The silence that followed Michael’s question stretched longer than he expected.

  Nelius exchanged a glance with the King before answering, as if weighing how much could, or should, be said.

  “The Atheri,” Nelius began, “are not a nation in the usual sense. They do not expand. They do not conquer. They do not involve themselves unless something forces their attention.”

  Michael remained still, listening.

  “They dwell almost exclusively within the Atheri Forest,” Nelius continued. “A region that surrounds the World Tree.”

  That name landed with weight.

  So that’s what they were referring to earlier. Michael concluded.

  “The World Tree,” Nelius said, “is one of the largest living structures in existence. Older than any kingdom. Older than most written magic.”

  “The World Tree also generates and expels an incredible amount of mana compared to any other tree.”

  Michael exhaled slowly.

  “So everything living near it is bathed in mana from birth.”

  “Yes,” Nelius said. “Which makes core consolidation far easier for those who grow within its reach.”

  The implication settled heavily in the room.

  No wonder they were such a significant force in the realm of magic.

  “What they sensed here wasn’t enough to justify action,” Nelius said. “Only an unidentified concentration of power. That means they’ll return, but, knowing their indecisive council, they will take their time.”

  The room remained quiet for a moment after Nelius spoke.

  If the Atheri were withdrawing, then this wasn’t a crisis. Not yet.

  Michael nodded once, absorbing it, then let the subject rest-at least outwardly. His gaze drifted instead to the far wall, unfocused, as if something else had already begun to take shape in his mind.

  Another pause followed. The kind that signaled a change in direction.

  “Tell me about Cendros,” Michael said.

  The shift was immediate.

  Roland’s expression tightened, the faintest crease forming between his brows. “That kingdom again,” he muttered, more to himself than to the room.

  “You’ve had dealings with them,” Michael said. It wasn’t a question.

  Roland exhaled through his nose. “Too many. Their king and their Tower Master are brothers. Ambitious. Petty. Relentless.” His jaw tightened. “Every agreement is a delay tactic. Every treaty is a lie. They’re waiting to see us weakened. They seized Cendros by betrayal-both the crown and the tower in a single stroke. A joint gathering built on trust.”

  He paused, eyes dark. “Vaelric took the crown. Valeth took the Tower.”

  Nelius inclined his head. “True to their family name,” he said quietly. “The Thorns have been a pain at our borders.”

  “And they sit on the coast,” Roland added. “Close enough to the ocean that their supply lines can’t be strangled without open war.”

  “And the mines,” Nelius said quietly. “They seized them during the coup. Mana steel is a rare find in the mines. That assassin’s weapons, there’s little doubt where they came from.”

  Michael listened without interrupting.

  Coastal access. Stolen mana steel. Ruthless brothers at the top.

  The pieces slid together with uncomfortable ease.

  So that’s the shape of the problem.

  At first, the familiar edge of caution surfaced. The instinct to measure risk, to step carefully. Then another memory followed it. Steel flashing in the dark. Intent to kill. No warning. No mercy.

  Anger rose, slow and controlled, and this time it didn’t recede.

  His gaze drifted briefly to Roland. The man stood tall, but his combat prowess was now delegated to a loyal Marshal, a king who could no longer lead from the front.

  And across the border, a Tower Master with a full, untouched mana reservoir. A tower like Nelius’s. A deterrent. Fighting a Tower Master in the vicinity of their own tower was suicide.

  That’s why they haven’t moved, Michael realized.

  Fear subsided and anger took its place.

  Michael lifted his eyes again, calm settling over him like a blade sliding into its sheath.

  “So,” he said evenly and coldly, “what happens if Cendros loses its leadership… without losing its army or the mages of its tower?”

  Silence followed, not from confusion, but from understanding.

  He hadn’t spoken the proposal outright, yet everyone in the room heard it all the same.

  A long breath passed through the chamber.

  Roland was the first to answer.

  “If the brothers were removed?” he said slowly. “There would be shock. Confusion. But not mourning.” His eyes hardened. “They ruled through fear and betrayal. No bloodline loyalty. No love from their nobles. The army obeys because it must. The tower obeys because Valeth holds the core.”

  Nelius nodded. “Their absence would create a vacuum-but not chaos. Not immediately. The systems would remain. The knights would wait for orders. The mages would retreat inward and protect the tower until a new authority emerged.”

  “And that,” Roland added, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Michael, “is where the danger lies. Someone will step in. A rival noble. A general. Or…” He paused. “The one who removed them.”

  The implication settled.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  For a heartbeat, Michael said nothing.

  They think I want to conquer it, he realized.

  The thought should have unsettled him. Instead, it slid into place far too easily.

  His mind moved faster now, possibilities bubbling like a shaken soda. If he struck cleanly-decisively-the brothers would be gone before either army or tower could mobilize. Valeth’s mana reservoir would mean nothing if the man himself never reached it. Vaelric’s aura meant nothing without time to use it.

  Michael’s gaze drifted inward for a moment.

  I don’t want their throne, he told himself instinctively.

  Then paused.

  …or do I?

  He didn’t crave banners, loyalty, or ceremony. He had no interest in ruling lives day to day. But power? He didn’t want to be forced into anyone’s command. And he would always have to deal with that as long as he was on someone else’s land.

  Roland couldn’t fight anymore.

  Valoria bore the cost of restraint.

  And Cendros sat there, festering.

  Michael looked up, his expression unreadable.

  “So be it,” he said.

  In that moment, the fate of Cendros shifted.

  “As for our deal,” Michael said, “nothing changes.”

  “A hidden alliance,” Roland said.

  “Yes,” Michael replied. “Enforced through means no one else possesses.”

  As he spoke, two portals flickered open above the map at the center of the table-one over Valoria, the other over Cendros. They hovered for only a moment, silent and precise, a gesture more symbolic than practical, before closing again.

  “There will be no tariffs or taxes on our exchange,” Michael continued. “I’ll keep trading my homeland’s knowledge alongside weapons and other commodities, as agreed.”

  Roland and Nelius’ expressions calmed a bit as their benefits won’t stop. Now they would have access to the ports of Cendros through Michael’s portals.

  “Let us know if you need anything,” Roland said as Nelius nodded.

  The meeting ended there, and Michael left for his estate as he kept training.

  Later, Michael was presented with the assassin’s head, sealed inside an ornate box-polished wood, gilded edges, meant to impress or intimidate. He barely noticed the craftsmanship. What mattered was certainty. He needed to be absolutely sure that Cendros and its rulers were behind the attempt on his life.

  The sun was sinking toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the training grounds. In its light, Michael’s silhouette showed the quiet results of months of work. He wasn’t carved or imposing, but his tall frame carried definition now-muscle hinted at beneath skin as he stood facing the fading glow.

  He exhaled and tried something new.

  Michael opened two pairs of portals.

  The first pair stood vertically. One opened a few steps in front of him, while its twin bloomed high in the sky, just above the height of the magic tower. The second pair formed horizontally, perfectly parallel to the ground. One hovered in the air directly in front of the sky-portal, while the other rested barely an inch above the stone floor of the training grounds.

  He leaned forward and looked through the portal that led upward. The view widened immediately-the horizon stretching farther than it ever did from the ground. Below that distant sky, he could see the second horizontal portal, its surface reflecting the familiar stone beneath his feet.

  As he moved closer, he felt the air shift. Wind flowed gently into the portal, drawn from the higher pressure around him into the thinner air above. He stepped forward.

  His leg emerged in the open sky-and then stopped.

  His foot sank only a fraction of an inch into the horizontal portal before meeting solid stone. The sensation was strange but stable, like stepping onto glass laid over the ground below. From the outside, it would look as though Michael had stepped out of a dark, vertical rift and onto a floating black platform suspended in midair.

  Once entirely through, he stood there calmly, balanced above the world, the ground far below and unseen paths now open to him.

  “Amazing,” he said to no one but himself as the vertical portal closed behind him.

  He widened his stance, bracing himself against the shifting wind. The clouds felt closer up here, and the sun was no longer tucked beneath the horizon but hanging beside him in the open sky. Slowly, he looked down.

  “I’ve never been afraid of heights,” he muttered, unfazed by the emptiness beneath his feet, “but standing here without railings or anything… it’s still unsettling.”

  He shook it off. “Alright. Keep moving.”

  Michael opened another set of portals-one vertical, one horizontal-placing them much farther ahead this time. It took several seconds of focused concentration. A mistake here wasn’t something he could afford; one poorly aligned exit, and he’d step out into open air with nothing beneath him.

  He repeated the process . With each transition, his confidence grew. What had felt careful and deliberate soon began to feel natural, almost routine.

  After some time, and a moment to take in the view, the scent of salt reached him.

  The ocean.

  In the distance, the Kingdom of Cendros came into view, its capital nestled close to the harbor. The sun sat in the same position it had when it first rose into the sky, now finally continuing its descent, sinking toward the crystal waters as Michael stood suspended above the world, watching his destination draw near.

  The castle overlooked the harbor from a jagged stone rise, its walls darkened by salt and age. From that height, the entire port lay exposed. Every ship, every warehouse, every movement visible at a glance. It was a position of control, built to watch and be seen.

  Across the harbor, the mage tower stood unnervingly close to the water. Waterfalls came down the walls of the tower. A single path to the tower remained dry, the tide parting around it as if in deference rather than resistance. The display was beautiful, hypnotic-and profoundly unsettling.

  Michael formed a small spying portal beside one of the castle windows, no wider than two inches, and peered inside from a safe distance. The view was limited-stone walls, dim torchlight, and the edge of a shadowed corner just out of sight.

  That was enough.

  He closed the first portal and opened another directly into that unseen corner. The perspective shifted instantly. From there, he watched a lone knight standing rigid before a massive set of doors, fear written plainly across his face. The man drew a steadying breath and pushed his way inside.

  Michael’s lips curved faintly.

  Through the sliver of vision he’d gained, he caught sight of the throne.

  He refined the trick further, opening a third portal. This one is no larger than a coin, tucked into a dark recess behind the throne itself. From that hidden vantage, he could see the chamber clearly, unnoticed and untouchable, like a ghost pressed into the stone. But he could not see the king himself, as the stone throne was in the way.

  The same knight knelt before the king.

  “We have subdued the revolt, Your Majesty,” the knight said.

  “Excellent. That makes the second this month. At this rate, I’ll have to appear in person-remind them what kind of shrimps they are,” Vaelric said, slamming the butt of his long harpoon against the stone floor.

  Michael moved instantly.

  A portal opened and closed in the span of a heartbeat. He drew the ornate box from its void, held it forward with both hands, and, timing the opening of a horizontal portal, released it. The box dropped through and vanished just as the portal snapped shut. He watched the result through the spying portal.

  In the throne room, the knight spun at the sound, steel flashing as he drew his sword. He barely had time to leap aside.

  The harpoon struck first.

  Vaelric’s weapon punched through the falling box and drove it into the stone floor with a thunderous crack, pinning it in place. Splintered wood burst outward. Through the shattered panels, the unmistakable outline of a human face stared sightlessly upward.

  “What is this?” the king demanded.

  The knight froze, sweat breaking across his brow. “I-I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

  The knight slowly approached. After waiting a second, he moved apart the remaining pieces of the box to see the head that was pierced by the harpoon.

  “Rogier…” he said, confusion bleeding into his voice. “How? He wasn’t due back for days-at the earliest.”

  Silence followed, then his expression hardened.

  “That cursed Arcanist,” he snarled, rising to his feet. “Ruining my plans again.”

  The thought struck him all at once.

  The Arcanist could be near.

  Vaelric lunged for his harpoon.

  Frozen in place, harpoon half-lifted, eyes scanning the chamber.

  No presence. No voice. No ripple of mana.

  Only the box.

  His jaw tightened. “Valeth,” he snapped at a glowing badge he retrieved from his pocket. “The Arcanist is here!”

  He turned toward the throne room doors. “I want eyes on every harbor gate, every road, every mage capable of long-range casting. If he thinks he can strike us separately-”

  And that was the last Michael heard as he closed the spy portal.

  Taking in the view as the last bit of the sun hid under the horizon, he could see a blob of water moving from the tower towards the castle, with something inside of it that Michael could only assume was Valeth.

  Yes, the closer you are to each other, the easier it is for me to find you. He thought as he opened one behind him in the sky to the safety of his apartment on Earth for some well-deserved rest.