“Silence,” a voice roared from Adrian’s side, and surprisingly, everyone gathered obeyed immediately.

  Adrian turned to see that—as his ears suggested but he’d failed to believe—his father was the one who had quieted the sudden pandemonium. Adrian suspected it was only half the authority of the High King that commanded all present to listen, with the other half no doubt being the shock of seeing the High King behaving like… well, the High King.

  “You discredit yourselves with such behavior, in front of such company,” King Edmund said, having stood from his seat to frown down at the audience—and the phrasing was maybe more antagonistic than what Adrian would have used himself, but he didn’t disagree, either. More importantly, his father’s words projected power and authority, something Adrian hadn’t seen from the man in years.

  After the disapproving silence lingered for several moments, Edmund faced Vivisari, and there was a hint of wonder on that wrinkled face. Wonder that had, however briefly, seemed to ground him in the moment, return clarity to the old man. High King Edmund was not always senile—though a High King should never be—but even compared to what Adrian saw on Edmund’s better days, the vigor holding the High King up was nearly unprecedented. Adrian had to fight his eyebrows from crawling to the top of his forehead.

  “Lady Vivisari, I am honored to receive you. It has been many, many years. Peaceful years, thanks entirely to your and your party members’ efforts.” He bowed deeply to her, well lower than a royal should ever bow… except perhaps to this woman alone.

  The Sorceress studied the High King for a moment, then returned the gesture—thankfully even deeper than the King’s. Some of Adrian’s tenseness drained away at the action. That the Steward of Vanguard had come to the royal family and organized this event already suggested that Vanguard wished to stay allies to the crown, but Adrian was not so foolish as to assume Rafael’s actions and thoughts to be identical to the Sorceress’s. The appropriate depth of the bow put his mind at ease that the Sorceress was truly a friend of the royal family… or at least symbolically one. In the matter of politics, the difference could be rather small.

  “It has, Edmund,” Vivisari said. “I’m glad to see you alive and well.”

  Adrian would perhaps contest the ‘and well’ portion of that statement, and he suspected most of the audience had a similar thought themselves.

  “The same to you, Vivisari.” Edmund gestured toward the audience. “Please. I apologize for the interruption. You have no doubt come with matters of grave importance. Forgive the indecorous reception, and continue.”

  Vivisari nodded, then looked back out to the many dozen individuals making up some of the most prominent figures in Meridian—in all of the human kingdoms. Adrian also took in their faces, having shamefully been too absorbed in transpiring events to analyze them as he should’ve.

  As expected, the dominant emotion was shock. Most present were intelligent individuals, and knew, intellectually, that the reemergence of the Sorceress had been one of the only possible explanations for the breach and its containment that had occurred not a full week prior. But witnessing her in the flesh, seeing a legendary figure plucked from the history pages and dropped in front of them, still shook a person, no matter how intellectually prepared they might be. Even Adrian had been disoriented when Rafael had come to him with the news.

  The woman was… shorter… and younger-looking than he had expected, but her robes, staff, long white hair, bored red eyes, and blood-trail tattoos struck an imposing figure. Though Adrian wondered if he only had that impression thanks to her reputation. If he had met this woman by chance, would he have felt the same way? He couldn’t say for certain. In any case, context and prior knowledge made her presence hang heavy over the crowd, almost oppressively so.

  They waited for her to speak, perhaps with even more anticipation than for Rafael’s introduction.

  “I apologize for my lateness,” the woman finally said. Which wasn’t quite the opening Adrian had expected. “I underestimated the travel times involved.”

  A silence followed, lasting several seconds too long. He wondered if it was for effect, then realized, with a jolt, that it was likely simply her choosing her words. This woman was not her steward; she was not an ‘orator’ at all. In fact, by all accounts—and since dealing with the five heroes had been a matter of state security, the royal family had extensive profiles on each—she was the opposite. Vivisari had been reclusive, rarely seen in public, and generally avoided all matters of social and political responsibility, only attending events that all four of her other teammates had. And even then, not always… or as some theorized, under an invisibility spell she only let her teammates see through.

  This might be one of the only public speeches she’d given in her life. Orion, the Knight, had been the one to address crowds or nobility, in the Party of Heroes’ time. The Monk, Gladiator, or Rogue on rarer occasions. But certainly never the Sorceress.

  “I was placing [Warp Anchors] throughout the human kingdoms,” the woman went on, explaining. “I have one at all of the capital cities now, and most of the major settlements that were en route. I should be able to respond quickly if anyone needs me. Which is one of the biggest reasons we needed to speak with everyone as soon as possible. Especially the embassies from other kingdoms. A system needs to be arranged where you can contact me at a moment’s notice if another breach appears. But I think Rafael will handle that, and…” She paused. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  Adrian had undoubtedly seen worse speakers, even ones at the highest levels of society; she wasn’t stammering or stumbling over herself, and seemed totally calm and in control—to the extent she appeared bored and unconcerned with how she was perceived, in all honesty. But it certainly wasn’t a charismatic delivery either. Adrian had at least expected a well-organized speech.

  Rafael projected cool confidence at Vivisari’s side, and Adrian wondered if that was feigned. He suspected Vivisari hadn’t used the steward’s planned opening; Rafael had surely gone over this with her. Or perhaps not? Adrian supposed he didn’t truly know their dynamic.

  He would have thought the less-than-perfect start to Vivisari’s announcements would have humanized the woman, and thus relaxed him. Strangely, though, he felt… not nervous, but some blend of emotions that wasn’t wholly positive either. The Sorceress existed in his head as less of a person and more of a concept. An ideal. This display was correcting that image.

  She was just a person.

  And people had foibles. People were fallible. That was dangerous, when the person in question could raze a countryside with a wave of her staff.

  The Sorceress opened her mouth to continue—

  —but an unexpected voice interrupted.

  “How do we know it’s you, anyway?” the Gale of Blades asked.

  All eyes turned toward the armored woman standing near the front, a dozen feet from the dais. She seemed as utterly unbothered as the Sorceress, if more emotive about her disregard, arms crossed and expression borderline impatient. Her attention was locked squarely on the diminutive demon addressing the crowd.

  “No disrespect, of course,” the swordswoman continued, which was already more tactful than her established standard. She had been one of the individuals Adrian was least enthused to invite. But not only had she defended Meridian, she was also one of the strongest martial powers in the world. Rather a bad idea, to spurn a person like that. “But anyone can claim to be the Sorceress. Even whip up a convincing illusion, or some such.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Based on how the High King stiffened, Adrian almost thought his father would step forward and condemn the Gale of Blades for her words. But the man hesitated, then—thankfully not too overtly—glanced at Vivisari, then Adrian. Probably, doubt had been introduced into his own mind as well. Adrian gave a stiff nod toward the man, trying not to be obvious about what he was communicating.

  “Is the reassurance of the royal family and my steward not enough?” Vivisari asked.

  The Gale of Blades shrugged. “It’s something,” the woman said dubiously. She let the second half of that statement go unvoiced.

  “Very well,” Vivisari said smoothly. Almost too smoothly. As if she’d expected an objection of the sort. “I will dispel any doubts, so the situation is made clear to all.”

  Adrian’s skin prickled, and his gaze shot to Rafael. The demon smiled benevolently at him, and that didn’t at all assuage Adrian’s suspicion that something was about to happen. Something planned, which he hadn’t been warned about beforehand.

  The Sorceress raised her staff, and faster than Adrian could make sense of, a burning-hot diagram of mana etched itself to life.

  “[Greater Warp].”

  The entire gathering, dais and furniture and servants included, was swallowed by the spell. The disorienting experience seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, yet also to drag on endlessly, minutes or hours passing inside that liminal space.

  Then they emerged. Adrian only recognized the environment after several moments of processing his disbelief. A great black obsidian throne towered in the center of an arena of bubbling lava, with spires on all sides jutting up like the teeth of a beast’s enormous maw. He had only heard of this location through legend, but it was clear where the Sorceress had taken them. Had taken the entire gathering.

  The Burial Room of the Ashen Hierophant.

  A see-through white barrier shimmered around the arena, warding off the heat. The Sorceress hadn’t endangered them—of course she hadn’t—but Adrian was shaken anyway. And not just because of the show of power, the demonstration of a spell cast on demand that was far beyond what even all three of the Institute Archmages could manage in unison. But because of how easily the Sorceress had bypassed his personal defensive artifacts. A prince, much less a High Prince, did not strut around without extensive protections, not even within the safety of the Palace. His coronet—and his father’s crown—were some of the most thorough guards against all attacks both physical and magical ever crafted by mortal hands.

  And the Sorceress had ignored them? Not even brute-forced and broken through the enchantments. She’d slipped past them entirely. He would have thought that impossible, and such casual proof otherwise unnerved him.

  “The Burial Room of the Ashen Hierophant,” Vivisari said, voice washing out across the crowd. “I do apologize for the method of travel, but I chose this location for a reason. It’s important everyone realizes the scale of what we’re dealing with… and that we set aside any pointless grievances or petty motivations. A reminder, that we work together for the betterment of the mortal kingdoms.”

  Adrian digested those words. Under that lens, he might even say he approved of this unconventional tactic. There was perhaps nowhere else in the world that would feel quite as surreal to arrive in as the Ashen Hierophant’s personal domain, and it sent a powerful message indeed—even to individuals as inured to displays of power as those present.

  Had this been Rafael’s idea, or the Sorceress’s?

  Adrian had thought he fully understood the threat that the void represented, but at the sudden change in scenery, even he found himself sobering, his perspective shifting.

  Silence hung over the chamber for a long moment.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t Vivisari who broke it, but the previous interruptor.

  “Neat spell,” the Gale of Blades said, apparently feeling none of the solemnity Adrian did. His attention turned to her again, and he saw that the woman was grinning wildly, an excited glint having appeared in her eyes—she’d taken a drastically different message than him, or indeed everyone else there. She continued without an ounce of hesitation, summoning thirteen brilliant swords, each a different color, and her scabbard rang as she withdrew physical steel next. All fourteen blades pointed at Vivisari. “But it’s not quite proof you’re the Sorceress. Not the one I was looking for, anyhow. Fight me.”

  The words were so absurd, even by the Gale of Blade’s standards, that Adrian’s eyes almost bulged. He wasn’t the only one to react with incredulity: the Headmaster of the Thaumaturgical Institute was also visibly startled.

  Unlike Adrian, the Headmaster gave an immediate, outraged retort. “One doesn’t need to be a swordsman himself to recognize a Sword Saint’s movements,” the man snapped. He sounded inordinately upset, more than the situation called for, even given the ridiculousness of the woman’s request. “That spell you saw was identification in triplicate. There is a single person in this world who can cast such magic so easily.”

  The Gale of Blades sniffed, her sword not dropping—Vivisari’s red eyes appraising it, and her, with not so much as a shred of worry, or perturbance at all. In fact, there was a concerning tinge of interest in that red gaze that Adrian prayed he was imagining.

  “Didn’t hear anyone ask your opinion, Headmaster.” There was a slight sneer in the response; she didn’t look his way. “Fight me,” she repeated to Vivisari. “I refuse to believe one of the Heroes isn’t spoiling for one at all times, anyway. Only madmen throw themselves into the maw of seven Cataclysms in a row.” She grinned, all teeth. “It’s why you have my respect, if you are who you say you are. We’re practically kin.”

  Based on Lysander’s purpling face, Adrian sensed a brewing disaster, but he had no idea how to intervene or whether he even should. The royal family needed to tread carefully when inserting themselves into disagreements between Titled, especially Titled of this significance.

  Thankfully, Archmage Aeris cleared his throat and tried to moderate the situation. “If it sets you at ease,” he said to the Gale of Blades. “I can also vouch that she is who she says she is. And there is no need to escalate tensions; we are all allies here.”

  The Gale scoffed. “I think highly of you, old man, but I didn’t ask for your opinion any more than I did his.”

  “You are not carrying yourself with the grace I know you possess,” Aeris said gently, at the same instant Lysander sneered, “You request an indulgent training session, not a fight, and thus you are wasting our time. There is no fight between you and the Sorceress. You would snap like a twig at the weakest of her spells.”

  Unsurprisingly, the Gale responded to Lysander, not Aeris. Even worse, the discrediting of her abilities only seemed to stoke the fires of violent anticipation in her eyes. “Would I?” she asked. “I’m not convinced. I only believe what I see or experience myself.” She thrust her blade at Vivisari. “So prove it. Fight me!”

  Lysander’s disgust was plain; he looked at the woman with genuine contempt. So far as Adrian knew, the two had never held anything more than mild dislike of each other, and to be fair, a great many people felt that way toward the Headmaster of the Institute, with him returning the sentiment.

  Had something happened between them? Adrian doubted it. Lysander’s disgust appeared to stem from this very exchange. It had offended him on a personal level, for one reason or another. Did he view the Sorceress that highly… or was it something else?

  “You insult her by even asking,” Lysander gritted out. “You are allies, as Archmage Aeris said. Behave like it.”

  The Gale rolled her eyes. “So touchy, all of you. It’s a duel. There is never insult in offering one. The exact damn opposite, matter of fact.”

  “You are a lapdog yapping at a lion,” Lysander growled. “Know your place.”

  “Know my place?” She repeated the phrase in staccato emphasis, finally breaking her gaze from Vivisari to look at Lysander instead. A distasteful expression twisted her face. “Words of the unambitious. Of a failure. I will never know my place; I pity all who do.”

  Lysander seemed ready to spit something truly vile in return, and Adrian almost panicked by how obvious the mage’s anger was. But then the Sorceress raised a single pale hand, and the Headmaster, surprisingly, silenced himself.

  “You both are going too far,” Vivisari said, disapproval touching her normally cool tone. “And I don’t want to waste anyone’s time, as I said. But if this is the quickest way to put this to rest, then I accept. I will make it quick.”

  Rafael stirred only the slightest amount, and Adrian intuited the reaction meant that Vivisari had gone off script, and rather more substantially than he’d have preferred. Which annoyed him, because then the teleportation had been planned, as he’d suspected, and Rafael hadn’t informed him in advance. It had been a message targeted toward Adrian as much as anyone else.

  “And also in the interest of saving time,” Vivisari said, red eyes scanning the crowd. “If anyone has similar doubts, let’s settle them now. If you wish to join the Gale of Blades, you may. In fact, I insist, and take no insult.”

  Adrian stared at the legendary figure. Surely she hadn’t said what he thought. Now even the Sorceress was offering her own challenges to the assembled Titled?

  The Gale’s grin returned, and indeed redoubled. The colored constructs of her swords swirled around her, as if signaling her excitement. “You heard her,” she laughed. She tossed a look over her shoulder to Archmage Aeris. “Come, old man, you missed the breach at Meridian. You could use some warming up, eh? We have battles in our future. Limber up those ancient bones.”

  To Adrian’s horror, Aeris placed his hands behind his back and took on a contemplative expression, as if considering the offer. He was tempted; anyone could see that.

  Adrian couldn’t truly be surprised by how quickly this was devolving. He’d learned this lesson a while ago. He’d just somehow thought the Sorceress of all people would be different.

  But no.

  Adventurers were all the same. Each and every one of them.