The abode felt different the moment Paronel Vaithar crossed its threshold.
It was not that anything visibly changed. The walls did not move. The beams did not bend. And yet the air seemed to pull inward, as if the space itself had drawn a careful breath and decided it would no longer relax.
The veranda, once wide enough for idle pacing and careless sprawl, now felt measured. Distances sharpened. Corners became deliberate. Even sound behaved differently - voices carried less, footsteps landed more distinctly, as though the building had begun paying attention.
Paronel stepped inside with unhurried ease, pausing just long enough to take in the structure: the grain of the wood, the way light pooled near the rafters, the faint scent of herbs clinging stubbornly to everything. His expression remained pleasant, but his eyes moved with methodical precision, cataloguing rather than admiring.
"This will do," he said mildly.
Behind him, the procession continued to unload. Soldiers moved in disciplined silence, each chest handled with the same careful gravity as the last. Fengyu followed them with his gaze as they diverted toward the woodshed at the back of the abode.
The structure had always been unremarkable - large enough for tools, spare wood, the occasional crate. Now, as chest after chest was carried inside, its doors propped open wide, it began to look… reinforced.
The soldiers stacked the chests in precise rows, leaving deliberate gaps between them. No one spoke. No one lingered. When the final one disappeared into the shadowed interior, the doors were closed and barred with quiet finality.
Fengyu exhaled through his nose.
"So," he murmured to Mokai, "they're planning to stay."
Mokai remained silent, his attention divided between the archimage and the subtle pressure pressing at the edge of his senses. The vine twister rested dormant, but it felt… attentive. Like a hand hovering just short of contact.
Joy cleared his throat. "There is one more matter," he said carefully.
Paronel inclined his head. "Of course."
Ashen was brought out moments later. The restraints were already gone. Released.
Ashen walked under his own power, shoulders stiff, eyes downcast but alert. The marks of confinement still clung to him in posture and breath, but there was no mistaking the change.
Paronel regarded him with somewhat curiosity, the way one might observe a naughty pet rather than a person. When Ashen stopped a few paces away, the archimage nodded once.
"Yes," he said softly. "This will suffice."
Ashen flinched, just barely.
Fengyu's jaw tightened. "Under whose authority?" he asked coolly.
Joy shifted, but said nothing.
"I have requested that Ashen be placed under my care," Paronel continued, voice smooth, almost gentle.
Fengyu looked at Joy.
He expected something. A refusal, an objection, or at least an explanation, but nothing came. Joy's expression remained carefully neutral, hands folded, gaze steady.
"Commander Fengyu," the archimage continued, "the Temple is satisfied with its control over the gates. As for the Guild - there is no objection. These are, after all, the First Gates."
Fengyu turned back to Paronel, the irritation cooling into something sharper.
A pause. Just long enough.
"We did not understand their significance when the settlement began," he added. "This world appeared… unusually abundant in higher-layered energy. At the time, that was all it seemed to be."
Started the settlement! The words lodged unpleasantly in Fengyu's mind.
His gaze flicked briefly to Mokai.
Mokai stood exactly as before, face unreadable, posture composed. A warrior's stillness - trained not to react unnecessary.
So the Guild claimed Firme as a farming world. And pleaded ignorance to what it really was.
Fengyu exhaled slowly through his nose. "And Ashen?" he asked, not letting it go. "Why send someone expelled from the Guild to start a settlement here?"
His eyes stayed on Paronel.
"You don't cast out an asset and then trust him with fertile ground by accident."
He waited.
"Why send poachers and vagabonds as hunters?" he added.
He could not contain himself. He knew this was the most probable course of action for the Guild, still it enraged him for no reason at all.
Paronel regarded him calmly. There was no flicker of offense in his eyes. He regarded Fengyu as one regards a child, promising but still too young and inexperienced.
"Because," he said, "although the world appeared promising, establishing a settlement is an unrewarding undertaking."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"It demands years of investment before yielding anything of value." His gaze drifted briefly toward the forest edge. "And the probability of failure is high."
He looked back at Fengyu.
"Such efforts do not justify the Guild's finest," he continued evenly. "Nor those whose absence would be… noticed. If the settlement failed, the loss would be regrettable, but contained."
Fengyu glanced at Ashen.
He remembered the man's delusional talk of a new life, of a new land, purpose, and distance from the Guild's shadow.
"And if it succeeded?" he asked again, deliberately. "What rewards await those who undertake such unrewarding tasks?"
Paronel's gaze moved between them. He was not confused by the implication. Disposable, the thought hung unspoken.
"Of course," Paronel said smoothly, "our representatives would be justifiably rewarded."
He smiled. Not warmly. Not cruelly. Not condescendingly.
Professionally.
Ashen said nothing.
He bowed to the archimage, precise and practiced, and turned away. Without waiting for instruction, he crossed the threshold, heading toward the back quarters.
No one stopped him.
The door to the inner quarters closed softly behind him.
Paronel returned his attention to Fengyu.
"Ah, Commander Fengyu," he said, voice falsely warm. "We were delighted to hear of your successful completion of the Temple trials and your acceptance of the position."
He inclined his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge rank.
"Solirae has long needed someone to take care of its interdimensional affairs."
The words were flattering and Paronel's gaze lingered, as if confirming a chess piece had finally been set where it belonged.
"You arrive at a… consequential moment."
Fengyu kept his gaze, but he felt unsettled.
Solirae had stood apart for as long as he remembered. Distant, self-contained, irrelevant to most of the charted worlds - or so he had always assumed. The Guild had never sent an archimage to Solirae. Never someone of this weight.
In public, the explanation was simple: Solirae had little to offer, no unique resources, no strategic leverage. But that had always felt incomplete, and the real reason might lie elsewhere. And what was that, about being "allowed"? What had Mokai meant? Is that how it was perceived outside?
Under Paronel's gaze, Fengyu felt like a lab rat, a specimen to be studied, or worse a pup to be toyed with. Like fresh meat brought back alive by a lioness for her cubs.
He would not be devoured now. He was too useful for that.
But usefulness had a season.
Was this how it felt - the moment one crossed the quiet threshold between being useless and being used?
Yet, his contradictory nature rose, sharp and familiar.
Let them study. Let them toy.
He would not lower his head for it.
If he was to be measured, he would stand at his full height while they did so.
He could play this game too.
"Paronel Vaithar," he said lightly. "That's an interesting name. May I ask its origin?"
The tone was conversational, almost idle.
Paronel, paused, only for a heartbeat, but long enough to register. However his smile did not falter. His eyes rested on Fengyu a fraction longer than courtesy required.
How interesting, that pause seemed to say.
"My name?" he echoed lightly. "A relic, I'm afraid. From a dialect no longer in common use."
Yet, another stretched pause. These started to fray Fengyu's nerves. But somehow he sensed that he accidentally had stroke a cord. There was something meaningful behind this name.
"'Paronel' was not my birth name," Paronel continued. "It was given during an expedition in my early years. It marked purpose, not origin. It means 'one who mediates, who weighs the things'."
"And 'Vaithar'?" Fengyu asked, curious despite himself.
"Added later," came the reply. "It signifies vigilance, responsibility… the burden of keeping watch."
Paronel smiled. "A name shaped by duties that began long ago."
Joy cleared his throat. "Perhaps a pause is in order," he said carefully. "Some refreshments… lunch."
Paronel's attendants had already begun to spread through the abode, arranging themselves with quiet efficiency, bending the space to the archimage's preferences.
At the mere mention of refreshments, a mage approached Paronel.
Fengyu's eyes narrowed. It was none other than… Master Brug. Fengyu had not noticed him among Paronel's entourage to this point. Had he been hiding on purpose?
The mage's expression was unreadable, composed. His gaze met Fengyu's for the briefest moment, then flicked away. Paronel spoke a few quiet words, and Brug moved, clearly following an instruction.
Soon the maids arrived with lunch. The Guild's gifts were arranged among the dishes - some lavish, some subtle, each chosen to demonstrate weight.
As the meal was served, silence stretched between the plates. Eyes met across the table in brief, measured glances. Words were few, polite and meaningless.
Fengyu caught up with Mokai as the last servants cleared the table. His eyes kept flicking to Brug, then Paronel, then back to the dishes, restless. Something about the way Brug moved - composed, measured, almost invisible until he wanted to be noticed - set his nerves on edge.
He could feel the weight of the Guild's presence pressing down, like the way sunlight warms a stone until it burns. Every gesture, every glance of the mages around him seemed amplified in his mind.
Mokai's lips curved into a faint, patient smile. "Just… wait and see," he said, tone deliberately calm. "Calm down, Fengyu. At this moment we have no other way."
Fengyu breathed deeply trying to relax. "Earlier… you said archimages are not 'allowed' in Solirae. Why say that?"
Mokai tilted his head.
"Don't tell me they never taught you about the Lady Xinyu Incident."
Fengyu frowned.
"That was a century ago, something from my great-grandfather's time."
"One hundred and twenty-three years," Mokai corrected mildly. "Your great-groundfather's youngest aunt – Lady Xinyu – was married off to the court of Velthera. The story tells she was intelligent, charming and inconveniently perceptive."
Fengyu folded his arms, but did not interrupt.
"At that time," Mokai said, strolling slowly as he spoke, "the Guild had a rather ambitious intelligence network operating through noble households. One of their rising strategists had threaded himself through half a dozen courts. When that network got exposed, it made it loudly."
"And the Guild could not admit to it," Mokai continued. "Open infiltration would have damaged every alliance they possessed. So blame required someone visible enough to be convincing, but politically safe to take the blame."
"Lady Xinyu," Mokai went on, almost gently now, "was accused of espionage and political manipulation. She absorbed the disgrace."
Fengyu's expression hardened. "She was innocent," he said. "The charges were never proven."
"Oh, entirely," Mokai replied. „They were never meant to be proven. Every court knew she was innocent."
There was a pause before Mokai resumed, his voice drifting back into that almost storytelling cadence.
"Tell me," he said conversationally, "when they educated you in Solirae, did they present the Lady Xinyu Affair as tragedy or injustice?"
Fengyu did not hesitate. "As political convenience masquerading as necessity. She was sacrificed to protect a Guild operative whose incompetence threatened half the chartered worlds."
"It was the Guild's spy," Fengyu continued. "He failed. They could not admit infiltration. So they shifted the blame onto a foreign-born consort. She endured the accusation without contest because contesting it would have fractured three alliances at once."
"And the Guild operative whose failures she covered?" Mokai continued, uncharacteristically engrossed in his own story. "Over the decades he rose - steadily, elegantly - until he was elevated to an archimage."
"Years later, as part of renewed diplomatic efforts, the Guild sent him to Solirae. Officially as a gesture of reconciliation. Unofficially, perhaps as a demonstration that the matter was long buried."
"When he came to Solirae," Fengyu charged on, "he was received correctly."
Mokai's mouth curved. "Correctly. That is a very diplomatic word."
Fengyu looked at him sharply.
"Anyway he left much smaller than he arrived," Mokai observed. "It was after that visit, that no archimage dared to step into Solirae again."
"Because archimages do not risk discomfort," Fengyu replied calmly.
"Because archimages do not risk humiliation," Mokai corrected gently.
Fengyu did not argue.
"And the public," Mokai added lightly, "saw only that the Guild stopped sending its highest representatives. Which, of course, was interpreted as condescension."
"As though we were unworthy," Fengyu said.
"That is a public label, convenient on the surface," Mokai agreed. "When in fact, they are merely cautious. That is an opinion of those you look closely."
He glanced sidelong at Fengyu, a trace of mischief returning.
"So you see," he said almost pleasantly, "you are not being singled out. You are simply standing in a room with a long memory - part of a family tradition."
Fengyu exhaled sharply. "You take far too much pleasure in this."
"Of course," Mokai replied.
Fengyu did not answer, instead, he continued almost thoughtfully.
"You know," he said, "the most amusing part of the Lady Xinyu Incident was not the accusation itself."
Mokai glanced at him warily. "There is something amusing about it?"
"In hindsight? Very," Fengyu replied. "At the time of the scandal, Solirae had no organized intelligence structure beyond what any court naturally gathers. Nothing extraordinary."
"But once Lady Xinyu was branded as the hidden architect of a cross-realm network, something peculiar happened. The narrative spread faster than any correction could follow. Solirae became known as… infiltrated everywhere. Soon the other worlds believed it. And belief, as you well know, has weight."
"Oh, yes." Mokai sighted. "Precisely, at first Solirae denied it, then it ignored it, and eventually…" Mokai's lips curved faintly, "…some very practical minds within the court realized that if one is to be accused of omnipresence, one might as well cultivate it properly. Over the decades, Solirae became exceptionally well informed."
"It is uncharacteristic of any Soliraean to admit that openly. I assume to take me as a friend." Mokai grinned shamelessly. "So," he concluded in that same storytelling cadence, "the Lady Xinyu Incident gave the Guild its humiliation, Solirae its undeserved stigma, and the charted worlds a century of paranoia."
He tilted his head slightly toward Fengyu.
For a heartbeat, Fengyu looked as he always did - faintly amused, faintly offended, prepared to deflect with some irreverent remark.
Instead, he straightened.
"Your story is incomplete," he said. "Yes, Lady Xinyu was innocent. Yes, the Guild preserved their operative and later made him archimage. Yes, Solirae allowed the myth to mature because it became strategically useful."
He turned to face Mokai fully now.
"But the web was not woven out of vanity. It was woven out of vulnerability. When the accusation spread," Fengyu said, "Solirae learned something uncomfortable. If another power could fabricate a narrative so easily and the worlds would accept it, then we were far more exposed than we believed."
"So we built awareness. Not domination. Not intrusion. Awareness. Because the alternative was to remain blind while others wrote our reputation for us."
Mokai watched him closely.
"You speak as though you approve," he said mildly.
"I understand," Fengyu corrected.
"And I do not resent being seen as part of some unseen structure," he added. "I resent being treated as though I stumbled into it unknowingly."
There it was.
The mask - the careless younger brother, the "good-for-nothing" with a sharp tongue and little discipline - fell away in that single sentence.
Mokai's brow lifted.
"You have been paying attention," he observed.
Fengyu's mouth curved faintly again, but this time it was not boyish.
"I always pay attention," he said. "I simply prefer that others assume I do not."
Mokai studied him for a long moment, as though seeing something that had always been present but rarely revealed.
"So the prodigal son of Solirae," he said at last, voice lighter again but edged with new respect, "is not quite as decorative as advertised."
Fengyu's expression returned to something almost playful - but it no longer felt careless.
"Decorative things," he replied, "are rarely examined closely."
And this time, Mokai did smile.