BOOM

  "Extinguish!"

  Nahl barked the command at the cloud of ash she'd just blown up in Anvika's backyard.

  The particles collapsed mid-air, spiraling down like dead embers.

  Anvika didn't even look up from her knitting. "You call that control?"

  "I'm trying!" Nahl snapped, wiping soot off her cheek.

  "You’re a fourth-calibre mage. You can do better than poof and hope for the best." Anvika tugged at a thread. "Kaethros didn’t gift you power just to make a mess."

  Zeyk was lying in the grass nearby, halfway through his fifth cookie. He offered no input. Just crunching.

  Kian sat alone on the edge of the porch steps. Silent. Watching.

  "This isn't working," Nahl muttered, pacing. "I need a sparring partner."

  She turned to Anvika. "You up for it?"

  Anvika raised an eyebrow without pausing her knitting. "You're nowhere near good enough to spar me."

  Nahl stomped her foot. "Try me."

  Anvika sighed, set the scarf aside, and stood. She dusted off her hands like she was about to cook, not duel.

  "Fine," she said. "Don’t cry.”

  Nahl launched forward, arm sweeping wide, a gust of ash curling behind her like a cloak.

  "Don’t hold back," she warned. "I won’t."

  Anvika didn’t respond. She was muttering something under her breath—barely audible, like a lullaby meant for the storm.

  Then it hit.

  Not Nahl.

  A snap in the air. Pressure dropped. Lightning crawled up Anvika’s spine and down her arms, veins glowing for a heartbeat. Her eyes sparked silver.

  Then she vanished.

  One blink, and she was gone. Just a blur and a crackle in the air.

  Nahl's fist struck empty space.

  She spun. Slashed through ash. Nothing.

  “Behind you,” Anvika said softly.

  Nahl turned—too slow.

  “Strike.”

  The sky answered. A single bolt. It slammed into Nahl's chest and flung her back across the yard, smoke trailing from her clothes.

  Zeyk flinched, cookie halfway to his mouth. “Whoa.”

  Kian didn’t move. Just watched, eyebrows raised.

  Nahl groaned, flat on her back again. “Okay... ow.”

  Anvika walked over calmly. "Told you. Nowhere near good enough."

  Nahl sat up in the crater she'd made in Anvika’s backyard, coughing smoke and brushing ash out of her hair.

  “I need a rematch,” she muttered, and Anvika just laughed on her way back to her knitting chair. Zeyk handed Nahl a cookie in sympathy. It was already half-eaten.

  Kian stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the fence at the quiet town below. The sky was clear for once. No gods whispering. No cultists in alleys. No strange omens.

  Just… stillness.

  “I’m going out,” Kian said suddenly.

  Zeyk looked up from the couch, one brow raised. “Shopping?”

  “…And exploring.”

  Zeyk blinked, then grinned. “Hell yeah. Count me in.”

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  They wandered through winding cobblestone streets, Markets buzzed with chatter and strange foods. A street performer bent light into birds for a circle of laughing children. In a quiet alley, someone hummed a prayer-song beside a forgotten shrine, its incense trailing upward like a lazy ghost.

  Kian paused outside a bookstore with a crooked wooden sign. The inside smelled like paper and rain. He didn’t need anything. But he stepped in—just because he could.

  Later, they sat at a rooftop tea stall, chipped cups warm in their hands. Below, the city moved like a slow tide. Zeyk dangled his legs over the edge, swinging them gently.

  “You’re smiling,” he said.

  Kian shrugged. “It’s loud.”

  “You hate loud.”

  “Not today.”

  They sat there for a while, taking in the view. The city shimmered beneath them, rooftops glowing gold in the late sun.

  Footsteps echoed behind them.

  “Didn’t expect to see you two here,” a smug voice rang out.

  Kian groaned. “Happiness doesn’t last.”

  Zeyk turned, already scowling. “What do you want?”

  The man standing behind them was dressed in travel leathers too clean to have seen much travel. A silver brooch shaped like a falcon marked his high collar. His smile was sharp and polished. Cassian.

  “I was just taking a stroll,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the skyline, “when I spotted two familiar faces basking in the commoner sunset.”

  Kian didn’t respond. Zeyk snorted. “You don’t even know us.”

  Cassian gave a small bow. “True. But I know Nahl. And you're... adjacent.” His grin widened. “Which makes you more interesting than the rest of this city.”

  Zeyk opened his mouth to retort, but Cassian raised a hand.

  “I come bearing peace. And a dinner invitation.”

  Kian raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Because I enjoy novelty. You don’t belong here. That intrigues me. And I detest eating alone.” He tapped his brooch. “Besides, I’m bored.”

  They hesitated. Cassian tilted his head. “Unless, of course, you're afraid of a little fork-and-knife diplomacy.”

  Zeyk scowled deeper. Kian sighed. “Fine.”

  ___________________________________________________________________________

  The restaurant was tucked behind an arched stone gate. Cassian led them through without hesitation, nodding at the doorman like he owned the place. Maybe he did.

  Inside, the noise of the street faded into soft string music. The air smelled faintly of rosemary and citrus oil. Polished wood beams lined the high ceiling, and wall sconces glowed with steady, enchantment-filtered light. It felt less like a place to eat and more like a place where rich people pretended to eat while talking about taxes.

  A waiter in a crisp cream uniform bowed. “Lord Sylvar. Your usual table?”

  Cassian smiled. “Of course.”

  They were guided to a quiet corner table near a window that looked out over the city rooftops. The chairs were cushioned and carved, too elegant for Kian’s patched-up travel cloak. As they sat, the waiter poured dark wine into crystal glasses, his movements precise, wordless.

  Zeyk leaned toward Kian. “This is the kind of place where they charge you to breathe the air.”

  Kian didn’t respond. He was staring at the menu like it had personally offended him.

  The menu was thick parchment tucked into leather, each item listed in a flowery script with no prices. Every dish had at least three adjectives. “Caramelized root medley with essence of truffle glaze.” “Braised duck in honey-lavender reduction.” “Herb-glazed woodland fowl on a bed of pearlgrain.”

  “What even is a reduction?” Zeyk muttered.

  Kian replied flatly, “I think it means less.”

  When the waiter returned, Kian flipped to the last page—pictures. Everything looked edible. He jabbed a finger at something with glistening sauce. “That.”

  Zeyk followed suit, then leaned back with a shrug. “Looks fine.”

  Cassian, of course, recited his order with flair. The waiter bowed and vanished.

  As the food arrived, the table fell quiet. Kian’s plate was a work of art—thin slices of meat fanned out like petals, dark glaze curling like ink on porcelain. He hesitated, fork hovering, then took a bite.

  A second later, he took another. Then a third. He didn’t stop.

  Zeyk raised a brow. “You good?”

  Kian nodded without looking up. “This… This is good.”

  Cassian chuckled. “A high compliment from someone who looks like he’s eaten more shoe leather than stew.”

  A lull passed. Cassian sipped his wine and asked casually, “So… how exactly did you two meet Nahl?”

  Zeyk didn’t miss a beat. “She helped us break out of jail.”

  Cassian laughed. “Ah. Sarcasm. Refreshing.”

  Kian and Zeyk exchanged a glance. Zeyk shrugged.

  Free food is free food

  The rest of the meal passed in oddly companionable silence. Cassian talked some—about the city, about trade deals and political tensions in vague but elegant terms. He never pried too deeply, but his eyes watched closely.

  When the plates were cleared and dessert was offered (Zeyk accepted, Kian waved it off), the doors at the front opened with a soft clang of metal boots.

  Six soldiers in House Sylvar grey entered, moving with military precision.

  The lead one approached. “Lord Cassian. Your father requests your presence.”

  Cassian sighed and stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeves. “Of course he does.”

  He glanced at Kian and Zeyk. “Thank you for indulging me. It’s rare I get to enjoy dinner without... layers.”

  Then, to the guards: “Let’s go.”

  He gave the two of them a polite nod, stepped toward one of the soldiers—

  —and with a sharp snap, both vanished.

  The rest walked out the door.

  Zeyk leaned back, exhaling. “Cool.”