Varo's gaze drifted toward the high windows, where the stars glimmered in a cloudless sky. "Ah," he said, voice light, "time runs faster here than in Aetherhold. Sadly, your little visit is at an end. The permissions they granted me were only for a handful of hours, and apparently, they frown upon me keeping you overnight."

He pushed himself up from the low-backed chair with a theatrical sigh. "Tragic, really. I had so many more things to show you."

Thorne rose as well but didn't follow him immediately. "I've seen enough," he said, careful to keep his tone even. "Wonders and horrors both. The Citadel's… impressive."

Varo glanced over his shoulder, smile playing faintly at the corners of his mouth. "I'm sensing a 'but.'"

Thorne met his gaze. "But… I'm not ready to name a sponsor yet."

Varo's brows arched, almost in mock surprise.

"I'm not declining," Thorne continued. "I'm still mulling over my options."

There was a beat of silence. Then Varo's smile widened, slow and deliberate, teeth glinting faintly in the lamplight. "Oooh… sweet, naïve Thorne. It's adorable that you think you have an opinion in the matter."

The words were airy, teasing, yet something shifted underneath them. It wasn't anything obvious: no tightening of the jaw, no narrowing of the eyes. But Thorne felt it all the same. A faint, almost imperceptible pulse in the air, like the first ripple before a wave breaks.

Varo turned away, motioning him toward the door with an elegant flick of his fingers. "Come along. Best not keep Aetherhold waiting, hmm?"

Thorne followed, but his mind was turning. That little ripple had told him enough, Varo was annoyed. Maybe even angry. And with someone like Varo, that was the kind of thing you noticed early, or not at all.

They stepped out into the night paths of the Citadel, the air cooling fast as the last streaks of gold drained from the sky…

The air between them was brittle from the start.

They walked along a winding sandstone path lined with faintly glowing vines, the evening light slanting through the compound walls in ribbons of gold. The guards shadowed them at a distance, silent and unreadable.

Thorne decided to press his luck. "You talk a lot about the Empire," he said, voice casual, almost lazy, "but you've barely mentioned the man, or god, at the center of it all."

Varo didn't break stride. His smile was faint, but it had no warmth. "Some lights are too bright to look at directly, Thorne. You'll burn your eyes."

"Or," Thorne countered, "you're just afraid of the answer."

That earned him a sharp side glance. "Afraid? Of the Sun?" Varo laughed, sudden and high, like the crack of glass. "You think because you've played your little games in your little pond, you can angle questions at me like a court viper?"

Thorne shrugged, keeping his expression measured. "If I'm expected to serve, I'd prefer to know the nature of the one I serve. His history. His goals. What kind of man I'm binding myself to."

"Man," Varo repeated, the word dripping with something between amusement and contempt. "How quaint."

"Then what is he?" Thorne pressed, leaning into the ambiguity. "I've heard whispers. A god. An ancient being. Something older. Something… hungrier."

Varo's hands clasped behind his back, but the knuckles were white. "The Emperor is Light. The Emperor is Truth. The Emperor is the axis upon which this world turns. He does not need to be anything else."

"Not an answer," Thorne said, smiling faintly. "That's a creed. I'm asking for facts. Have you met him? Spoken to him? Or is this all just faith?"

Varo stopped. Dead in the middle of the path.

The air tightened. The ambient aether that always swirled faintly at the edges of Thorne's senses began to vibrate, faster, sharper, like a plucked string about to snap.

When Varo looked at him again, the smile was still there, but it had warped, too sharp for the face it was on. "You speak so casually," Varo said softly, almost lovingly, "about what you do not understand. About him. You toss words like stones into the Sun and expect not to burn."

"I expect answers," Thorne said, though his gut told him he was stepping on a blade. "If I'm going to be part of the Twelve..."

"Thirteen," Varo interrupted, eyes glittering with both mirth and malice. "And only if you survive long enough to deserve it."

The vibration in the air deepened into a low thrumming that Thorne felt in his teeth. The edges of the path warped subtly, like the world itself was bending toward Varo. Sand drifted upward against gravity in thin, glittering streams.

Thorne's instincts told him to back down. His pride told him to keep going. "Then tell me this, why does the Emperor hide? Why does no one see him? Is it because he can't? Or because he won't?"

Varo's smile finally broke. Not into a frown, but into something worse. A raw, bare flash of teeth.

The temperature dropped a few degrees. Shadows along the garden walls stretched toward Thorne, trembling. His own aether stirred in response, defensive, but he forced it still.

"You think I hide things from you?" Varo asked, voice quiet, but the force behind it pressed against Thorne's chest like an invisible hand. "I am keeping you alive, boy. If you could stand in his presence, you would be nothing but a smear of ash and memory. And yet you..." His tone whipped upward, sharp with sudden fury. "... you pry, you prod, you speak his name in the same breath as your questions..."

Reality seemed to distort at the edges of Thorne's vision. The lines of the path no longer met where they should. The towers in the distance leaned fractionally toward them. The aether was no longer humming, it was howling.

Thorne's heart thudded once, hard. He knew he'd pushed too far.

But Varo wasn't done. "You think you're clever enough to read between lines I draw? That you can play politics with me?" His voice dropped to a growl. "I've ended entire bloodlines for less than your tone."

The air shimmered like heat over stone, except it was cold. Every instinct Thorne had screamed at him to move, to break eye contact, to submit, but he made himself stand there. Made himself meet that deranged, gleaming stare.

Varo tilted his head, a mockery of curiosity. "Say another word about my Emperor, Thorne. Go on."

Thorne said nothing. He'd tested the waters. He now knew exactly how deep and how lethal they were.

The air around them warped, not in any single direction, but everywhere at once. It shimmered like heat over sunbaked stone, yet the air was ice-cold, biting against Thorne's skin. The paving beneath his boots seemed to ripple, as if the ground itself was a reflection in disturbed water.

Shadows bled from the edges of reality. At first, they were vague smudges, then sharpened into figures, dark mirror images peeling away from the surrounding buildings, the path, even from Thorne's own shape.

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They moved.

One shadow bent in silent prayer before a figure crowned in blazing light. Another knelt in a pool of blood, head bowed beneath an unseen blade. Farther down the path, two indistinct forms whispered in an alley before one drove a dagger into the other's ribs. The victim collapsed, clutching the wound, their dying breath steaming into the cool air. The scent of iron was almost real.

All the while, Varo never looked away from him.

His eyes were too bright, too fixed, like a predator deciding if the thing in front of him was worth the kill.

The air was alive with aether, thrashing like a caged beast. It clawed at Thorne's senses, pressing against his skin, trying to shove itself into his lungs. His instincts screamed to act, to pull the motes into himself, to soothe them, to bring the wild current under his control.

But he didn't.

Not because he couldn't. But because he knew if Varo even suspected that Thorne was pushing against his power, it would be read as a challenge. An attack. And the next moment would be painted in blood.

So Thorne stood still, every muscle tight, every thought honed on one goal: stay calm.

He met Varo's stare, refusing to flinch. Studying him.

And what he saw was worse than raw hostility.

It was restraint. Barely.

The kind that could snap without warning.

Varo's voice, when it came, was soft and frayed at the edges, a silk thread pulled too tight. "You don't want to see the futures where I'm not holding back, Thorne."

The shadows behind him shifted, replaying more moments, crowds screaming as walls of fire consumed them, an army breaking under a single spear thrust, a face not unlike Thorne's lying still in the dust.

Thorne's heart beat slow and steady. He refused to look away.

And then, as abruptly as it began, it stopped.

The shimmering haze vanished. The shadows melted into nothing. The cold bled away, replaced by the dry desert warmth. The path was just a path again, the city's distant hum returning as if someone had unmuted the world.

Varo blinked once. Smiled.

Not the manic, theatrical grin he wore when playing to a crowd, but something sharper, like a knife just before it's put to use.

"Good," he murmured, stepping past Thorne as if nothing had happened. "You don't scare easily. I enjoy that."

Thorne's boots felt heavier than they had a moment ago as he turned to follow. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing even, but deep inside, his instincts still whispered that he'd just walked along the edge of a blade.

Varo's voice lifted again, casual and lilting, as though their last exchange had been about the weather. "Now, we'll return you to your precious Aetherhold before your chaperones send search parties. I'd hate for them to think the Empire inhospitable."

Thorne fell in step behind him, saying nothing. But every step reinforced what he already knew, Varo was dangerous not just because of his power, but because Thorne couldn't yet decide whether the man's madness was an act… or simply the truth.

They walked in silence for a time, the gravel path crunching beneath their boots. The sprawling gardens of the compound fell away behind them, replaced by sandstone streets lit with enchanted lanterns. The Citadel's spires were catching fire in the light, every curve and edge burnished gold.

Varo moved with the lazy gait of a man strolling through his own dreams, hands clasped behind his back, cloak trailing just enough to collect a few specks of dust. Then, without looking at Thorne, he spoke.

"Oh, and one more thing."

His tone was so casual that Thorne almost didn't register the words at first.

"Once you've finished your little education in Aetherhold," Varo continued, "you'll be given land. A province, perhaps. Or a city. Somewhere the Emperor wishes to see… improved. You'll govern it, shape it, do whatever you like with it. A sandbox, but with real castles and real armies."

He finally glanced sidelong, his smile all teeth. "In a single day, you'll go from being a promising student with a bit of talent… to one of the most powerful figures in the world. If that doesn't sweeten the deal, Thorne, I truly don't know what will."

Thorne kept his face impassive, but his mind worked at a fevered pace. A governorship wasn't an offer, it was a leash. A gilded collar to keep him in the Empire's reach at all times. Power, yes… but under a sky he'd never chosen.

"I thought you said I didn't have a choice," Thorne said lightly, testing the waters again.

"You don't," Varo replied, his voice dripping with amusement. "But that doesn't mean I can't make the trap look pretty."

They turned a corner, the massive shape of the gleaming palace looming ahead. Guards fell into step behind them without a word. Varo hummed a tuneless melody as if they were merely heading to an evening performance.

Thorne didn't hum. He was too busy deciding whether that province Varo promised would be the Empire's gift… or its mistake.

The closer they drew to the Imperial Palace, the heavier the air became, not from heat, but from pressure. The streets narrowed into perfectly aligned avenues that funneled toward the massive golden pyramid, and here, the Dayguard were everywhere. They stood like living statues at every archway and junction, their mirrored helms reflecting warped fragments of passersby. The pulsing white-orange glyphs at their throats throbbed faintly, as if in time with the heartbeat of the city itself. Even the wealthiest citizens walked here with measured steps, voices lowered, eyes kept forward.

Varo seemed utterly unbothered, sauntering through the palace's shadow like he owned it. Perhaps he did.

The building they stopped before was enormous, round and domed, the sandstone walls inlaid with veins of gold that caught the sinking light. Its size alone dwarfed many districts Thorne had walked through earlier, and yet it was but an annex to the true behemoth, the pyramid looming just beyond.

Inside, the air was cool and still. Thorne's footsteps echoed across a vast, empty floor of polished stone, the space dominated by a single feature: a towering statue of the Emperor. The figure's face was blank, unyielding, a mask of divinity that seemed to watch him no matter where he stood.

But the walls…

The walls were nothing but portals. Hundreds of them, some glowing with steady light, others dark and inert. They were framed in carved stone reliefs, each shaped differently, as if they were windows to entirely different worlds. Through one, Thorne saw a bustling market; through another, a storm-wracked coast.

Every active portal had overseers and Dayguard stationed before it. The process was the same for all who passed through, identities checked, hands searched, aether scanned. No one slipped by without being inspected, and each traveler had at least one guard escorting them until they stepped through.

It was an empire's beating heart, and every vein ran through this place.

Two overseers intercepted them almost immediately. "Papers," one barked, holding a crystal prism that flickered faintly with inner light.

Varo handed his over with a bored flick of the wrist. The overseer pressed the crystal to him; it pulsed a pale white before dimming again.

Then they turned to Thorne.

The crystal flared twice, once at the chain beneath his shirt where the protective necklace lay hidden, and again when they hovered near his boots. The overseer's eyes narrowed.

"Daggers," he said flatly.

Varo waved them off with a lazy smile. "You'll survive."

The overseers hesitated, clearly unhappy, until recognition dawned. Both bowed stiffly. "Third Light," one muttered.

"Mm." Varo's attention was already drifting elsewhere.

He led Thorne to the far left side of the chamber, where fewer portals were active. Calling one of the overseers over, Varo gestured lazily. "Aetherhold. Now."

The man scrambled to obey, hurrying to a section of the wall where a dormant arch sat waiting. He muttered a string of activation phrases, runes flaring to life one by one. A wooden staircase materialized out of nothing, climbing the air in a slow spiral until it reached a portal high above. Within the arch, a shimmer of familiar light began to churn, the gateway to Aetherhold.

Varo didn't look back as he started up the steps. "Come along, Thorne. I'd hate for you to get lost and wander into someplace less… hospitable."

Thorne followed, every sense alert, until they stood before the portal. The surface rippled faintly, almost like water.

He hesitated. "Varo..."

"In truth," Varo cut in, turning to him with a smile that was all polished charm and quiet menace, "I don't care whether you accept the offer or not."

Thorne studied his face, but Varo's tone gave nothing away.

"You see," Varo continued, almost lazily, "you're… powerful. Intriguing. A rare piece on the board. And I like rare pieces. But liking something," he tilted his head, "isn't the same as needing it."

Thorne's jaw tightened. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Varo said, stepping close enough that Thorne caught the faint scent of something sharp and metallic in his breath, "I've built my place by removing obstacles. Removing threats. And more often than not, removing… possibilities." His eyes glittered, unreadable. "It keeps the game clean. Predictable. Manageable."

Thorne held his stare. "So why am I still breathing?"

Varo's smile stretched wider, but the warmth was gone from it, now it was a crescent blade. "Because you're chosen by the Light. And what the Light claims, even I can't discard." His gaze flicked over Thorne's face like a man appraising a weapon's balance. "Chosen pieces are… invested in. Polished. Tempered. Sometimes… broken and reforged."

Thorne didn't miss the unspoken threat in that last word.

"Is that supposed to reassure me?" he asked.

"It's supposed to educate you." Varo's voice was silk over steel now. "In this empire, choices are illusions. You'll learn when to act, and when to be acted upon. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll stop wondering about doors you were never meant to open."

Thorne frowned, trying to read the layers beneath his words, was Varo warning him, or marking him for something darker?

The smile on Varo's lips didn't change, but his eyes sharpened with sudden amusement, as though he'd read the question straight from Thorne's mind. "Think of it this way, if you were mine to deal with, I'd have already decided your value. But you belong to the Light now, and that makes you… untouchable."

He leaned in just a fraction closer, enough to make Thorne's skin prickle. "Untouchable things," he murmured, "are often the most dangerous. Or the most fragile."

Thorne opened his mouth, but before the words formed, Varo's tone shifted again, lighter, giddy, almost mocking. "Either way… you'll play your part. You just don't see the board yet."

Then, with a suddenness that made Thorne's reflexes jolt, Varo's palm pressed flat against his chest and shoved.

The portal swallowed him in a rush of blinding light.

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