“You can’t be seriously considering this!” Naerys shouted. Without his glasses, which were sorely missed, he couldn’t get a clear sense of her power, but given her position as Antares’s only apprentice, Orion thought she had to be at least in the second tier, especially considering her brash confidence.

  Prodigies enjoy privileges that ordinary people can only dream about. If she had been just a student at the Collegium, she would never have dared speak like that.

  Orion was tempted to push himself further, turning his heartfelt plea into a more dramatic performance, but he held back. Asking sincerely and clearly as a son to a father was one thing; begging and making a scene was another. The latter would rob his words of whatever sentiment might have filtered through Antares’ walls, and he wasn’t foolish enough to do that.

  Another long moment of tense silence went by, and Orion knew his father was reaching a decision.

  He turned to Asteria, meeting her eyes, and something passed between them. It was easy to forget that, beyond the great betrayal and his birth, these two shared a long history. For years, they had wandered through Cyril, trusting each other to watch their backs, and facing countless dangers.

  That kind of thing created a bond that could never be erased, no matter what happened afterward. And in that moment, Nick could feel the old threads that once held them together reappear.

  The two adults shared an entire conversation without speaking, and he knew there was no telepathy involved because he was keeping [Verification Principle] up and running.

  Whatever the long look meant, it seemed to be enough for Antares to solidify his choice, because he let out a long breath and nodded. “I need to speak with someone before I do this, but if what you’ve said is true, and he truly intends to use his position to bring war to Cyril, I will stop him.”

  There was something to be said about his confidence. Orion didn’t have a clear idea of how his father compared to the Venerable Archmage, but he didn’t seem worried at all about the possibility of losing once he made his decision.

  Naerys tried to speak again, but a glance from Antares was enough to stop her, and she slumped, clearly knowing that it was out of her hands.

  “I will now take us to Mallon. It’s just about time for his evening tea anyway, so we shouldn’t disturb him,” Antares said, and before Orion could do more than blink, their surroundings had changed once more, with the same absurd smoothness as the first time.

  He’d been willing to attribute it to Antares setting up intricate spells through his tower to achieve perfect teleportation within it. However, since he’d done the same now, and they were on the other side of the Collegium, with Orion able to see their previous location from the open window nearby, it couldn’t simply be that.

  “Well, I can’t say this is how I imagined you would use my open invitation for tea,” an aged voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see that, as promised, they were now in Archmage Mallon’s tower.

  He had always looked very old, even among the High Councilors who certainly had plenty of life experience, but it seemed that since stepping down as Speaker, Mallon had aged another hundred years.

  It wasn’t that more wrinkles had appeared or that his hair had grown whiter, since those were already features he had, but something about his posture, as he sat in a large armchair that seemed to swallow him, made him look small and fragile.

  He was also wearing a tartan robe made of a soft, plushy material, which only added to the aura of a retiree he now projected.

  Orion didn’t dismiss him for a moment. No matter how much stepping down might have cost him, Mallon was still a monster with few, if any, equals. His word still held sway, at least until midnight.

  “I apologize, but the situation seemed urgent enough to justify some unorthodoxy,” Antares said, snapping his fingers and transmutating a chunk of air into several armchairs so everyone could take their seats.

  Mallon watched him cast with a small smile, appearing more like a proud grandfather than the ruler of a whole nation, and Orion didn’t miss the implications. It might be that the two only had a professional relationship, but it was hard to justify the casualness they shared if that was all it was.

  “Well, sit down then. If it’s so urgent, we should get on with it.”

  They all obeyed the old man’s request and watched quietly as he fetched more cups and tea leaves from somewhere. Soon, he was steeping them, carefully adjusting the water’s temperature with a hum, and letting the floral and earthy undertones fill the room.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Although Mallon wasn’t doing anything, it felt natural for him to remain still before moving a single muscle, as if interrupting him could cause great danger. Orion couldn’t quite identify where that certainty came from, but he suspected it was a natural consequence of the immense power gap.

  Once the impromptu tea ceremony was over, and each of them was holding their own cup, Orion slumped against the armchair, feeling like he had just passed a test he hadn’t signed up for.

  “Speak,” Mallon finally gave permission, and Antares gestured for Orion to go ahead.

  He hesitated briefly, wondering if he should rephrase a few points now that his interlocutor probably wouldn't be swayed by family ties, but he decided against it. That would just make it seem like he’d crafted a speech to manipulate Antares, and while that was partly true, it was also an oversimplification, so he repeated what he’d said almost word for word.

  After he finished, he took a long sip of his cooling tea, enjoying the soothing warmth that spread through his body.

  “I see,” Mallon murmured, furrowing his brows. “It’s true that Ulysses, if chosen by the Senate, would take a more proactive approach to the duties of the Speakership than I did, and that his ambitions run deep. I wouldn’t say he would cause Cyril's downfall, as he’s smart enough to adjust course when needed, but he would definitely chart a bumpy path.”

  Orion sensed Naerys’ surprised gaze on him. She probably thought he had been spouting whatever bullshit was necessary to persuade his father to enter the arena, and while she wasn’t entirely wrong, she had underestimated his commitment to the truth.

  Antares nodded, appearing satisfied with that, but Mallon didn’t stop there.

  “It's also true that Cyril has stagnated under my leadership.”

  Silence, oppressive and almost frightening in its intensity, settled over the room. Orion barely had the strength to breathe, and it almost felt like he was back under the wards’ control, though he could tell with his own senses that no mana was being used on him. It was simply the weight of Mallon’s disappointment in himself that was so heavy he could barely function.

  “Some change is necessary to stop the rot that has been killing the entire tree. Whether that change is through fire or careful incision is up to the new generation. I believe I have done enough. My input will only influence the decision negatively.”

  If Antares had harbored any hope of securing Mallon’s endorsement and closing the deal quickly, it was now gone, as the certainty with which the old man spoke left no room for reconsideration.

  Yet he didn’t seem disappointed. Instead, Antares appeared almost relieved, as if he’d long thought that Mallon should step aside.

  Once again, Orion wondered about their relationship, but now wasn't the time to satisfy his curiosity. He took the last sip from his cup, feeling renewed energy flow through him even though the brew was completely non-magical, and he saw the same determination reflected in the others.

  “Alright, let’s do this!”

  Orion hadn’t expected Naerys to be the one to say that, especially given how negative she had been from the start. But whatever the reason—whether it was because she thought the decision had been made and opposing it any longer would put her at odds with her mentor, or because she was genuinely convinced—it didn’t matter.

  Antares’ lips twitched, and he nodded at his apprentice’s enthusiasm. “Indeed, let us do this. Mallon, as always, thank you for your time.”

  The old man waved them off, already shrinking back to his previous, frail state. Orion didn’t have the time to do more than glance around the study for the first time, now that the oppressive atmosphere was gone, and notice a few highly complex artifacts, from what appeared to be a live map to the horns of some massive beast carved with thousands of tiny runes, before he was once again whisked away.

  This time, the change in scenery felt more jarring. Not because the transition was less smooth, but because he went from sitting in an armchair to standing up, even though he hadn’t actually moved.

  His balance wobbled, but he managed to regain stability. That extra Body point is really making a difference.

  “Has he given you permission, then?” Archmage Theses’ mocking tone was unmistakable and revealed where they were, even if Orion hadn’t recognized the cloister at first glance.

  “He has,” Antares replied mildly, though his purple gaze held enough weight that even the seemingly sadistic sensory mage dropped it after a moment. “I am in need of Archmage Suketh’s networking skills. If you don’t mind, we’ll be off. Unless you want to join us, which you are welcome to do.”

  There was no third option. Antares had made it clear, with a single sentence, that Theses wasn’t allowed to stand against him. He could either retreat to wherever he’d come from and stay neutral or stand with them.

  It was perhaps more aggressive than Orion would have done, but then again, with people like Theses, who seemed to enjoy being awkward sods and reveled in half-truths, this was the only way.

  Theses seemed to know that too, because he sighed, “Aaah, you are no fun. But alright, I’ll play ball. If the old man gave you the go-ahead, and you think you have enough chances to drag yourself out of your tower, then it’d be foolish of me to miss out on the fun.”

  Antares nodded, turning to look at Set. The two men stared at each other for a moment before the elder tilted his head with a thin smile. He clearly hadn't enjoyed the company he’d been left with, but he seemed unscathed, and that was all that mattered right now.

  Together, the group started heading toward the Senate, which Naerys pointed out to him. “There’s still half an hour before the vote has to be held, but the Archmages like to mingle beforehand. We should start seeing some people soon.”

  Orion nodded, grateful for the help, but he couldn’t suppress his curiosity any longer now that they had a moment of downtime.

  “Why are you wearing those features, anyway?” It came out a bit more bluntly than he’d have liked, but she didn’t seem to take offense, merely smiling, as if he’d done something endearing.

  “You are just like him. I thought the witches would have corrupted you by now, but it seems his influence is too strong to stamp out,” she said, and although she hadn’t done anything particularly creepy, he got the impression she was more than a little fanatic about Antares.

  He smiled awkwardly, unsure how to interpret that. It was true there had been attempts to bring him down, but he doubted his resistance was due to a genetic factor. Being a grown adult probably played a bigger role in that.

  “As for my appearance… Well, I’m practicing illusion magic at the moment, and I’ve been tasked with changing how I look and maintaining it for as long as I can. It’s just a coincidence that I look a bit like you.”

  Orion didn’t believe that for a moment. She seemed a bit too obsessed with his father for his tastes, though luckily, it appeared entirely one-sided, as the man had only treated her with the mild amusement of a pet learning tricks.

  “I’m Orion, by the way,” he said as the rotunda came into view, and as promised, several robed figures could be seen milling about.

  “Naerys,” she replied with a happy grin.

  Predictably, that was when someone barred their path.