"The bidding for the Sung Breel Sword will start at… fifteen thousand platinum."
The auctioneer had considered opening higher, but something in the room told him that demand was strong enough—these blades would drive themselves upward.
"Honorable Auctioneer…"
A clear voice rang out from near the entrance.
Two lightly armored figures stood with casual grace, but the kind that hummed with danger—an unmistakable weight that only the sensitive could truly feel.
Cane: More elves…
The auctioneer forced a professional smile. Every deal he'd ever made with elves ended up one-sided.
"How may I serve the honored guests from the Sunset Forest?"
"I wish to speak with Cane Ironheart," said one of them.
Fergis:Shit… right?
Cane:Yep.
"It's fine," Telamon's voice echoed from his seat, perfectly calm. "Find out what they want."
Cane stood, voice relaxed but edged. "Let me guess… You're here to steal the swords."
The room froze.
Even Telamon tilted his head slightly, as if surprised by the bluntness.
Cane raised a hand before they could respond. "Don't bother denying it. I've already met one of your ilk—Elohan, was it? Is thievery common in the Sunset Forest?"
A slow, heavy silence fell. The elves stared at the young man in the balcony, unreadable.
Cane's smile widened. "Too close to home? What is it—no family dinners in the forest anymore? Do you just raid your neighbors instead? Or is that only reserved for the lesser races you look down on?"
The reply came cold as winter.
"Humans are lesser," one of them said.
And then everything changed.
The two elves hit the ground instantly—face-first. Blood poured from their noses, ears, mouths. They writhed in silence beneath a presence too vast to comprehend.
A man stood before them—white-haired, dapper, and utterly still. His walking cane tapped once on the floor, but it might as well have been thunder.
His eyes burned.
Telamon.
"You dare," he said, voice carrying effortlessly. "You dare to speak in my city, on my ground, breathing my air, and insult the people I shelter."
The air trembled.
"You live only by my forbearance," Telamon continued, his voice somehow now in every ear. "I could seal the connection between our worlds with a word. And I grow… very tired of your arrogance."
Fergis: I didn't even see him move.
Clara:Wasn't he already standing there?
With a flick of his hand, a rift opened—and the elves were sucked into it without a sound.
Gone.
The auctioneer cleared his throat after a long moment of stunned silence. The Archmage had vanished even faster than he'd appeared.
"Right? Our friends from the Magi Academy!" The auctioneer pumped a fist into the air, committing to the momentum.
The room erupted in cheers and applause.
Clara:Did the Archmage leave?
Fergis:Guess we're riding back…
Cane pulled Sophie closer. "You okay?"
She nodded, then kissed his cheek. "You really stood up to those guys…"
Cane shrugged. "I would've been more polite if the Archmage hadn't been there."
Fergis snorted. "No you wouldn't have."
Clara:What was that the Archmage used?
Cane:Spatial distortion, telekinesis, space-time manipulation… who knows.
Fergis:Ignasius told me Telamon's first elemental mastery was fire.
Cane: Really? That's the only one I've never seen him use.
The Sunset Forest
Also known as the Sunset Court or the Fair Lands, it was fragrant with cedar and blooming flowers. Towering trees stretched dozens of meters into the clouds, their swaying branches supporting city-walks, glistening halls, and fragile, flickering magics.
Rathynor sat in still silence—raven-haired, bright-eyed, and grave.
Before him, two injured elves received treatment. His voice was like wind over steel.
"What was your intent," he asked softly, "when you spoke out at the human auction?"
The one who could still speak did. His companion had bitten off his own tongue.
"They had sung swords… I wished to bring them back, test them."
Rathynor's eyes lifted to the sky rune above. Once luminous, now dimming—ever so slowly.
"Do you realize what you've done?"
Tzu didn't move. Even a headshake might provoke wrath.
"The magic of our world is suffocating. For centuries, we soaked mana directly from the veins of the land, using it to augment our bodies. We depleted the source without understanding the cost."
He cursed again as another half-dozen elves spilled through the sky rune—exiled, pale, and shamed.
"When Telamon opened the way, it wasn't conquest. It was balance. The mana of their world flowed into ours. Symbiosis. But fools like you… treat humans as lesser—because they are slower, weaker, easily slain."
A blond elf with hair like woven sun stepped forward. "Only Moriwynn and Elohan remain on the human side."
"Elohan?" Rathynor's serene face soured. "How did he break the rule of twelve?"
"He didn't. Festiun returned to visit his family. During that window, Elohan bypassed the safeguards and entered the sky rune."
Rathynor exhaled. "Prepare an apology gift."
The blond mage stiffened. "My Lord?"
"Telamon is teaching us a lesson in restraint. I believe he'll forgive us, if we show the will to learn. When he contacts us, I will speak for us all."
The blond bowed slightly. Once, elven mages had filled the canopy like stars. But the discovery of mana-soaking had changed everything. The old ways vanished. Their world waned.
"Why haven't Moriwynn and Elohan returned?" the blond asked softly.
"Mori commands a human company," Rathynor said. "A wise move. She's done much to restore human-elf relations."
"And Elohan?"
Rathynor shrugged. "Maybe Telamon turned him into a tree. Or a particularly ugly rock. According to Tzu, he attempted to steal from a human—and was caught."
**
Cane stared at his plate of chicken, absently picking at it while his mind churned. One hundred ninety thousand platinum for the dresses. Another two hundred twenty thousand for the sung swords.
Fergis:That's more than 400k platinum…
"Yeah," Cane muttered, "I did the math."
He finished his meal in silence, letting the last items of the auction pass without comment. When it was time to settle, Cane transferred nearly all of his earnings to the runic credit chit and handed Nina a thousand-platinum tip. The stunned look on her face had been worth it.
After collecting their auctioned items, Telamon opened a rift.
As they stepped through, Cane immediately noticed something was off. This wasn't the Academy.
"Where's Brammel?"
"Right here!" Brammel waved as he stepped through behind them.
"Welcome home, lad. Well... if you're willing to spend an arm and a leg for this beaut."
The scent hit first—lilac. The Academy didn't have lilac.
They stood in a sun-dappled brick courtyard. A stable with an attached smithy hugged the southern wall. A sprawling manor claimed the east and north sides. To the west: gardens in full bloom.
The space was vast—far bigger than any city property Cane had ever seen.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Forson Hall," Telamon said with a soft smile, keys jangling in his hand. "Empty nearly two decades."
Fergis's eyes lit up in recognition. "No way… I know where we are. This is the borderland—above us is the noble sector: Dorthen's Circle, Lamani Square, and a bunch of minor estates. Below is the merchant quarter."
He gestured toward the manor. "I've heard stories. Some say the last owner was a merchant. Others say he was the King's bastard. There are a lot of those."
Telamon nodded, amused. "My favorite was that he was a young mage—raised in an orphanage—who rose to power by sheer talent."
Fergis arched a brow. "That one's new."
"That one's true," Telamon said quietly. His smile faded. "He was killed by the Zuni Empire."
He held up the keys. "The price tag is three hundred thousand platinum."
Cane blinked. "Holy crap. Isn't that a bit much? I mean… I don't have a family. I'm just—"
"You," Sophie interrupted, "are incredible. And this place is beautiful."
Cane looked around, torn. "Let me think about it. How would I even get back and forth?"
Fergis:The Academy's only three years. This place would be perfect.
Clara:I'm picking out my room now.
Cane tried not to laugh.
"I'm the property's caretaker," Telamon added. "But it belongs to the crown. If you decide to purchase it—it's yours. In perpetuity. As long as the kingdom stands."
"Look around a bit," Telamon said. "Brammel and I have a bit of business elsewhere—we'll be back in an hour." He tossed Cane a ring of keys and opened a rift with a wave before disappearing with Brammel in tow.
Fergis let out a low whistle. "Let's check this place out. It's a bit run-down, but someone's clearly been keeping up with the basics."
Cane headed toward the smithy, already liking that it sat right beside the stables.
The building had wide, glass-paned windows on two walls, with double doors flung open to let in the midday sun. Natural light flooded the space—ideal for both care and craft.
Cane pulled open one of the metal bins on the oversized workbench. The lid groaned with rust but gave way. "Bit of oxidation, but that's to be expected with all this humidity."
Sophie lingered near the shelves, her hands folded behind her back like she was window shopping.
Cane chuckled. "I know you're not here to ogle rusty nails. Here—take the keys. Go check out the main house."
Sophie blushed, her smile soft and amused. "You sure?"
"Take Clara," Cane added, grinning. "Let her pick her room."
Left alone, Cane ran his fingers across the black iron forge. It felt... right. There were no tools, but the bones of the smithy were good. Strong. Well-placed. He placed a hand on the anvil and let it rest there, wondering about the people who worked here before him.
Fergis:Come to the stables.
Cane frowned. He didn't want to leave. The forge was calling to him like an old friend. He dragged his feet toward the stables.
"I won't lie," he muttered aloud. "The smithy's calling to me."
He entered the stable proper—six stalls, a hayloft, and a small tack room, possibly where the stableman once lived. It was in the same shape as the rest of the property: weathered, but cared for.
"Where you at?"
Fergis's head poked out from the back corner. "Down here. Take a look."
Cane wandered down past the last stall. The walls were clean, the bedding fresh, everything neat and organized. Then he saw it—what Fergis meant.
"Pens?"
"Kennels," Fergis corrected, stepping aside.
Cane nodded. "Yeah… makes sense. Wealthy owners usually keep hunting hounds."
"Sure," Fergis said. "But what do you see?"
Cane's eyes roamed the kennels, and the difference hit him immediately. The wood was new—still sharp at the corners, edges clean. No wear. No age. Just recent construction.
He glanced at the wall—three square patches where nails had once held a feed rack or tack hooks. The stall had been converted recently.
"Looks like this used to be a seventh stall," Cane said. He looked up at the ceiling, then down at the floor. Everything pointed to a remodel.
Fergis nodded. "Right. But the question is—why?"
Cane shrugged. "How would I know? Ask the Archmage."
Fergis shook his head. "Nah. Let's look at the bigger picture. This place hasn't seen a remodel in decades, right? And yet… two kennels, freshly built."
Cane frowned, starting to catch on.
Fergis raised an eyebrow. "Coincidentally, you and I have Shadow Wolves."
"You think he built these… for us?" Cane asked.
"I'm saying," Fergis replied, "that this place has been sitting untouched for twenty years. And now it's got two brand-new wolf pens."