Sael's first observation of the palace interior as they passed through the inner gates was that it swallowed sound. The courtyard beyond should have echoed with their footsteps, with the sound of armor shifting, with something. Instead, the air felt heavy, almost thick.

  The architecture didn't help. Everything was tall. Columns rose toward vaulted ceilings that disappeared into shadow despite the lanterns placed at regular intervals. The walls were decorated with murals; dragons, mostly, rendered in metallic paints that caught the light and threw it back in fragmented gleams. Gold and silver and copper, all depicting the same subject in different poses. Flying. Fighting. Breathing fire. Sitting on thrones and mountains of treasures.

  Sael found it all rather on the nose, honestly.

  Oris led them deeper. Left turn, right turn, another corridor that looked identical to the previous three.

  The throne room approached. Sael could tell because the corridors were getting even more elaborate, the murals more detailed, the guards more numerous. They passed through an antechamber where two guards stood flanking enormous double doors, each door easily three times Sael's height and covered in more of those metallic dragon reliefs.

  Oris stopped.

  "The throne room is just beyond," he said, his voice quiet in the oppressive silence. "His Majesty is waiting."

  Sael looked at the doors, then he stopped walking. His companions nearly collided with him. Robin actually did stumble slightly, caught off-guard by the sudden halt. Ilsa pulled up short with admirable reflexes. Orion made a small noise of surprise.

  Sael turned to face them.

  All three of them startled, their bodies jerking back slightly as if he'd done something threatening rather than simply rotating a hundred and eighty degrees.

  "Oh," Sael said, blinking at their expressions. "I apologize. I didn't mean to—" He made a vague gesture that was supposed to convey something reassuring but probably just looked awkward. "That is. I should have warned you I was stopping."

  Robin's ears came forward. "It's fine, sir."

  "Right. Yes." Sael cleared his throat. The sound echoed slightly in the antechamber, which seemed unfair given how thoroughly the rest of the palace had been swallowing noise. "Before we proceed, I would like to place a few protection spells on all of you."

  At first there was only silence for some reason, then Orion spoke. "Master... do you anticipate a fight?"

  "Not necessarily." Sael considered how to phrase this. "I have encountered precisely two dragons in my life. I did not get along with either of them. In fact, I killed one personally."

  "The Beast of Heavens," Robin breathed, his voice dropping to something approaching reverence.

  "The Battle of the Scorched Valley," Orion murmured at almost the same time, similar awe coloring his tone.

  Sael felt his expression do something complicated. "Yes. That one." He paused. "Anyway, never two without three."

  The three of them looked at him blankly.

  "Right," Sael said. "That's... it's a high elven saying. Something my mother used to say. It means if something happens twice, it'll likely happen a third time."

  He shifted his weight. "I don't put much stock in superstitions, but I do think there's something to patterns. And the pattern I've noticed with dragons is pride. They have more of it than most races, and it's not just personality, it's actually considered a virtue in their culture. Which makes things difficult if you prefer straightforward conversation over ritualized deference and posturing."

  He paused. "Two dragons, two fights. That's not enough to draw real conclusions from, but I thought it was worth preparing for the possibility of a third. I've been around for four hundred and thirty-six years, and I've rarely gotten along with prideful people you see."

  From behind him, Sael heard something that sounded distinctly like "damn" muttered in a tone of shock.

  He turned.

  Oris—the guard who'd been escorting them—was staring at him with wide eyes.

  "I'm sorry," the guard said quickly. "I didn't mean to—that was inappropriate of me to—"

  "Oh." Sael blinked. "Erm. No, it's quite alright."

  Silence settled over the antechamber. It was the particular flavor of silence that Sael recognized as 'awkward,' where everyone involved was acutely aware that something uncomfortable had occurred and no one was certain how to proceed.

  Sael turned back to his companions, hoping to move past the moment. But... the silence continued, and Sael found himself thinking about what the guard had reacted to. Four hundred and thirty-six years. That's what had prompted the response. His age.

  He'd never really thought about it. Not in those terms. Age was just... something that accumulated. You lived, time passed, you continued living, more time passed. At some point the numbers got large, but they were still just numbers. Markers of duration rather than meaningful indicators of anything significant.

  Except the guard's reaction suggested otherwise. Sael supposed it was good to be reminded occasionally, if only to maintain some perspective on how he might appear to others. The thought carried an odd sort of melancholy he hadn't expected.

  "Master—" Orion started.

  "It's not that old," Robin cut in, his voice a bit too loud. "Four hundred years. That's... that's perfectly reasonable for someone like you. You've got centuries ahead of you still."

  "Exactly," Ilsa added quickly. "And you look great for it. Very... spry."

  Sael stared at them.

  Orion was nodding, apparently committed to a course of action and would see it through despite mounting evidence that retreat might be wiser. "The energy of someone a quarter your age, truly."

  "I can literally not tell you're over four hundred," Robin offered.

  "Very youthful," Ilsa agreed.

  "Hmm."

  This hmm was... complicated.

  How strange. They were trying to comfort him. All three of them. Even Robin, who so far maintained careful emotional distance, was participating in this bizarre attempt at reassurance. They thought he was hurt by the guard's reaction. That the reminder of his age had wounded him somehow.

  Did I look that hurt?

  "I..." Sael stopped. Started again. "I appreciate the sentiment. Truly. But I assure you, I'm not—" He gestured vaguely. "The guard's response was simply unexpected. I'm not distressed by acknowledgment of how many years I've been alive."

  The three of them exchanged glances.

  "Of course not, Master," Orion said.

  Sael decided that pursuing this line of conversation would only make things worse.

  "The spells," he said firmly. "I would like to cast protective spells on all of you before we enter the throne room. That was the point I was attempting to make before we became sidetracked by discussions of my age and apparent emotional state."

  "Right," Robin said. "Yes. Spells. What kind of protection are we talking about?"

  Finally. A return to practical matters.

  Rather than answer, Sael simply raised his hand.

  The first spell came easily. "[Mantle of Quenched Flame]."

  The air around Robin shimmered, and for a moment his form was outlined in a faint crimson light that seemed to sink into his skin, his clothes, his very being. The light faded after a few seconds, leaving no visible trace, but Sael could sense the spell settling into place. Fire protection. Even dragonfire, should it come to that.

  Robin's eyes went wide. "I can feel it," he said quietly. "Like... like a second skin."

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  "[Aegis Absolute]."

  This spell was more dramatic. A geometric pattern of light traced itself around Robin's body—hexagonal segments that interlocked and overlapped, forming a translucent barrier that hung in the air perhaps an inch from his skin. The shield pulsed once, twice, then the light dimmed to near-invisibility. It was still there, Sael knew. A layered barrier that would absorb kinetic force, magical attacks, anything that tried to harm its bearer.

  Robin raised his hand slowly, watching the faint shimmer move with him.

  "[Breath of the Unchoking Lung]."

  The third spell was subtler. A soft blue-white glow emanated from Robin's chest, spreading outward to encompass his head before fading entirely. The young fox took an experimental breath, his ears flicking forward in surprise.

  "What does that one do?" he asked.

  "Protects against superheated air, toxic smoke, sulfuric fumes, vacuum shock." Sael moved on to Ilsa without waiting for a response. "[Mantle of Quenched Flame]. [Aegis Absolute]. [Breath of the Unchoking Lung]."

  The spells cascaded over her in sequence. Crimson, then geometric light, then blue-white. Ilsa stood very still, her expression cycling through surprise, wonder, and something approaching discomfort as the magic settled into her.

  "This is..." she started, then stopped. "I've never felt anything like this."

  "People forget," Sael said, moving to Orion, "that dragons kill more mages by asphyxiation than fire. The flame is dramatic, certainly, but it's the displacement of breathable air, the toxic fumes, the heat that makes your lungs blister from the inside, those are what actually end lives."

  Robin's ears flattened against his head. Ilsa had gone very still, her face pale. Orion swallowed hard, his eyes widening.

  Sael paused, looking at them.

  "Hmm."

  This one was for realization. He'd frightened them.

  "I should clarify," he said quickly. "This is... I'm being excessively cautious. Probably to an absurd degree, honestly. This is more about putting my own mind at ease for bringing you here than any realistic assessment of danger." He gestured vaguely at the doors. "We're guests of honor, apparently. That's not typically how violent encounters begin."

  He turned to Oris, who was still staring at him with that wide-eyed expression.

  "That is correct, isn't it?" Sael asked. "We were qualified as guests of honor?"

  "Oh!" Oris blinked rapidly. "Yes! Yes, sir, that is how you were qualified. Honored guests of His Majesty. Absolutely."

  "There, you see?" Sael turned back to his companions. "Honored guests. I'm simply... being thorough."

  He cast the three spells on Orion, watching the familiar light show play out. His apprentice stood transfixed as the magic settled into him.

  All three of them were glowing now, though the light was dimming with each passing second. The spells were integrating, becoming part of them rather than something visibly separate. In another minute or so, they would look perfectly normal to anyone who couldn't sense magic.

  Good. That should do it.

  He turned sharply.

  Oris jerked back, his hand actually moving toward his weapon before he caught himself. Hmm, strange.

  "My apologies," Sael said. "Please, lead the way."

  The guard stared at him for a moment. "Of course, my lord," he said faintly.

  My lord? Sael thought, wanting to ask the young man about the sudden change in behavior, but he had already turned.

  They were still standing at the doors but Oris shifted his weight, glancing between the massive entrance and Sael's group.

  "Is there a problem?" Sael asked.

  "Well," Oris said slowly. "Normally—during the day, I mean—these doors are open. His Majesty holds court, receives petitioners, that sort of thing. But this is..." He paused. "This is the first time I've been part of an escort after sundown. We don't typically receive guests once the sun goes down."

  "I see."

  "So I'm not entirely certain what the proper protocol is," Oris continued. "Do I announce you? Do I just... open the doors? I honestly don't know."

  Sael considered this. "Perhaps knock?"

  Oris blinked. "Oh." He looked at the doors as if this possibility had genuinely not occurred to him. "Right. Yes. That would make sense."

  The guard stepped forward, raising his fist toward the elaborately carved surface.

  The doors began to open.

  Slowly and Ponderously, each door must have weighed several tons, but they swung inward with barely a whisper of sound. Sael felt the magic immediately. From behind him came a sound. A gulp, audible even in the heavy silence.

  Sael turned.

  Orion stood frozen, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the widening gap between the doors.

  "It will be alright," Sael said quietly.

  His apprentice's gaze snapped to him. Orion nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn't ease.

  The doors finished their arc, revealing what lay beyond.

  Sael stepped forward into the light.

  The throne room was immense.

  That was his first coherent thought. The space had been designed to accommodate something far larger than humans, and the architecture reflected this in every proportion. The ceiling vaulted upward into darkness that the numerous light sources—magical globes suspended at regular intervals—couldn't quite penetrate. Columns rose like tree trunks, thick enough that three men linking arms couldn't have circled them. The floor was polished stone that reflected the light in scattered patterns, and murals covered every vertical surface. More dragons. Always dragons.

  But the real dragon commanded Sael's attention.

  The creature rested atop a pile of gold. Not a throne. A hoard, or at least a representation of one: coins and jewelry and artifacts arranged in a gleaming mound at the far end of the hall.

  The dragon himself was magnificent. His scales were predominantly white, like polished marble, but red lines traced patterns across his body in geometric designs. The effect was striking. His eyes were gold, and they were fixed on Sael.

  They had been, Sael realized, from the moment the doors began to open.

  Movement around the room registered peripherally. Servants moved between tables that lined the walls. A feast was being prepared or perhaps already in progress. Some servants carried covered dishes in coordinated teams, while other plates simply floated through the air, guided by magic, and settled themselves onto the tables gently.

  There were quite a few people present. Sael's gaze swept across them, cataloging details automatically. Most appeared to be courtiers or officials. One caught his attention more than the others—an elf, standing near one of the tables, whose face sparked a sense of familiarity that Sael couldn't quite place. Had they met? Where?

  The thought dissolved as his attention returned to the dragon.

  Sael had encountered very few dragons in his long life. They were rare. Magnificent. Deeply flawed in certain predictable ways, but still worthy of a degree of admiration that he reserved for very little else in the world. They were, in many respects, nature's masterwork, assuming one didn't count the inherent arrogance that seemed built into their psychology as a flaw in the design.

  The dragon's head moved, a slow, deliberate tracking of Sael's approach. The guard dropped smoothly to one knee, his armor clinking softly.

  "Your Majesty, I am Oris, son of Malric, Guard of the administrative offices," he announced, his voice carrying in the vast space. "I bring the guests requested by the High Chancellor, by order of His Majesty."

  Sael, Robin, Ilsa, and Orion came to a halt just behind him.

  The dragon said nothing to Oris. His golden eyes remained on Sael.

  Normally, this would have bothered him. The pointed ignoring of the guard who'd just formally announced himself felt rude. But Sael found himself... not bothered. Not this time. He was too focused on the dragon itself. The intelligence visible in those golden eyes, and most importantly, the intent.

  "Hello there," Sael said.

  The dragon's gaze intensified somehow, though he hadn't moved.

  "It has been a while," the dragon said, his voice deep and resonant, "since I experienced a presence like this."

  Around them, the activity in the room had slowed. Servants paused in their tasks. The courtiers and administrators turned toward the exchange, their conversations dying.

  The dragon's head tilted slightly, a movement that suggested curiosity.

  "Tell me," he said. "Are you a dragon?"

  Every eye in the room turned to Sael. Including Oris, who was still kneeling.

  Sael felt heat creep up the back of his neck.

  "No," he said. "I am not."

  "Oh?"

  The dragon's tone carried a sense of curiosity, but something else threaded through it.

  "What manner of creature are you, then," the dragon continued, "for my artifact to have malfunctioned the moment you entered my city?"

  Sael followed the dragon's gaze to a crystalline structure mounted on one of the columns. The object pulsed with a faint internal light, and even from this distance, he could see the fracture patterns spreading through its surface like a spiderweb.

  A Korvash Sentinel. Sael hadn't seen one in centuries. The ancient detection systems measured the density and structure of a being's mana core across significant distances, designed primarily to identify potential threats before they reached a stronghold's gates. The mages of old had favoured them during the Age of Ash, but they'd fallen out of use after said era. Too many false readings. Maintenance requirements that bordered on absurd. The crystals could at times be finicky, temperamental things.

  This one had apparently shattered.

  "Ah," Sael said.

  "Do not mistake this for a defect," the dragon said, watching him with those unblinking golden eyes. "I have one hundred mages maintaining this particular Sentinel on a daily basis. It was functioning perfectly until the moment you entered my domain." He paused. "So I find myself asking: why would a foreign merchant association send a being powerful enough to shatter a Korvash Sentinel? And more importantly, how would they even have access to such a being in the first place?"

  The dragon's tail shifted slightly against the gold beneath him.

  "What are your true intentions here? And who, truly, are you?"

  Sael activated [Third Eye].

  The number that materialized above the dragon's head was impressive: Level 2309. Not quite the absolute peak a dragon could reach, but close enough that the distinction hardly mattered.

  "I am Sael of Hel," he said, meeting those golden eyes directly.

  The murmurs around the room started immediately. Whispers spreading like ripples across water. Servants froze mid-step. The elf near the far table went completely still.

  "Are you truly? The Archmage of the Age of Ash?"

  "Yes," Sael said. "That would be me."

  He deliberately avoided saying 'Sael the Great.' The title felt presumptuous in this context, particularly when introducing himself to a dragon who clearly didn't suffer fools.

  The dragon laughed.

  The sound rolled through the throne room in a rich, resonant and entirely unexpected manner. Sael didn't feel it was mockery, exactly, but it wasn't friendly either.

  "I did not expect this at all," the dragon said, his amusement fading into something cooler. "I prepared a feast, expecting to encounter one of my kind based on the readings. Instead, I find myself hosting an usurper."

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

  Sael felt the shift in atmosphere immediately. The servants who had been moving about now stood motionless. Oris, still kneeling, had gone rigid. Behind Sael, he heard Robin's breathing change, slower and more controlled.

  "Sael the Great is dead," the dragon said flatly as he rose from his hoard. The movement was fluid despite his size, scales sliding over gold with a whisper that should have been soft but somehow carried through the entire hall. He was enormous when standing fully upright, and the light from the magical globes cast his shadow across half the throne room.

  "So I will ask you again." The dragon's voice had lost all traces of amusement. "And I suggest you answer truthfully this time, before the Merchant Association finds itself regretting the joke they thought to play on me."

  Those golden eyes fixed on Sael with an intensity that could have melted steel.

  "Who. Are. You?"

  Hmm.

  Sael was abruptly, intensely grateful that he'd thought to shield the children.

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