Samuel and Tobi approached the massive double doors of the palace, noting with curious looks how tightened security was. The palace was almost always heavily attended by the armed members of the King’s Guard, to be sure, but today there was an extra layer of tension that had never been present. There were men running back and forth, even sergeants calling out orders to the men. It was a great deal of noise and chaos that disrupted the otherwise peaceful early morning.

“Halt!” One of the guards, a sergeant by his insignia, moved to block Tobi and Samuel’s path, one hand held out. “Apologies, Lord Bragg, Master Tokugawa. The palace is under strict lockdown, and is off-limits to everyone.”

“What has happened?” Samuel asked. “Everyone seems highly energetic this morning.”

“That’s not for me to discuss,” the sergeant said, “Until the King decides to make a public statement, that remains classified. Please, return to your estates.”

“The King is expecting us,” Tobi said stiffly. He cocked his chin up a little higher, assuming a very stubborn air. “He summoned us himself, and now you’re telling us we can’t enter?”

The guard’s face blanched slightly as he regarded Tobi. He was still highly suspicious, but looked a little upset at his haste words. “I have no way of knowing that, Master Tokugawa. Please understand.”

Samuel, growing slightly impatient, cast a quick spell to notify Aren Gorteau that they had both arrived, and were held up at the entrance. Then he turned to the guard. “I’ve contacted the Prime Magus, brother of the King. He knows we’re here, and shall be out in a moment to confirm.”

The guard opened his mouth to reply but was cut off as Aren appeared beside the man via teleportation. He looked exceptionally cross at the man, shaking his head. “Why are you holding them up? We’re on the brink of war, sergeant. Now is not the time to be harassing our best leaders!”

“Of course, Lord Gorteau,” the guard exclaimed, stooping into a hurried bow. “I apologize for the insult, my lords.”

“No insult taken,” Samuel said lightly. “You’re just doing your job, and doing it well.”

“Be glad they’re not more offended,” Aren said dryly. “And get in touch with a messenger. You need to be kept up to date.”

“It’s no issue,” Samuel said, reinforcing the words with a dismissing wave. “You mentioned war, Aren? Have you received new information?”

He pitched the question to the Prime Magus with a pointed look, as if to remind the man that he had been in a hurry. Aren nodded curtly and gestured for them to follow. It was a relatively short trip from the palace entrance to the throne room, and they were uninterrupted as they tailed behind the Prime Magus. Several of the guards and soldiers on duty noticed the presence of Tobi and Samuel, commenting audibly to their comrades. Why had the King summoned an Archmage and the Captain of a mercenary group when the defense was of the utmost importance?

They didn’t have long to deliberate on the mystery of their summons before Aren shoved open the doors of the throne room. The large chair was located centrally on the dais of course, with Aren’s much simpler chair on the right-hand side, but it was empty. The King was nowhere to be seen as well, but there were a few men gathered around a long flat table that had been placed just beside the dais. It had the appearance of a war table, with sand piled in set patterns to depict the majority of the countryside to the East. About three-quarters to the right side of the large sand map lay Jyrok, a military fortress on the north-western coast.

The men stopped mid-discussion as Aren reappeared, bringing Samuel and Tobi inside. He wasted no time on the formal introductions that the court was used to. “Samuel Bragg and Tobito Tokugawa, gentlemen. They’re for their opinion and advice. They should be able to help us sort this problem out, and decide the next step.”

One of the men, a corpulent, red-cheeked man with wispy black hair, rubbed his thin goatee reflectively. He was dressed in a rather expensive-looking suit of plate mail, and the crest over his heart identified him as a General. Out of all the others gathered, he was the only one who looked displeased by the new arrivals. Samuel recognized him at once as Lord Markus Rainhall, the current second head of the vast noble family. Samuel and the Rainhalls clashed constantly in court, due to his desire to improve life for all citizens, and their extreme reluctance to spend royal gold on the commoners.

“Is it necessary for outsiders to take part in this meeting, Lord Gorteau?” He asked, his high voice supercilious and condescending. “Surely the mage and the monk have more, err, suitable tasks they could be performing.”

“We’ll have none of that, thank you,” Aren said briskly, cutting the man’s immediate response off with a curt hand gesture. “Lord Bragg and Master Tokugawa are valued members of the city and fierce leaders. In war, I trust their opinion.”

“War?” Samuel asked at once, his throat feeling uncomfortably tight. “Is it confirmed, then?”

Rainhall scoffed at his ignorance, but both Samuel and Rainhall ignored the man. Aren nodded in confirmation. “We still don’t know much. Our messenger only returned an hour ago, and the man was too exhausted to explain everything clearly. All we know is that the Mitene Union has made the first move.”

Samuel glanced back down at the sand map, the bits of information falling into place. Tobi asked the question that was in his mind. “Has Jyrok fallen?”

“Not fallen,” Aren corrected him. “A long campaign of subterfuge allowed spies to take the castle discreetly. Our man barely got out to inform us. We think his absence has not been noticed.”

“So they hold the fortress in strength?” Tobi asked, and the others nodded, Rainhall reluctantly. “That is an important fortress. You should take it back as fast as you can.”

“We agree,” Aren replied. “That’s the main reason you’ve been summoned here.”

“What can we do that an entire army can’t?” Samuel asked. “I’m not exactly busy right now, but I’m not a warrior.”

Aren allowed a faint dry smile to form on his face and shook his head slightly. “You’re more capable than a hundred of our warriors, Samuel. As for what you can do that an army cannot, you can lead. You and Master Tokugawa.”

“No.” The single word, polite yet firm, came out of Tobi’s mouth before Samuel could even fully grasp the meaning of what Aren had said. Everyone, Samuel included, turned to him in mild surprise. He didn’t look the least bit regretful as he stared back at the generals and Prime Magus.

“No?” Aren asked, looking perplexed. “I don’t understand-”

“You intend to ask Samuel and me to lead your men into battle,” Tobi stated bluntly. “My answer is no.”

“We weren’t planning on asking, foreigner,” Rainhall sneered. Tobi spared him only half a glance before ignoring the man completely.

“Master Tokugawa,” Aren began, but Tobi cut him off again.

“I mean no offense, Lord Gorteau. I am Captain of Issho-Ni, and my priority is the safety of innocents and the hunting of criminals. Our interests align now as always because there is a new batch of innocents to be saved, and a new group of criminals to monitor and capture. But I am not one of your generals or commanders. I act on my mission, nothing less or more.”

The group was silent for several long seconds after this calm delivery, quietly weighing his words. He glanced at each member in turn, and offered a slight bow, then turned to leave. “I will take my leave now, lords. Samuel, please be careful, and return to us whole.”Samuel wondered how he could have known that, even at that moment, he was willing to accept the position. He viewed himself as a lawful citizen of Milagre, and, as such, had a duty to follow the orders of those who outranked him. Aren was a member of the royal family, the second most powerful man in the nation, Samuel’s superior as Prime Magus, and, more importantly, an old friend. He couldn’t refuse this request like Tobi could. He offered his former apprentice a silent nod of understanding, and the youth departed.

“That is disheartening,” Aren said. “I assume by the fact that you’re still here, you are willing to lend us your aid, Samuel?”

Samuel looked from Aren to Rainhall, then back. His voice was firm as he replied. “Yes, of course, Lord Gorteau. It will be an honor to lead for my country. I do, however, have one condition, and I hope that you will honor it.”

Aren waved a hand, clearly ready to do whatever it took to ensure his cooperation. “Anything within my power, friend. What would you have me do?”

Samuel lifted his right arm to point directly at General Rainhall. “I will not work with Rainhall. His family has caused nothing but grief these past four years since I returned to Milagre. It is because of his family that the capital was attacked, and I cannot bear such constant insults if I’m to work effectively.”

Rainhall opened his mouth to protest, face red, but Aren beat him to the punch. “That is easily done. I fully intend to put you in command of your battalion. Thank you, my friend. I feel much more comfortable knowing that I can count on you.”

Samuel nodded, avoiding eye contact with the angry Rainhall. Doing his best to keep his voice level and calm, he gave a brief bow in Aren’s direction. “Very well. I should gather some more resources today, then. I will be in touch by the end of the day, ready to take this on.”

It was a little exhausting, but the first step he decided upon was to visit his mind space. It had been several weeks since his last meditation session since he’d been kept busy with planning his first few classes. It was his good fortune that he had a patient god, he thought. Still, he made a mental note to commune more often. Before secluding himself in the tower that he owned, he informed the school of his new responsibility, and that they would have to find a substitute instructor for the foreseeable future. They were understanding, if perhaps a bit disappointed.

Once the heavy door closed and he was alone, he let out a long sigh. He’d never imagined at the start of his life that he’d be involved in such weighty affairs as leading men into battle. His dream had always been to travel and become a well-known author and cartographer. He’d achieved that, of course, but it had come with extra strings that he never could have anticipated. From poor village mapmaker to famous Archmage and Champion of Arcana, he thought with a wry smirk. Grimr would be proud of his suffering.

He sat down in the direct center of his tower, choosing not to take a seat in the comfortable chair behind his desk. Crossing his legs and closing his eyes, he began taking several deep breaths. One of the key requirements of meditation, as Shigeru and Tobi had explained to him, was to slow the mind down and enter a calm sort of trance. This was always the hardest part. His mind was constantly racing, toying with new thoughts or ideas, thinking over past actions, and weighing choices. Getting his mind to slow down was like blocking up a river with his bare hands. But eventually, he managed it.

When he opened his eyes next, he was no longer in the tower. He was seated in the center of a new, more comfortable-looking room. All the furniture here, one couch and a few armchairs were worn, a sign that they were quite old. A simple and small fire burned in the grate, casting its light and warmth over the small room. He knew the surroundings well. It was his house of old, from the time before his mother had fallen ill. It was his most peaceful memory by far, and the one he liked to relive when he felt that the world was moving a bit too fast around him.

He climbed to his feet slowly, peering around the dimly lit space. Something was off, he thought. He checked the kitchen, the small table where he’d eat meals, and even the two bedrooms at the back of the building. There was nobody in sight, he realized. Odd. Could his younger self and his mother be out? No, he told himself. That was impossible. This was his mindspace. If he wanted the parts of himself to be here, they would be. He assured himself that there would be a significant reason for this, and cast it aside.

“Well,” he said into the thin air, “This puts a damper on that plan.”

He’d hoped to convene with the parts of his mind that normally lived here. His younger self, while being a snarky, sarcastic, and annoying brat, was full of the kinds of thoughts that his mind often buried under trivial distractions. His mother, on the other hand, was a calm, soothing presence. Being around her washed away all the worries and strife of the day, leaving him relaxed and ready to take on a new problem. What was he going to do if they were nowhere to be found?

His answer was to go to the source, the place where it had all begun. Exiting his mind-space, he moved to kneel before the altar of Arcana that sat behind his desk. He traced the symbol of the unlidded eye for a few seconds, wondering if perhaps this was a problem he should face on his own. But he couldn’t afford to burn too much time on this, so he resolutely pulled the armchair around and sat in it. Staring intently at the altar, he once again slipped into a meditative trance. He blinked.

“I can see that your mind is troubled, young Samuel.”

That was the voice he knew better than any else now. It was the voice of ancient wisdom, inspiration, and guidance. He turned slowly on the spot, his form drifting in mid-air, and turned to face his god. As usual, Isip was wearing a simple white robe over his thin frame, adorned only with a golden version of his heraldry. His plain brown hair was just long enough to nearly cover his eyes, which were the same glowing violet that every Ancient possessed. He was one of the first Ancients, alongside Grimr, and had been a guiding presence for the mortals of Ahya since before they could comprehend his presence.

“It’s always troubled,” Samuel said. He wasn’t scornful or angry, but it was a tiring fact that he was getting used to. “But at least I don’t have to explain what it is. Can you help me?”

“Hmm,” Isip said reflectively, shifting a few inches back as he surveyed Samuel. It was rare for him to move, the young mage thought. “It is possible. You have grown considerably these past few years, and your mind is stronger than ever.”

Samuel nodded. Nearly five years of growth since his return from one-hundred-year exile was bound to result in some improvement. It was small growth compared to the initial gift that Isip had given him, of course, but it had served the purpose of rounding out his skills a fair bit. He was a true master of manipulating his mana now, having increased both his efficiency and the number of spells in his repertoire. In that case, a gentle consistent incline was equal to a sudden upwards spike.

“Well, I think two new spells will do you some good,” Isip said. Then he tilted his head to the side, appearing to ponder something. “Well, I say two, but to be more specific, it’s two new ways to use a spell you already have.”

That piqued Samuel’s interest at once. “Are you referring to my Counterspell?”

“Yes,” Isip said simply. “Its true name is Dominion, and counterspell is just the most simple form of it.”

“Dominion,” Samuel said slowly. A thought had just occurred to him. “But isn’t that the name of your unique trait? The ability to manipulate all mana around you?”

“Yes. But your Dominion is different. I was, or rather, am, Ahya’s mind. My mastery is limited to the arcane. As you’ve proven over the years, there are more types of energy than just mana.”

Samuel glanced down at his hands and clenched them into fists. Body, Mind, and Soul, he reminded himself. His original, unrefined idea had been scorned by the majority of magic users. The idea that physical and spiritual magic could exist was laughable, as far as they were concerned. But with enough experimenting, practice, and visible evidence, Samuel had turned the perspective of many. Even now, young mages with exceptional physical attributes were being trained in new styles, in the hopes that they might make masters who could teach in turn.

“So I can control any energy,” Samuel guessed, sure that was what Isip had meant. “I’ve never attempted, but I’m certain that my counterspell could work on ki and aura too.”

“That was my understanding of it as well,” Isip confirmed with a smile. “But only time will tell. Now, open your mind to me. I’ll share the knowledge you need.”

Hours later, as the sun was beginning to drop below the horizon, Samuel was at the head of a large body of soldiers and mages, marching through the eastern city gate to a chorus of hopeful cheers and calls from the citizens. He turned to the south, seeing another, smaller force exiting the gate there. It was too far to make out any details, but he knew that it was a small army of Bahamut’s followers, led by their Champion. Bora Bora had been exiled permanently for his actions at the palace and was forbidden to return. He was marching out into a brand-new life, where he could only count on his god for help. As was Samuel.