hands, already inked with his name. There was no room for debate.
All as if planned in advance. Lord Shengyu had not left anything to chance. He had been waiting for this moment - preparing for it. Hoping for it, in that quiet, calculating way of his.
And so, Fengyu found himself swinging a sword beneath the watchful eyes of seasoned instructors, his form corrected, his stance adjusted, his balance tested again and again.
By afternoon, he was seated in the marble halls of the strategy chambers where Soliraen military minds gathered. There, he was plunged into simulations of border conflicts, supply line disruptions - all woven with threads of both science and magic. He watched, absorbed, sometimes irritated, sometimes intrigued.
It felt surreal.
He'd once mocked this kind of life. But now, here he was. Part of him still bristled at the notion of being so thoroughly folded into his brother's designs. He had always been sceptical of authority after all. Another part - quiet, almost amused - found a strange satisfaction in the challenge.
He was being shaped into something else.
And he liked it.
There were certain advantages to his new position.
However ridiculous his new title might sound it secured him a seat at the table. A real one, the kind where decisions were made. With the seat came access. No information could be withheld from him without official cause. No resource denied without explanation. Reports flowed to his desk - military, magical, diplomatic. Invitations, inquiries, coded summaries. He could walk into restricted halls now and expect a bow, or at least a nod. That in itself was unnerving.
The position was real - and so were its shadows.
Somehow he felt, he had made a step forward. Toward understanding it all.