Hah!
The sound of hooves striking dirt carried through the forest as Sael turned his head toward it. The others did the same, Ilsa's hand dropping instinctively to her sword hilt, Orion tensing, Shaye going very still like she was hoping to become invisible through sheer force of will.
It had been a while since Sael had seen soldiers from this region.
They emerged from the tree line in formation, horses snorting and stamping as they spread out in a wide circle around the clearing. There were eight of them in dark green coats with brass buttons, reinforced shoulders that shimmered faintly with enchantments, and structured helmets bearing House Harrins' crest—a stag's head in profile. Each one had a rifle slung across their back and a sword at their hip.
Sael's gaze stayed on the rifles.
Those had appeared roughly fifteen years ago, experimental things used mainly by specialized units. Apparently they'd become standard issue now, even out here in Galio Province.
The Golden Era had brought unprecedented peace, yes, but it wasn't absolute peace. Humans, elves, dwarves, the feytouched, orcs, demons—they all still waged war in one way or another. Smaller conflicts. Border disputes. The sort of thing that kept soldiers employed and weaponsmiths busy.
New weapons were always being developed.
The horses circled them, hooves churning up dirt and old leaves. The soldiers didn't dismount, just positioned themselves in a ring, effectively cutting off any escape routes.
Sael watched the maneuver with mild curiosity.
Was the intimidation tactic really necessary here? Nobody was trying to flee. Nobody was preparing to fight.
The circle closed. Eight soldiers on horseback, rifles now held in ready positions across their laps. Not aimed, but available.
One of the horses stamped nervously. Her rider, a young man who looked maybe twenty at most, patted her neck absently while his eyes swept over the four of them.
Ilsa's posture had shifted into something more formal. Military. Orion looked nervous, eyes darting between the soldiers and Sael. Shaye had gone pale again, hands shaking.
The young man on the gray mare urged his horse forward a few steps. He was clearly in charge, despite looking like he'd only recently figured out how to shave properly. His coat had an extra stripe on the shoulders. His helmet sat slightly askew.
"You there," the young man called out, his voice trying for authoritative and landing somewhere closer to uncertain. He cleared his throat. "Identify yourselves."
His eyes swept across them, and Sael saw the exact moment he registered what he was looking at.
Ilsa's armor was clearly high-quality, with House Eryndor's crest etched into the pauldron. Orion's robes bore the silver threading and patterns of Astra Academy.
The young soldier's posture shifted. Less aggressive. Still cautious, but more respectful.
Ilsa stepped forward. "Lady Ilsa Eryndor, fourth daughter of Lord Richter Eryndor of Orlys. This is Orion Castrel, student at Astra Academy. This is Professor Shaye Haazad of the Astra Academy in Orlys." She paused, glancing at Sael with a slightly uncertain expression, like she wasn't sure how to introduce him or if she should even try.
Sael cleared his throat. "Sael," he said simply. "Resident of Gatsby."
There were a lot of Saels in the world nowadays. It was a common enough name. He'd never had to hide it, which was convenient since he'd never been particularly good at remembering aliases. People had just sort of... declared him dead after a while and called it a day.
He found it strange, really. Understandable, but strange. And a bit morbid, too.
The young soldier's expression shifted—recognition of the names, or at least their significance. His grip on his rifle relaxed slightly.
"Lady Eryndor." He inclined his head, awkward from horseback. "My apologies for the dramatic entrance. I am Lieutenant Garrick Voss, in service to Lord Harrins of Galio Province."
He paused, eyes moving across the scorched earth and broken trees surrounding the clearing.
"We received reports of a magical disturbance in this area earlier today. A significant one. The entire village felt it." His gaze settled on Sael for a moment, then moved to Shaye, whose hands were still bound. "Do any of you know anything about that?"
Ilsa stepped forward, her posture straightening into something more official.
"Lieutenant Voss," she began. "I'll explain what I can."
She started recounting the events—the necro-dragon's appearance, the attack on Gatsby, the intervention that had stopped it. She mentioned her Right of Quest, her purpose in traveling to the region, though she carefully skirted around certain details. Like why she'd been in Gatsby specifically. Who she'd been looking for here.
Sael watched her navigate the explanation. She wasn't lying, exactly. Just... omitting his identity.
He understood why.
Saying she'd been searching for a dead man would make her look unserious at best, and stupid at worst. She didn't look or act mad, so stupid it would be.
Humans, even as mages, could rarely get past a hundred and forty years old. A mage lived about twenty years longer than a non-mage because of their mana core, which pumped mana through their bodies constantly, revitalizing them, giving them more longevity. But even that had limits. As the body aged, its capacity for mana absorption and circulation decreased. The channels became less efficient. The core itself began to deteriorate.
Sael's had never stopped growing. His body had never stopped developing its capacity to hold and circulate mana. He was an outlier in that regard.
Ilsa finished her explanation. The soldiers had been listening with varying degrees of attention, some looking skeptical, others just tired like they'd had a long day and wanted it to be over.
Lieutenant Voss shifted in his saddle. "A necro-dragon," he said slowly, like he was testing the words in his mouth to see if they made sense. "An actual necro-dragon attacked Gatsby?"
"Yes," Ilsa confirmed.
"And where is this dragon now?"
Ilsa hesitated.
Her gaze flicked toward Sael for just an instant—barely a fraction of a second—but it was enough. The soldiers noticed. Their attention shifted as well, eyes moving to him with renewed interest.
Sael looked back at them.
Was she afraid of selling him out?
He should have probably let her know that he wasn't actively trying to hide his existence. He was just... not participating in society anymore. That was different.
He'd left because he was severely burnt out after years—centuries, really—of existence. Watching people he cared about grow old and die, one by one, while he just stayed the same. It had felt wrong. Like he wasn't supposed to live as long as he did. So he'd left, and moved to his nimbus cloud to grieve, which apparently increased his social anxiety even more than it had already been.
But he'd never had a problem with his identity. He didn't really have any enemies who could attack him at the level he was at now, which was good. And most of the people he cared about were long dead, which was...
Well, clearly it wasn't good.
But in the current context it... wasn't bad either?
On one hand, no loved ones to worry about. No one for old enemies to target, threaten, or use as leverage.
On the other hand, no loved ones.
Which made this life... taste like the ashes of a once-splendid feast, rich in memory, hollow in flavor.
Hmm.
A depressing hmm, this one.
Sael pushed that thought away. People were still waiting for him to answer, and he probably looked quite rude at the moment.
"Ah," Sael said, clearing his throat. "I killed it."
The soldiers stared at him.
"...You?" Lieutenant Voss said.
"Yes. Me."
There was a pause.
One of the soldiers—a man with his hair tied back in a tight braid—leaned forward slightly in his saddle. "You killed a necro-dragon."
"Yes," Sael said again.
"How?" This from another soldier, older than Voss, with a scar across his jaw.
"I took a spear," Sael explained. "Imbued a very powerful spell into it. Then I threw it."
The soldiers exchanged glances. Sael could see the doubt settling in. The way their postures shifted, subtle but noticeable. The tightening of grips on reins. The slight narrowing of eyes.
He reached into his inventory and pulled out the spear.
It materialized in his hand with a faint shimmer of displaced air. "It's a good spear," Sael said, holding it up so they could see.
The soldiers stared at the spear. Then at Sael.
He probably looked like a madman. Claiming he'd killed a dragon by himself. With a spear. A good spear, admittedly, but still just a spear.
Oh well.
If this became more complicated than necessary, he could always fly away.
"Could you..." Voss finally said, seeming to reconsider his words. "Could you prove it?"
The question hung in the air for a moment while Sael processed it.
Well, that was reasonable, he supposed. He'd just claimed something that sounded ridiculous, and they had no reason to believe him beyond the fact that he was holding a nice spear and standing in a scorched clearing.
"I suppose I could," Sael said slowly.
There was a pause.
"How?" Voss asked.
Sael looked at him. "What do you mean, 'how'?" That seemed like an odd question. He'd killed the dragon with magic. So he'd demonstrate magic. Was that not the logical approach here?
The soldiers exchanged glances. Some uncertainty there. They clearly hadn't thought this through before asking. One of them leaned toward Voss and whispered something.
Ilsa was watching the exchange with her arms crossed, expression unreadable. Orion looked like he desperately wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should. Shaye was just there.
Voss turned in his saddle, scanning the horizon. His gaze settled on something in the distance.
"There," he said, pointing.
Sael followed the gesture.
A mountain. Not particularly tall, maybe two thousand feet at the peak. Forested on the lower slopes, rocky and bare near the top. It sat maybe three miles away, visible through the gaps in the trees.
"Destroy that mountain," Voss said.
Sael stared at the mountain for a moment.
It was a perfectly fine mountain. Conical shape, gentle slopes on the western side, steeper on the east. There were probably deer living on it. Maybe some bears. Definitely birds. The forest coverage suggested decent rainfall in the region, which meant streams running down from the peak, feeding into the lowlands.
"Why?" Sael asked.
Voss blinked. "What?"
"Why would I destroy a mountain?"
One of the soldiers—the one with the scar on his jaw—leaned forward. "You're stalling," he said, voice flat and edged with impatience. "You're hiding something. This whole story is—"
"I'm not stalling," Sael interrupted. What a rude young man. He looked back at the mountain. "I'm asking why you want me to destroy a mountain. It seems excessive."
The scarred soldier's jaw tightened. "If you can't do it, just say so. Don't waste our—"
"I can do it," Sael said. "I'm asking why I should." So rude.
There was a beat of silence.
Voss shifted in his saddle again. "To prove you killed the dragon."
"By destroying a mountain."
"Yes."
Sael considered this. He'd thought about just telling them who he was—Sael the Great, Hero and Archmage, the man who'd ended the Age of Ash and disappeared centuries ago—but that would make things harder, not easier. Nobody would believe him. And even if they did believe him, proving it would require demonstrations that would probably be more time consuming than just proving he could kill a necro-dragon. The festival was still ongoing, but at this rhythm, the chicken would be sold out.
Time was of the essence.
Powerful mages existed everywhere. They traveled. Some of them were eccentric. Some of them didn't like talking about themselves. The soldiers seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if that doubt was currently quite large.
But destroying a mountain was stupid.
Sael sighed.
"That mountain deflects wind patterns," he said, gesturing toward it. "See how the western slope is gentler? That's because prevailing winds hit it from that direction. The forest grows thicker on that side because of the moisture those winds carry. The eastern side is rockier, drier. The mountain creates a rain shadow."
The soldiers stared at him.
"If you destroy it," Sael continued, "those wind patterns change. The villages on the eastern side—including Gatsby—will get hit with stronger winds. Colder winds in winter. The streams that feed down from the peak will disappear, which means the water table in the lowlands drops. Farms that rely on those streams will have problems."
He paused, studying the mountain's slopes.
"Also, that mountain is home to several species of monsters. Trolls, too. Maybe some harpies near the peak. Definitely giant cave bears in the middle elevations. If you destroy their habitat, they'll migrate. And the first place they'll go is down into the valleys. Gatsby will be dealing with displaced monsters for months. People will die."
The clearing was very quiet.
Voss's mouth had opened slightly. He closed it. Opened it again. "I… hadn't thought about that."
"Most people don't," Sael said.
The scarred soldier looked less certain now.
Ilsa had a hand over her mouth, but Sael was fairly sure she was trying not to smile.
Voss cleared his throat. "Then… what would you suggest? To prove you killed the dragon?"
Sael tilted his head. "Well," he said. "I could just show you the spell I used."
There was another pause.
Several of the soldiers exchanged looks. A few of them shifted in their saddles, and Sael could practically see the realization settling in.
They'd asked him to destroy a mountain when he could have just demonstrated his magic directly.
They felt stupid.
Sael liked that. There'd been no need to suggest destroying the environment when it could all be so much simpler.
He clutched the spear in his hand, feeling the familiar weight of it.
"You should back up a little," Sael said.
The soldiers hesitated, then began urging their horses backward. The circle widened. Twenty feet became thirty, then forty.
Ilsa and Orion stepped back as well. Shaye practically scrambled away, still unsteady with her hands bound.
Sael looked at Voss, who had stopped his horse about thirty-five feet away.
"More," Sael said.
Voss's eyes widened slightly. He urged his horse back another twenty feet.
The other soldiers followed suit, creating a much wider perimeter now. Sixty feet, maybe more. Their expressions had shifted from skeptical to cautious. A few of them looked actively nervous.
Sael stood in the center of the clearing, spear in hand.
Well.
Here we go.
***
"What an odd young man."
That was Voss's first real assessment of the person standing in the center of the clearing, spear in hand, looking up at the sky like he was checking for rain.
He had that ageless quality some people had. Could be twenty-five. Could be fifty. The gray hair suggested older, but his face was unlined and his movements were easy. Maybe some elven blood, or demonic. That would explain it. Those races aged differently.
But his demeanor was what struck Voss as strange. The way he stood there, calm and unhurried, like eight armed soldiers surrounding him was only mildly interesting. The way he'd argued about destroying a mountain—not because he couldn't do it, but because it would be environmentally irresponsible.
Who argued about wind patterns when they were trying to prove they weren't lying?
"Sir."
Voss turned. It was that Academy student—the boy in the silver-threaded robes—had approached his horse. Orion something. He'd introduced himself earlier.
"Yes?"
Orion's expression was odd. Nervous, but excited in a way that didn't quite fit the situation. Like he was watching something important happen and didn't want to miss a second of it. This made Voss even more curious.
"He's not young," Orion said quietly.
Voss blinked. "What?"
"Sir Sael. He's—" Orion paused, seeming to reconsider his words. "He's much older than he looks."
That was a strange thing to say, though it didn't surprise Voss much. "How much older?"
Orion hesitated. "Very."
That wasn't an answer, but before Voss could press for clarification, the scarred soldier—Dane, his name was—spoke up from where he sat on his horse a few feet away.
"This is a waste of time," Dane said, voice flat. "The man's stalling. We should just take him in for questioning and—"
"He's not stalling," Orion interrupted, and there was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. Sharp. Almost defensive.
Dane raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how would you know?"
"Because I know who he is," Orion said.
Voss's attention sharpened. "Who is he?"
Orion opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. His gaze flicked toward Sael, who was still looking at the sky, apparently oblivious to the conversation happening about him.
"I can't say," Orion said finally. "But you should watch. Just—watch what he does."
Voss frowned. That was cryptic. Unhelpfully so.
But before he could ask anything else, he felt it.
Warmth.
It started as a faint sensation against his skin, like standing near a fire that was just beginning to catch. Nothing alarming. Just noticeable.
Then it grew.
Voss's horse shifted beneath him, ears flicking back. She was uneasy. The other horses were reacting too, he noticed. Stamping. Tossing their heads. One of them whinnied, high and nervous.
The warmth was still building.
"Sir," one of his men said, voice uncertain.
Voss didn't answer. His eyes were locked on Sael.
The man had lowered his gaze from the sky. He was looking at the spear in his hand now, expression calm. Focused. Like he was preparing to do something very simple and routine.
The air around him began to shimmer.
Not like heat distortion, though there was some of that too. This was different. Deeper. Like reality itself was bending slightly around him, the way water bent around a stone.
Mana.
Voss had been around mages before. He'd seen spells cast. Fireballs thrown. Ice conjured. Healing magic worked on injuries. He knew what mana felt like when it gathered.
This wasn't like that.
This was—
The warmth became heat. Real heat. The kind that made him want to pull back even though he was already sixty feet away.
His horse took a step backward without being prompted. She was breathing faster now, nostrils flared. The other horses were doing the same, all of them shifting and stamping like they wanted to bolt but couldn't decide which direction to run.
"Easy," Voss murmured, patting her neck. His hand came away damp. She was sweating.
So was he, he realized.
The heat was still rising.
Sael hadn't moved. He was just standing there, spear held loosely in one hand, head tilted slightly like he was listening to something only he could hear.
The air around him was vibrating now. Actually vibrating. Voss could see it. The trees at the edge of the clearing were swaying despite there being no wind. Leaves were trembling. Small stones on the ground were rattling.
"What—" someone started to say, but the words were lost.
Because the sound started.
It wasn't loud at first. Just a low hum. Deep. The kind of thing you felt in your chest more than heard with your ears.
But it grew.
The hum became a rumble. The rumble became a roar.
Voss's horse tried to back up further. He let her. The other soldiers were doing the same, their mounts skittering sideways, tossing their heads, eyes rolling white.
The heat was intense now. Voss could feel sweat running down his back, soaking into his uniform. His face was flushed. The air tasted metallic. Sharp.
And Sael just stood there.
The mana around him was visible now. Not just a shimmer. Actual light. Pale blue-white, crawling across his skin like lightning frozen in place. It spiraled around the spear in his hand, coiling tighter and tighter until the weapon itself was glowing so bright Voss had to squint to look at it.
The roar was deafening.
Voss couldn't hear himself think. Couldn't hear the horses screaming. Couldn't hear his men shouting. There was just the sound of raw power gathering, building, compressing into something that felt like it was going to tear the world apart.
The wind hit.
It wasn't so much moving air as a wall of heat with mass behind it, slamming into them hard enough to feel solid.
Voss's horse reared. He barely managed to stay in the saddle, gripping the reins with both hands, leaning forward to keep his balance. The other soldiers were having the same problem. Dane's mount bolted sideways, nearly colliding with another horse.
The trees around the clearing were bending now, branches whipping violently, leaves tearing free and spiraling up into the air.
And still the mana kept building.
Voss couldn't look away.
He should. He knew he should. Looking directly at magic this concentrated was dangerous. But he couldn't tear his eyes from the man standing in the center of it all.
Sael raised the spear.
The movement was smooth and unhurried. Like he was preparing to throw a practice shot at a training dummy.
The light around the weapon intensified. Bright enough that Voss's eyes watered. Bright enough that he could see the afterimage when he blinked.
And then Sael threw it.
The world broke.
That was the only way Voss could describe it.
The spear left Sael's hand and reality split open around it.
There was a crack. Not like thunder. Bigger than thunder. Louder. The kind of sound that wasn't just heard but felt, a physical shockwave that hit like a battering ram.
Voss was thrown from his horse.
He didn't remember falling. One moment he was in the saddle, the next he was on his back on the ground, ears ringing so loud he couldn't hear anything else but the spear. A streak of white-blue light tearing upward, faster than anything he'd ever seen. Faster than arrows. Faster than lightning.
It punched through the clouds and kept going.
The shockwave followed behind it, a visible ripple in the air that expanded outward in a perfect cone. Trees bent. Rocks shattered. The ground itself trembled.
Voss's ears were ringing. His whole body was ringing. He could feel his heartbeat in his teeth.
He tried to push himself up. His arms were shaking. Everything was shaking.
The horses were screaming.
He managed to get to his knees, then his feet. The world tilted. He steadied himself, blinking hard, trying to clear his vision.
The other soldiers were down too. Some were getting up. Some were still on the ground. Dane was clutching his head, blood running from his nose.
The horses were trying to run. Scattering in every direction, reins trailing, saddles empty.
And Sael—
Sael was walking toward them.
No.
Not toward them.
Toward the horses.
Voss watched, still dazed, as the man reached the nearest mount—a bay mare that was wild-eyed and foaming at the mouth, trying desperately to bolt but tangled in her own reins.
Sael placed a hand on her neck.
The mare stopped.
Just… stopped.
Her breathing slowed. Her eyes cleared. She stood perfectly still, ears forward, like she'd forgotten she'd been terrified two seconds ago.
Sael moved to the next horse. Then the next.
One by one, he calmed them. Touched them. Spoke to them in a voice too quiet for Voss to hear over the ringing in his ears.
And one by one, they settled.
Voss stared.
He felt very small.
Smaller than he'd felt in a long time. Maybe ever.
He'd been a soldier for eight years. Fought bandits. Hunted monsters. Seen mages cast spells that could level buildings.
This wasn't that.
This could kill a dragon.
"Told you."
Voss turned.
Orion was standing next to him, offering a hand. The boy was smiling. Like this was all perfectly normal and expected.
"Told you," Orion said again.
Voss stared at the offered hand for a moment. Then he took it.
Orion pulled him to his feet. The boy was stronger than he looked.
"What…" Voss's voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat, tried again. "What was that?"
Orion's smile widened. "That," he said, "was the man who killed the dragon."
Voss looked back at Sael. The man had finished with the horses and was walking back toward the center of the clearing, hands in his pockets, expression calm.
"Who is he?" Voss asked quietly.
Orion's smile faded slightly. He glanced at Sael, then back at Voss.
"Someone important," Orion said. "Someone very, very important."
That wasn't an answer.
But Voss didn't ask again.
He didn't think he wanted to know.