Thorne stepped into the miniature palace expecting absurdity and still, somehow, found himself caught off guard.

The walls shimmered like heat mirages. What looked like polished sandstone wasn't static at all. It pulsed faintly with a soft internal glow, like breathing clay touched by starlight. Patterns crawled across the surface, imperial motifs, runic threads, floral etchings, and then slowly dissolved or rearranged, never the same twice. No wall stayed entirely still. No corner truly straight. The palace felt alive, like a dreaming thing.

It wasn't just enchanted.

It was an extension of Varo.

The imperial guards peeled away silently as they entered, vanishing through side passages, behind morphing doors, or perhaps into thin air. Thorne wasn't sure. He didn't ask.

Varo walked ahead with a bounce in his step, arms folded behind his back as if giving a tour of a beloved estate. "Come along, my dear Thorne. I've saved the very best seat for you."

They ascended a spiraling staircase where the bannisters curled into lotus petals under their hands and the steps adjusted ever so slightly to the rhythm of their pace. At the top, an open terrace revealed itself, and Thorne hesitated at the threshold, not out of fear, but disbelief.

He had stepped into a garden above the clouds.

Vines spilled from glassless arches, heavy with moon-pale blossoms. Trees, short, twisted, and lush, formed a canopy over parts of the terrace, their branches strung with small hovering lanterns shaped like insects. A white path paved with hexagonal tiles wound through rows of benches, each uniquely sculpted. A fountain stood at the center, its water flowing in reverse for a few seconds at a time, as if the palace couldn't decide whether time should move forward.

The air smelled faintly of peppery orchids, cedar, and something colder, like distant snow.

"Sit, sit," Varo gestured toward a delicate wrought-iron table with two high-backed chairs shaped like blooming flowers. They took their places, Thorne doing so cautiously, wary of another illusion.

The chair sighed softly beneath him.

Varo smiled like a child hiding a secret behind their teeth.

"Hold tight."

Thorne blinked. "What?"

But Varo didn't answer. Instead, he brought two fingers to his lips and whistled, a quiet, breathy sound that barely traveled more than a few meters.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the sky shivered.

A shadow peeled up from beyond the terrace railing. Massive. Sinister. The serpent's head rose, its thick neck coiling high as it peered down at them. Its golden eyes were laced with deep intelligence and disapproval. It narrowed them at Thorne, exhaling a slow hiss that made his eardrums flutter.

Varo wiggled his fingers in greeting. "Let's go, my love."

Tzelkrith's wings stretched outward, blocking out half the sun. Its body curled around the palace foundations with unholy grace. And then with a low, seismic growl, it launched into the air.

The entire palace lurched.

Thorne was nearly thrown from his chair, only his quick reflexes and unnatural balance saved him. Plates clattered across the table. Varo giggled like a madman as if he were riding a roller coaster.

Wind whipped across the terrace, sending petals and sparks flying as the palace shook again, once, twice, and then steadied.

They were airborne.

Through the transparent curve of the upper terrace, Thorne saw Aetherhold falling away below them, the floating mountain growing distant as the creature rose with smooth, horrifying power. The city's towers and bridges shrank beneath, a thousand lights flickering like candle flames.

And this wasn't just flight.

The palace itself adjusted, shifting imperceptibly as if the walls compensated for inertia. The sandstone skin shimmered with new wards. Aether glyphs traced themselves into place before dissolving again.

Thorne sat back in his chair, pulse steady, gaze locked forward.

He kept his expression unreadable.

Because he had absolutely no idea what came next.

The sandstone palace soared, cradled in the coiled body of a beast that could swallow ships whole. Its wings beat in long, sweeping arcs, each motion rippling through the skies like a pulse of thunder too proud to sound.

Thorne leaned on the wrought-iron railing of the terrace, wind tugging at his collar. The sky stretched endless before them, clouds curling around the palace like reverent mist. Aetherhold was now a speck below, distant and motionless. Thorne imagined the stares from the courtyard, the whispers already flowering like weeds in a garden. He imagined professors peering through telescopes, and students wildly speculating about where he'd gone, and why.

He didn't like that.

He didn't like being someone else's mystery.

"You didn't answer my question," Thorne said, still looking at the horizon. "Was the spectacle at the academy really necessary?"

Varo, who had been reclined in a crystal-framed chaise beside him, sipping something that shimmered between wine and mercury, smiled indulgently. "Oh, darling, that wasn't a spectacle. That was pageantry. A little perfume of power, just to open the senses."

Thorne turned to him slowly. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

Varo spread his arms, letting the breeze toss his sleeves like silver banners. "I always do."

Thorne's eyes narrowed. "You made a scene. In front of every student. Every professor. Why?"

The elf's smile thinned into something sharper. "Because, dear Thorne, I know where you come from. I know what you've done. And more importantly, I know how stories work. Appear weak, and they will circle like wolves. Appear powerful… and they'll write you into legend."

He took another sip. "Besides, you played a pivotal role in the fall of Alvar, didn't you?"

Thorne's heart slowed.

His lips didn't move, but his fingers clenched the railing. "That's a bold accusation."

"Not an accusation." Varo tilted his head. "A footnote. You burned the roots of that place down to the bedrock. And chaos followed like a choir."

He smiled.

Thorne was silent for a long time. The wind hissed between the spires of the palace, carrying heat from the serpent's wings.

"Do you know what's happening there now?" he asked finally, his voice low.

Varo's eyes lit with delight, mocking, perhaps, or genuinely entertained. "Oh, I do. There've been… A reshuffling. A rebalancing. A waltz of fire and silence."

Thorne's stomach twisted, but he didn't press. He didn't need to know the details, not from Varo's mouth, not when his voice bent truth like molten glass.

Instead, he exhaled. Stepped back from the rail.

"So you know everything, then?"

Varo blinked, almost sweetly. "Oh, not everything. I haven't seen the inside of your dreams. Yet."

Thorne crossed his arms. "Then let's drop the pretense. Why am I here?"

A pause.

Then, with a theatrical flourish, Varo clapped once, and the sky ripped open ahead of them.

A massive, gaping void formed, black as ink, veined with threads of silver and emerald that shimmered like tears in reality. The serpent didn't flinch. It soared straight into the portal as if diving into a pool.

The moment they passed through, everything changed.

The sun was higher, an hour or two before dusk. The temperature surged, a dry heat that tasted of copper and scorched spices. Below them stretched a vast desert, painted with swirling red rock canyons and glassy dunes. In the distance, pillars of green stone jutted from the ground like ancient fingers.

Thorne didn't stumble, but he felt the weight shift, like stepping from one page of the world into another.

Varo stretched luxuriously. "Mmm. Much better."

Thorne didn't sit.

He watched the horizon. "You're circling me. Why?"

"Because I want you to see," Varo said, voice calm now, almost delicate. "Not the empire. Not yet. But something close. I want to show you the frame before I paint the picture."

"And you expect me to be impressed?"

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Varo's eyes gleamed. "I expect you to understand. Because you, more than most, have seen what this world does to those with power but no purpose."

Thorne frowned. "You think I have no purpose?"

"I think you're still choosing it. And that makes you… malleable."

The word echoed strangely, as if the palace walls approved.

Varo stood now, robes fluttering behind him like smoke. "Let me be very clear, Thorne. The Empire of the First Light does not extend invitations. It doesn't ask. You're not a guest. You're a summoned variable. The kind that bends stories around itself."

Thorne's voice was calm, cold. "So this is a recruitment."

"It's a revelation." Varo tilted his head. "Do you know what your core looks like, Thorne? I've seen many. Yours is… an anomaly. Wild. Fractured and vibrating. Like it's too full of ideas that haven't been born yet."

"That's poetic," Thorne said dryly.

"It's terrifying," Varo whispered. "To some. But I think it's beautiful."

There was a silence.

Then Thorne said, "I won't be tamed."

Varo grinned. "Neither will the Empire. That's why we'll get along."

They stood there, two opposite forces wrapped in matching shadows, one laughing at the world, the other still deciding whether to burn it.

Above them, the serpent shrieked joyfully.

And below, the desert burned golden.

The conversation fractured.

Varo's eyes went unfocused, his pupils dilating like a mirror swallowing light. His fingers twitched at his sides. Then, in a tongue that didn't belong on this plane, he whispered a sharp curse, all sibilant edges and broken cadences.

Another portal tore open in the sky before them, black and jagged and hissing.

The serpent didn't wait for a command this time. It tilted its wings, folding into a dive as the palace followed in its wake, dragged into the breach like a dream being reeled through a needle's eye.

When they emerged, the light had changed again. It was the same world, but not. The sky was more orange than blue, the sun swollen near the horizon but still high above where it should've been. The temperature surged, not just heat, but pressure. As if the land itself held its breath.

The terrain was similar, still desert, but the landscape had shifted. Dunes had turned to jagged black rock. No glass, no dust. Just scorched valleys and distant ridgelines cracked with veins of glowing stone.

Thorne gripped the railing. "Where are we now?"

Varo blinked once. Then gave a name. It sounded like a cough wrapped in silk. "The southern range of Khezaryn."

Thorne raised an eyebrow. "That where the Empire's based?"

Varo snorted. "Oh, Thorne. You haven't even asked about us, have you?"

"I have but not much information is out there," Thorne muttered.

Varo wagged a finger. "You haven't done your homework. Tsk-tsk. I expected better from a child raised in the shadow of Uncle's lies. I would've thought someone like you, so clever, so suspicious, would've researched the people making very permanent offers."

"I've been busy," Thorne said, tone flat.

"Mm. Yes. Burning down crime syndicates, freeing imprisoned abominations, collapsing markets... sloppily."

Thorne didn't flinch. "Why are we here?"

Varo turned to him and smiled. "So you can see."

"See what?"

But the elf just hummed tunelessly and twirled his fingers through the air, as if orchestrating something only he could hear.

Thorne leaned against the railing, gaze trailing the horizon. "And if I say no?"

Varo stopped humming.

Silence bloomed between them.

Then he laughed, not a polite chuckle, not an amused breath. A full-bodied, throaty, delighted cackle that echoed across the air like madness escaping a cage.

"Oh, Thorne," he wheezed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "You already know the answer. You can't refuse."

"There must be others who have."

"Oh, certainly!" Varo clapped. "A brave few. Principled, heroic, morally resilient."

Thorne turned toward him, waiting.

Varo's voice dipped to a hush. "They're all dead."

Thorne grunted softly.

Internally, his mind was racing. If he wanted a path out, he needed leverage. He needed information. Which meant baiting the madman across from him without getting his throat cut.

He turned to Varo, tone casual. "You see the future, don't you?"

Varo tilted his head, mock scandalized. "Oh! Not the future. That would be cheating. I see... potential outcomes. Threads, possibilities. Nothing is certain, my sweet, brittle little enigma."

Thorne nodded once. "Fine. In all those futures you see... do I serve the Empire?"

Varo smiled. A dangerous one. The kind of smile you find carved into cave walls, warning trespassers.

"In most."

"And in the ones I don't?"

Varo's expression didn't change, but something in the air grew colder, despite the sun. "You're dead."

Thorne didn't blink. "All of them?"

Varo didn't answer immediately. He turned his face to the wind, pretending to admire the sky. The serpent shrieked above them, long and low.

Finally: "In most of them."

Thorne kept his expression impassive.

But inwardly?

Victory.

There was a path. Narrow, maybe. Bloody, probably. But it existed.

He didn't know if Varo had meant to say it, or if his lunacy had loosened his tongue, but either way, hope had slipped through.

He exhaled, voice dry. "I don't even know why you want me. I haven't done anything remarkable."

Varo's laughter returned, but this time, it was soft. Private. A chuckle behind a closed curtain.

"I beg to differ," he said, voice threaded with reverence. "It is no small thing to infiltrate the Vault of Memory. No small thing to free a fellow Elderborn from that place."

Thorne tensed.

Varo stepped closer, eyes gleaming now, not golden, but glowing with motes that pulsed like fading stars.

"You were messy. Careless. Do you know how much effort it took to wipe your signature from the record? The aether prints? The mirror echoes? The divine latency? The fucking dust remembered you, Thorne."

Thorne froze. His heartbeat slowed, the way it did before a kill.

Varo leaned in, whispering now. "Do you know what I had to do to clean up after you? I had to devour the possibilities. Just erase them. Like cutting a verse from a song so no one notices the key changed."

His smile trembled. "That's how much I want you; no, that's how much the Empire wants you."

Thorne didn't move. His body was still, but every nerve screamed.

Because he realized...

Varo wasn't playing a game anymore.

He was obsessed.

Determined.

Unstable.

And Thorne was standing on a terrace, in a floating palace held aloft by a beast that answered only to this madman.

There was no backup.

No escape.

Just him, the sun, and a godling with too much power and far too much affection.

Thorne smiled.

"Then I guess I'm flattered."

"You should be," Varo purred, voice back to its sing-song cadence. "The Empire only chooses the best, Thorne. That's how we've conquered two continents, shattered thirty-seven kingdoms, and rewritten the very rules of magical warfare. Excellence isn't our standard. It's our floor."

He clapped once, excited like a child about to open a gift. "Speaking of which, ah! Look there."

He extended a finger, pointing into the hazy orange horizon.

Thorne narrowed his eyes. At first, he saw only distant plumes of smoke, too many to be natural. Then, as the serpent dipped slightly and the floating palace tilted for a better view, the scene came into sharper relief.

A city, built into the cliffs of a cracked plateau. Once beautiful, from the looks of it. Circular towers, elegant arches, banners whipping in the wind. But now it smoldered. Siege fire scorched the rooftops. The outer wall had collapsed in places. Catapults had left the western district in flames.

Two armies faced one another beyond the crumbling wall.

On one side, thousands. Infantry and cavalry in mismatched colors, likely cobbled together from smaller territories. They were fighting with desperation, barely holding the fractured line. Defending their home.

On the other side…

Thorne's breath hitched.

Only a few hundred soldiers stood on the open plains and one figure.

Just one.

Alone at the front, unarmored, unhurried. And though Thorne could barely make out details at this distance, every sense screamed that this was the true weapon of the Empire.

Varo raised a hand to his serpent. "Don't get too close, my love. I quite like this palace in one piece."

The serpent grumbled, banking to circle high above the battlefield.

Thorne's frown deepened. "What am I supposed to be seeing?"

Varo smiled too wide. "Oh, you'll see."

Below, the lone figure began to move.

Not run. Not charge.

Walk.

But to Thorne's aether vision, the effect was blinding. The figure ignited like a beacon, their presence scorching the veil between aether and flesh. The ambient field twisted, warping visibly as it clung to them, followed them.

Then the earth split.

A massive scar tore across the field, wide and long, gaping open like the world had yawned. It swallowed row after row of defenders, entire battalions vanishing in seconds. Screams rose, cut short as the ground gave way. War beasts, catapults, whole command lines gone, buried alive beneath sliding stone.

The defending army broke.

Panic rippled outward like fire over oil.

They ran.

But the figure gave them no chance.

The ground snapped shut like a jaw, sealing the grave. And as Thorne watched, stunned, the figure raised their arms and began gathering aether.

Not shaped magic.

Not spells.

Raw, untamed aether.

It coalesced above them, drawn like iron filings to a magnetic storm, swirling into a massive sphere of impossible energy, burning white-blue at the center, rimmed in violet heat and spectral lightning.

Thorne's eyes widened.

That wasn't just an aether technique.

That was an Elderborn.

But even among Elderborn, their control, their scale, it eclipsed him.

The ball they were forming was far, far larger than anything Thorne had ever conjured. The energy was unstable and yet terrifyingly contained, like a living storm held in check only by sheer force of will.

"By the dead gods," Thorne murmured.

Varo chuckled behind him, eyes glittering with pleasure.

"That's game over for the Kingdom of Velvaran," he said breezily. "Only cinders will remain. The Emperor won't be thrilled, he wanted the city intact, but I suppose a win is a win."

The aether ball grew brighter.

Brighter.

Brighter.

Then, without warning, it dropped.

The moment it touched the city's center, there was no explosion.

There was silence.

A vacuum. A pause. As if the world held its breath.

Then the sky screamed.

The aether sphere ruptured, unleashing a cataclysmic detonation. A white dome of light expanded outward with ruinous speed, disintegrating stone, steel, and magic alike. The city vanished, erased. Fire didn't burn it. Aether devoured it. Shockwaves tore outward, flattening both armies in a heartbeat. Entire hills crumpled like paper.

Even from the sky, the blast struck them.

The serpent recoiled with a roar, wings folding in defense, the palace rocking violently in midair. Thorne was thrown backward, catching the railing to keep from tumbling over. Blinding light surged through the air, followed by a second, deeper tremor that shook the heavens.

When the wind and fury passed, the plateau below was gone.

Only a black crater remained, smoldering at the edges, a newborn scar on the land.

Not a trace of life remained.

Just silence.

Smoke.

And ash.

Varo exhaled, stepping beside Thorne as he looked down.

"A bit dramatic," he murmured. "But effective."

Thorne didn't reply.

He couldn't.

Because in that moment, for all his cleverness, for all his schemes, he had finally seen the full measure of the Empire's power.

And it terrified him.

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