Azuma sat, legs dangling into a cove of luminescent white cloud that flowed like a river. He looked down, and through the transparent cloud-river, he saw the giant, close marble of the moon hanging in the space below. Looking up, his gaze was met with floating islands, their surfaces covered in impossible, vibrant green vines, and schools of blue, dandelion-like flowers swimming through the air above. A deep, inexplicable sense of belonging filled his chest.

  His tranquil view was shattered as the clouds near him compressed and rushed away, pushed aside by an approaching figure. A young man, pristine and radiant, stepped onto the cloud. He had white hair, sharp silver eyes, and elegantly pointed ears, all framed by a simple, flowing white tunic. Azuma felt no fear; instead, a strange familiarity warmed him.

  "What took you so long?" Azuma asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could process them.

  The figure, settled beside him, his expression one of faint apology. "My apologies. You are the most distant one, and the hardest to find."

  Azuma frowned. "Who are you?"

  "You may call me Allseer," the figure replied, his smile gentle. He looked out at the floating vista. "It will be a while before I can visit you again, Azuma, but I will be there soon. I forced this meeting to tell you one vital thing."

  Allseer's gaze turned intense, and the warmth in the air chilled slightly. "Stop using your Divine Mana."

  "Why?" Azuma asked, waving his legs. The place had felt so safe, yet the warning carried the weight of destiny.

  Allseer's eyes bored into him. "It is a dangerous power. You felt the surge when you cast Null on the cobra. If you use it again, the pain will be the least of your worries. It is an addiction, Azuma, and it will draw attention."

  Azuma jolted awake, blinking against the harsh reality of the City Hall's ceiling. The pile of finance documents had been an effective sedative. The dream's vividness lingered, but what truly struck him was the flower clutched in his hand—a delicate, impossible blue blossom, identical to the ones that swam through Allseer's clouds.

  It was not a dream, Azuma thought, recognizing the undeniable warning. "Stop using your Divine Mana." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and mumbled the name. "Allseer."

  Meanwhile, Valerian and Anya were discussing business.

  "So, you trust him completely?" Anya asked, her arms folded, still wary after two years.

  "Yes, we can, Anya," Valerian replied firmly. "When we first arrived here five years ago, struggling to survive, who do you think gave me the essential materials to even start building? Who believed in this city when it was just an idea?"

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  "Boris did," Anya realized, her skepticism softening.

  "He said it was an investment in me," Valerian confirmed. "I haven’t repaid that faith yet. The discounted price we give him now is merely a return on that initial investment."

  A groan broke their conversation. Boris tossed and turned on a cot nearby, slowly waking up.

  "Yo," Valerian said, raising his hand in a casual salute. "You've been unconscious for a whole day. Are you malnourished, or did the sight of pure genius finally break your merchant's soul?"

  "Something like the latter," Boris mumbled, sitting up. He stared at Valerian, then accepted the offered glass of juice.

  Valerian turned to Anya. "You may leave us now."

  After Anya left, a long silence hung between the two friends. Boris finally broke it, his voice low and serious. "How many people know the full scope of your plan to return to Raventhorn?"

  "None," Valerian admitted. "Only you."

  Boris was visibly touched. "What do you need me to do?"

  "We have placed a few spies inside the capital," Valerian explained, producing a small, unremarkable rectangular trinket of dull metal. "This will be our message system."

  "How does it work?" Boris took the trinket, examining the common craftsmanship.

  Valerian took it back. "Simple. It only glows when my people—or my son—touch it. If someone touches it in your shop and it glows, you sell it to them immediately at a fair price. If it doesn't glow, you tell them it's defective and keep it."

  "And if Empress Armada's people buy one that glows, or realize the secret?"

  "Trust me, Boris, the chances of her inner circle activating this are close to impossible. But even if they do, the message is erased instantly upon activation. Furthermore," Valerian added confidently, "I will worry about emergencies. Your only task is to circulate these trinkets among the royal guards."

  Boris pondered the risk. The trinket was intentionally bland, designed to evade attention. Valerian's plan had holes, but his genius was a guarantee. He decided. "Okay, I'm in."

  "Just like that? No ridiculous demands on your side?" Valerian smiled.

  "Oh, there's one," Boris said, his eyes sparkling with ambition. "When you seize the empire, you make me a Minister."

  "I would have it no other way, old friend," Valerian laughed.

  "By the way," Boris added, a shadow of concern crossing his face. "Apart from raw materials, you must stop trading your special equipment. That's the stuff catching the Empress's eye."

  "Sorry, can't do that," Valerian replied, a cunning glint in his eye. "In fact, all the truly special items—the ones that are the best I can make—I will give them to you for free."

  "Why?" Boris asked, confused.

  "Consider it food given to a monster to keep it alive until I come to reclaim the throne," Valerian stated, his voice devoid of warmth.

  Boris was stunned by the cold, calculating cruelty in his friend's voice. He realized this wasn't the kind-hearted Valerian he had grown up with. The need to survive had forged a man capable of dark, devious scheming. The purity he admired was gone, replaced by a ruthless necessity. He was saddened that his friend had lost that core of goodness, but he also knew a soft heart couldn't rule an empire. His only hope was that Valerian's motives remained for the benefit of the people, as his intellect, if turned to destruction, could unmake the entire continent.

  "Great," said Boris, recovering his composure. He then stated, "You knew I would come."

  "I guessed that you would come eventually, but I didn’t expect you to come this soon," Valerian admitted.

  "Great," Boris reiterated, setting aside the complex deception. He handed over a small, plain silver ring to his friend. "A gift for my godson."