Arrival at the Assembly
The city hadn't changed, but George's understanding of it had. It was no longer just a place to live—it was a grand design unfolding beyond the glass.
The train eased onto the platform at the edge of the gardens. According to the timetable, it was time for the assembly.
The doors slid open to the crisp mid day air of Alexia
The Roslyn Grand Garden
As the students stepped into the Roslyn Grand Garden, a collective gasp filled the air. Even Nora, usually the most composed, looked on in awe; none of them had ever set foot within these hallowed grounds. Only Flynn remained stoic, moving with a practiced ease that suggested he had walked these paths many times before. Log Crane led the way, his glinting spectacles reflecting the shimmering flora as he maintained a perfectly methodical posture. The students huddled close, their eyes darting toward the heavy presence of guards stationed at every entry, exit, and monument. Log came to a halt at the edge of the stone-paved threshold, his heels clicking sharply against the rock.
"Maintain your formation," Log commanded, his voice unyielding and resonant, yet hushed. "Keep your mana signatures dampened. We are not here to disrupt the weave, but to observe it. Efficiency requires total focus." He gestured with a gloved hand toward the towering stone gazebos rising from the mist. "Observe the columns. To the untrained eye, they are merely marble.
To a student of the craft, they are masterpieces of structural chronomancy, reinforced with static-locking charms. They are frozen in a moment of peak integrity to support the weight of those creeping vines without ever weathering. This is how we defy biological limits in Larissa.
The Arches of Rose and Vine
As they moved deeper, the scent of a thousand crushed roses grew thick. They passed under grand walkways defined by arches of living flora.
"The Arches of Rose and Vine," Log noted, pointing upward where petals pulsed with a soft, rhythmic light. "These plants do not seek the sun; they are geotropic, growing toward the nearest ley line. Do not touch them. They are attuned to the agency's security wards—and remember, these agencies are new and have no employees yet; they rely entirely on these automated systems. A single stray spark from your fingers could trigger a containment response."
The path gave way to a crystalline flood that mirrored the lanterns above so perfectly it was hard to tell where the ground ended and the sky began.
"The waterfall and minitaure river is treated with a Silver-Mirror solution," Log explained as the students carefully navigated the elevated stepping stones. "It serves as a massive, horizontal scrying lens. Note the 'God Rays' piercing the canopy. Those are not natural; they are woven into the leaf-structure to ensure the pigments remain vibrant regardless of the hour. We follow a strict timetable here, and the light must obey it."
The Royal Spires
A student gasped, pointing toward the horizon. Beyond a cascading stone waterfall, a gothic castle rose into the purple twilight, flanked by massive islands of rock drifting lazily in the air.
"The Royal Spires," Log said, his tone shifting to one of academic pride. "A permanent levitation field anchored to the core. And there, by the pavilion—silence, please. The Dove is a biological construct. It grazes on corrupted mana, acting as a living filter for the garden's aura." He turned back to the group, his expression stern. "Watch the petals beneath your boots. Every fallen leaf is a sensor. This garden is a project of immense precision. If you deviate from the path or the schedule, the petals will turn crimson, and the agencies—who are eager to prove their systems work—will be notified immediately. Now," he checked his watch, "shall we proceed to the gallery to oversee the progress of the construction?"
An Unexpected Encounter
This was the closest any of them had ever been to the Royal Palace. As they walked, Log explained that the flora had been planted by Queen Roslyn herself and was said to be imbued with her aura. "Though," he added with his usual dry skepticism, "that is likely just a charming myth."
In that moment, he was interrupted by a figure who seemed to radiate authority. She had long, platinum-blonde hair and luminous, glowing golden eyes. She wore formal academic robes of deep purple with gold embroidery and a high collar. An ornate gold belt with a lion motif cinched her waist, alongside a utility belt holding leather satchels and scrolls.
"Grandma?" Flynn shouted, his composure finally breaking. "What are you doing here?"
The woman chuckled, her playful energy filling the space. "What, is a Grandmagi not allowed to visit the garden on the day her grandson is taking a field trip?" Decima Nightwing asked jokingly.
Nora, Kayn, and Faust stood with their jaws dropped. George leaned toward Kayn, whispering, "Who is that?"
"That's Decima Nightwing," Kayn hissed back, his voice trembling. "She's one of the seven Grandmagi Council members. She's one of the strongest mages in the entire world."
The Grandmagi's Presence
Log Crane's heart seemed to skip a beat. He scrambled to gather his thoughts, his rigid demeanor momentarily faltering. "Students, we... we have a surprise guest. I cannot believe this... but we are in the presence of a council member." He rushed forward. "Miss Decima—your humble excellence—it is a profound honor."
Jinx Starwind, an illuminatingly beautiful blur of blue and silver, floated over with a graceful smile. "It is an honor, Grandmagi," she said, her eyes—the color of magic itself—twinkling with excitement.
Decima blushed slightly, looking flustered. "Oh, no... a Starwind in my presence? The honor is all mine, dear." Jinx offered a warm, perceptive smile before floating back.
Decima then moved to Ky Ironheart. The broad, scarred warrior showed deep admiration and respect, his serious expression softening as he shook her hand with a firm, responsible grip.
Zorro Diego, looking dashing yet disheveled with his messy black hair, gave a theatrically deep bow, pulling his hat to his heart. "An absolute honor, Grandmagi," he said, his voice whimsical yet carrying a sharp, philosophical undertone.
George watched in utter shock; he had never seen his professors act so subservient.
Flynn, however, remained prickly. "So, did you only come here to see me?"
Decima laughed. "Well, not quite. I have important matters to attend to within the Royal Palace, but I couldn't pass up the chance to visit my lovely grandson."
She reached out to pinch his cheeks, but Flynn batted her hand away. "I told you, I'm not a little kid anymore," Flynn snapped.
"Ah, yes," she laughed heartily. "My apologies. I forgot you want to forge your own reputation, separate from the Nightwing name."
Flynn clenched his fists. "I refuse to be handed anything. I'll prove I don't need the name to succeed."
A Glimpse of Destiny
The students gasped at Flynn's defiance, but Decima only smiled. Her eyes drifted over the group until they locked onto George's. "And who might you be?"
George's hands trembled as he reached out. The moment their hands met, he felt an intensity unlike anything he had ever imagined—a crushing weight of suppressed aura. His lungs burned and his chest tightening. It's like the world was dropped on me, he thought, struggling to breathe.
Decima stepped back, her piercing eyes looking right into his soul. She turned to the professors. "Take care of these young ones. They are very special. I sense a great destiny from this group." She reached out and playfully ruffled Flynn's hair one last time before a purple glow enveloped her. In a wisp of light, she vanished.
The students stood in stunned silence, staring at Flynn. He looked at the ground, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury.
Log Crane quickly straightened his vest, checking his watch to regain control of the schedule. "Right then. We are behind. Moving on. We must stay on track. Follow me."