Euryphel turned around on the bed to face Ian. The decemancer was sitting at the edge of the bed, his hands clasped and his feet braced against the floor.

“How many more meetings do you have today?” the decemancer asked.

Euryphel sighed. “More than I’d like, but it’s fine. I should probably take some time now to prepare.”

“Skipping lunch?”

Euryphel gave him a tired look. “I’ll have something small.”

“Don’t wear yourself out,” Ian muttered. Something about his expression seemed almost guilty. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then; I need to consolidate the energy I’ve gathered, anyway.”

Euryphel couldn’t see what he was referring to. “Is there energy around you now?”

Ian nodded. “I’m dragging the newly-acquired energy behind me.” He pointed to the floor, gesturing to a rather large area.

“Yes, definitely consolidate,” the prince said. Most people reacted poorly to stepping in areas of high Death energy concentration, and Euryphel didn’t want any accidents.

Ian got up from the bed and walked over for the door.

“Where do you want to go?” Euryphel asked.

The decemancer considered for a moment, eyes trailing over his muddied attire. “My room is probably fine for now; I need to change.”

Euryphel nodded. “Alright, see you later.”

The decemancer nodded and shut the door, leaving Euryphel alone. The prince sighed, rolled off the bed, and began to pace, his brow furrowed.

Euryphel hadn’t been able to get Ko’la’s question out of his head: “Is he a half-step ascendant?”

He’d argued against the Second Prime’s words as soon as they’d left the man’s mouth. But the more Euryphel thought about it, the more possible it was starting to seem. The critical part of all of this, however, was that Euryphel was quite certain that if Ian had commenced the process of ascending...it would have been while he was in Selejo, before he left for the SPU.

Maria had said that there was something stirring, something amiss. Perhaps what she had been sensing, and the cause of Euryphel’s own slight unease, was not something stirring, but something arriving.

“Descendant,” Euryphel whispered softly, as though testing the word in his mouth. A descendant would take at least several months to arrive once set in motion. But after its target was set, it couldn’t be altered, so long as the ascendant was alive. If Ian began to ascend in Selejo, then that was where the descendant would fall, blazing like a comet.

Maria would realize eventually. She’d be like him in the beginning, outright dismissing the idea as impossible. A twenty-four year old, only just awakened, commencing his ascension? Of even the most talented people in the world, one might be lucky to ascend in a generation. They could easily spend decades at the threshold of the ninety-ninth percentile, as if coursing up against an unsurpassable bottleneck.

Many assumed it was growing old itself that was required to pass the threshold: That it was only at the end of your life, when you had very little tying you to the world, that you could transcend it. Some were said to return, generations later, to live out the rest of their lives...but all of this was only speculation, suspicion: He had never seen an ascendant, as none existed in the West. In total, there were three ascendants in the province of Iasta alone, and several others scattered throughout Kester, Adrillon, and Corneria. Rarely did they engage in politics or other human foibles.

Euryphel closed his eyes and walked over to a divan off to the side of his room, then lay down and put up his legs. “Theoretically, adding one peak expert to our ranks shouldn’t affect things too much.” Which was good: It wasn’t in the SPU’s best interest to break the status quo.

“But if instead it were to be an ascendant...” he whispered, mouth pressing into a stern line. He finished the sentence in his head: Selejo might have the excuse it needs to rally the other provinces of Ho’ostar into a united offensive.

“Are you already prepared to leave this world, Julian?” the prince sighed, holding up his left hand. The arrow was still tightly wrapped around his finger just above the knuckle bone, digging into the meat of his hand. “Because fate seems to indicate otherwise.”

—

Euryphel awoke early in the morning, his back slick with sweat. He pressed an arm against his forehead and kneeled forward over his legs, breathing steadily.

Looking down at his hand, he noticed that the arrow was pointing away from Ian’s room. It seemed that the decemancer was awake.

Euryphel dressed in a loose shirt and pair of trousers from his commoner wardrobe and tugged on his leather boots. He considered for a moment, then opened the door to reveal the moonlit gardens to the rear of Ichormai. Stepping out, he began to follow the golden thread to its source.

He froze when he grew close enough to hear voices.

“...really? I was your lookout?” A woman’s voice.

Euryphel could hear Ian’s chuckle. “Except you ended up getting bitten by a soul swarm of mosquitos.”

“What!?” the woman’s voice–Euryphel was quite certain it was Ian’s sister, Germaine–exclaimed. “What is that?”

“You’re already freaking out, though you have no idea what it is?” Ian chortled.

“Mosquitoes plus stakeout sounds like a terrible combination to begin with,” Germaine argued. “Not to mention magic mosquitoes.”

Ian laughed raucously. “Think monster mosquitoes that suck not just your blood, but your vitality.”

Euryphel could hear what sounded like Germaine swatting at Ian’s clothes.

“Thanks for that wonderful image.”

“Of course.”

Euryphel heard an exasperated sigh. “You really let soul sucking monster mosquitoes attack me?”

“You’re conveniently skipping over the part where I saved you from the soul swarm.”

“I guess. What happened after that?”

Ian paused for a second. “Nothing noteworthy.”

Germaine seemed dissatisfied with the answer and followed up with a new question: “Did we figure out the mystery behind why the necromancer was there?”

A few seconds went by; the decemancer was so silent that Euryphel almost wondered if he’d disappeared. Finally, Ian replied, “I found the necromancer and killed him. The end.”

Germaine seemed to sense the mood. “You’re definitely skipping over some of the details, but I know there’s a lot of ground to cover if you were really stuck in there for four years.” She chuckled lightly. “It’s crazy to think that you’re essentially older than me now...”

The prince felt that he should probably leave the two of them to themselves, and started to walk away.

“That’s you, Euryphel, isn’t it?” Ian’s voice called out.

The prince froze, feeling a wave of heat rush to his face. “Yes, it’s me, out for a walk.” Resigned, Euryphel followed the golden arrow to Ian’s location in a small copse of trees overlooking a man-made stream.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ian asked, seeing the dark circles under the prince’s eyes.

“It’s nothing unusual,” the prince replied, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. He turned toward Germaine. “It’s a pleasure to meet you officially.”

Germaine seemed a bit taken aback. “Meet me...officially?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “He somehow got ahold of the Infinity Loop recording and tried to watch most of it in the span of one night.” Naturally, this meant that Euryphel would have seen the wedding layer.

Germaine’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow...” She swallowed and bowed her head. “Ian’s told me a lot about you. It’s an honor to meet the Crowned Prime.”

“When did you arrive?” Euryphel asked, leaning against a small birch tree. “You took a transport array from Shattradan, right?”

“That’s right. Aunt Julia paid for it,” she admitted with a nervous chuckle. “She explained that it might not be safe for me to stay in my studio.”

Euryphel nodded. He recalled that Germaine’s studio was in Gent, a far-off province in Shattradan. He noticed that Ian’s expression turned solemn.

“We can have it arranged for your studio to be relocated. Your brother doesn’t lack funds.” Seeing Ian’s uncertain look, Euryphel grinned and remarked, “Once you sell your soul gems, you’ll have money to spare.”

“I thought those belonged to you,” Ian said, inclining his head. “You asked me to make them.”

Euryphel raised an eyebrow. “You can obviously keep some of the profits for yourself. You’re not my servant.”

“I’d love to have my studio moved here,” Germaine said, giving Ian a pleading stare. “It’ll save a lot of time if I don’t have to recreate my workshop from scratch.”

Ian shot Euryphel a helpless look. “Alright. I’ll coordinate with, er, someone who knows how to do that kind of thing.”

Euryphel chuckled. “I’ll find someone to help you with the logistics.”

Germaine now turned toward the prince. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Your brother bothers me whenever he likes. It’s no trouble; I’d delegate the task out.”

“Then thank you for the assistance.” She paused. “I know it’s late for you both: even I’m starting to get tired.”

“Do you want to head back?” Ian asked, his tone teasing.

Germaine smiled warmly. “Yes please!”

Ian returned the expression, beaming. “Alright, let’s go. Prince, are you coming?”

Euryphel nodded. He and Ian walked Germaine back to the palace.

“What room are you staying in?” Euryphel asked.

“The one right directly to the right of Mother and Aunt Julia’s room,” Germaine replied.

Euryphel nodded, then turned the handle of a servant door leading from the exterior into the outer palace. Instead of revealing a dim, low-ceilinged hallway, the door opened directly into Germaine’s room.

“Y’jeni,” Germaine exclaimed, tentatively putting a hand through the door. “What an incredible enchantment. How exactly does it work...”

“The spatial array on the doors is the crowning achievement of one of my ancestors,” Euryphel explained. “I confess how it works is beyond me.”

Germaine’s expression fell slightly, and she straightened her back, regaining her composure. “Oh.”

Ian nudged her. “There’s plenty of time to ask questions in the coming days.”

Germaine nodded, then performed a small curtsy. “Good night Ian, Prime.”

“Sleep well,” Ian said, waving as Germaine closed the door. Now that they were alone, he gave Euryphel a questioning look.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Ian asked, reclining against the palace’s outer wall.

Euryphel leaned next to him. “Let’s call it a recurring dream. One that simply won’t leave me alone.”

“Feel like talking about it?” Ian asked, looking off into the distance.

“No.”

Silence.

“Why are you awake?” Euryphel asked. “Germaine must have arrived hours ago.”

“Just keeping her company,” Ian said. “She wasn’t tired, and to be honest, neither was I. It was nice to really see her again, to talk to her and know that this time, she won’t forget.”

Ian cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Are we still meeting at half-past six tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan,” the prince replied.

“It’s already four in the morning,” the decemancer pointed out.

Euryphel shrugged. “If you don’t want to look like a tired mess tomorrow, come by my room at a quarter past six and I’ll cover up your dark circles.”

“Or...I could just freshen up...with decemancy,” Ian said, lips curling up into a grin. “A little vitality infusion. I could give you the same treatment if you think you can handle it.”

“No need, thank you very much,” the prince said abruptly.

With that, the two of them said a brief farewell before returning to their rooms to nap. When they met again shortly thereafter, Euryphel expressed that they’d be passing their morning a little differently.

“We’re going to the practice fields,” the prince explained between bites of potato-chive pancakes and scrambled eggs.

“So you do do something official other than attend meetings,” Ian exclaimed.

“The SPU is a martial nation,” the prince replied, voice serious. “The princes are all military assets.”

“So, how do you practice, exactly?” Ian asked.

“I practice with the Guard, or with the other princes,” Euryphel elaborated. “Today, the two of us will be practicing with Ko’la and Ezenti.”

I thought the Prime of Fives barely tolerated one another? Ian thought. “I didn’t realize you were on good enough terms to practice together.”

Chuckling, the prince explained: “It’s not a question of being friends, but a question of efficiency and results. Few people can push me like the second and third princes.”

A few minutes later, Ian stood with Euryphel on Ichormai’s extensive practice grounds, a mile-long expanse of green grass broken up by numerous dirt rectangles. A number of practitioners dressed in white practice tunics and black trousers stood in a line, receiving instruction from an officer.

“Where are they?” Ian asked, looking around.

“‘They have just arrived,” Euryphel said, pointing to two far-off figures. The two primes were approaching from different directions, having come from separate sides of the palace.

“What affinities are they?” Ian whispered. He thought that Ezenti might be a Remorse practitioner, though the channels through which vitality traveled in his body were quite convoluted. He was almost certain that Ko’la was a Dark practitioner.

“How could you still not know?” Euryphel murmured, giving him a disbelieving look.

Ian ignored the judgment in the prince’s gaze. “Remorse and Dark, right?”

“Correct.”

“And if I’m not mistaken, they have higher affinities than even you,” Ian added. “If that’s the case, how are you the first prince, and not one of them?”

Euryphel just smiled. “Wait and see.”

Ezenti arrived first, with Ko’la landing close by a moment later. The four of them all stood facing one another, expressions neutral.

“Thank you, everyone, for agreeing to practice together,” Euryphel said. “We’re going to spar with the following restrictions, unless anyone has objections.” The first prince turned to Ian. “No directly controlling people’s bodies. No minions or constructs, either. Just yourself.”

He then walked over, grabbed a wooden staff the size of a shortsword, and tossed it to Ian. “And this.”

Ian held the polished stick like it was a mysterious, alien object. It was nothing like the glosSword that could literally move and attack on its own regardless of Ian’s non-existent skill.

As though sensing his reluctance, Euryphel gave a brief explanation, saying, “You’re going to need to be prepared if you’re up against opponents who can resist you attacking their bodies directly.”

Euryphel next turned to Ko’la and tossed the man two identical practice staves. “No disappearing, hiding, and jumping out after everyone’s exhausted themselves,” he stipulated. “You know, the usual.”

Ko’la gave the first prince a wry smile.

“And you, Ezenti,” Euryphel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing too traumatic, especially for the decemancer.”

Ezenti smirked. “Fine. I’ll do my best. Does he have a courtesy name yet so we can stop calling him ‘the decemancer’?”

Euryphel looked expectantly at Ian.

“Erm,” Ian said, his mind turning to mush. “Euryphel already knows it.”

“You should call him the Skai’aren,” Euryphel announced.

Ko’la frowned. “The sky render? Isn’t that more fitting for a Cloud practitioner?”

Ezenti barked a laugh. “It’s not ‘sky render’, but sky raiser. Though I agree, it has little to do with the dark art.”

Euryphel tossed Ezenti a practice staff as well, ignoring his commentary.

“And as for myself, I’ll restrict the number of Regret dilations I can perform to five per second,” he said. “No restrictions on my End affinity or wind elementalism.”

After Euryphel picked up a staff, the four of them took positions about fifty yards away from each other on a dirt field, each taking a corner.

Ian wished that the three princes would do a practice round so he could see what one of these spars was like. He was also a bit annoyed at Euryphel for giving him such serious restrictions, locking down almost all of his skills.

Before he could further lament the situation, a gust of wind carried a single word to Ian’s ear: “Start!”