Sael landed on the outskirts of Orlys just as the morning bells finished ringing.

  The transition from air to ground was smooth enough that a passing merchant didn't even glance up from adjusting his cart's wheel. Sael released [Float] and let gravity remember he existed. His boots touched cobblestone without a sound.

  He stood there for a moment, orienting himself. The outer district where he'd landed was all warehouses and carter's yards, all functional and pragmatic. Further in, the buildings would get taller, more cramped and more expensive. And somewhere in the middle of all that urban chaos was the marketplace.

  It had been less than a day since he'd left, but it was a travel nonetheless, and there was a tradition he was extremely happy to be able to do. A tradition that required him searching for something. Specifically: candied peanuts.

  Sael pulled his hood up and started walking.

  The streets were busy but not crowded. Morning traffic, merchants heading to their stalls, laborers going to whatever job sites required laboring, people who had places to be and no particular interest in dawdling. Sael fell into the flow easily enough, just another traveler in a city that saw thousands of them daily.

  Big cities like Orlys didn't care who you were. That was one of the things he appreciated about it.

  The walk from the outskirts to the marketplace district took about fifteen minutes at a casual pace. Long enough that the warehouses gave way to residential buildings, then shops, then the dense commercial chaos that marked the approach to the market proper.

  The noise reached him before the stalls came into view.

  That layered sound of commerce: voices haggling and greeting and complaining about prices in that universal rhythm that transcended cultures and centuries. Somewhere someone was shouting about fresh fish despite being, as far as Sael could tell, nowhere near water.

  He turned a corner and the marketplace opened up before him.

  Stalls lined both sides of the street, some with proper wooden frames and canvas roofs, others just blankets on the ground with goods spread out in hopeful arrangements. Vegetables. Cloth. Tools. Jewelry that probably wasn't magical but was being sold like it might be.

  Sael navigated through it all with ease. He didn't look at the wares since he wasn't here to browse.

  His eyes scanned the stalls as he walked, searching for—

  Ah, there.

  An older vendor, around seventy, seated on a stool behind a display of candies and preserved fruits. The man had the weathered look of someone who'd spent decades doing the same thing in the same place. Comfortable wrinkles. Hands that moved almost automatically when he scooped candies into paper cones for customers.

  Sael approached.

  The old man looked up, and his expression shifted into warm smile. "Afternoon! What can I get for you?" His voice was rough but friendly.

  Sael nodded and smiled back at him, then stopped in front of the stall and studied the offerings. Colorful hard candies in glass jars. Dried fruit strips. Chocolates wrapped in wax paper. Crystallized ginger.

  Nothing he was looking for.

  "Afternoon. Do you have candied peanuts?" Sael asked.

  The old man's smile didn't falter, but something shifted in his eyes. "Candied peanuts?"

  "Yes. The ones with caramel and salt," Sael continued. "Roasted first, then coated, I believe they are quite popular."

  The vendor's expression went distant. He sat back on his stool, one hand coming up to rub his chin thoughtfully. "Caramel and salt," he repeated slowly. "Haven't thought about those in... my God, has to be sixty years now."

  He focused back on Sael, and there was curiosity there now. More than just the polite interest of a merchant trying to make a sale.

  "You're visibly younger than I am," the old man said. "A fair bit younger, unless my eyes are going worse than I thought. How do you know about those?"

  Sael had anticipated this question. Sort of. He'd known it would come up eventually, just not necessarily from a candy vendor in Orlys. But the answer was simple enough.

  "They were popular when I was younger," Sael said.

  Which was true. Technically. The fact that his youth had been several hundred years ago wasn't relevant to the statement's accuracy.

  The old man's eyes narrowed slightly. He was probably doing math in his head. Age math. The sort that didn't quite add up.

  "Huh," he said finally. "Must've been a different region then. They stopped making them here when I was about ten. Right around when my father took over the stall from my grandfather." He gestured at the display around him. "This has been in the family a long time. Three generations now. Four if you count my grandson, though he's off at university pretending he's too good for candy selling."

  To that, Sael wasn't sure what to say... so he simply nodded, and hoped that would suffice.

  "Kids these days," the old man continued, warming to his topic, "they don't appreciate the classics. Everything's got to be new, flashy. Sour candies that make your face pucker. Chocolates with bizarre fillings. No one wants the simple stuff anymore."

  He picked up one of the jars—pink and white striped hard candies—and held it up to the light like it was evidence in a trial.

  "These? My grandfather made these. Same recipe, same method. But do the young folks care? No. They want something that glows in the dark or changes colors on your tongue." He set the jar down with more force than necessary. "No respect for tradition."

  Sael nodded again. Which was the third time in a row, he figured he should probably say something next time or this would get awkward. But he understood the old man, this was familiar territory. He'd had variations of this conversation across centuries. The specifics changed—the candies, the customers, the complaints—but the underlying sentiment was always the same.

  People got old. Things changed. The next generation wanted different things.

  It would keep happening forever.

  "The candied peanuts were good," Sael finally said. A relevant response, delivered at an appropriate time. He was getting the hang of this small talk thing again.

  The old man's expression softened. "They were, weren't they? My grandfather used to make them fresh every morning. The whole house would smell like caramel and roasted nuts. Drove my grandmother mad because it made her hungry before breakfast."

  He chuckled, the sound rough but genuine.

  "Haven't thought about that in years," he continued. "Funny how words can bring back memories like that. You mention those peanuts and suddenly I'm ten years old again, sneaking them off the cooling rack when grandfather wasn't looking."

  The vendor paused, looking at Sael with renewed interest.

  "Are you perhaps of elven descent? That would explain how you know about them. Elves have those long memories. Live through eras we don't."

  Sael considered the question.

  Was he elven?

  No. Obviously not. He was human. Born human, would die human, assuming death ever got around to collecting him. But the old man was offering an explanation that made sense. A convenient fiction that would answer questions Sael didn't want to field. Besides, if this conversation kept going, he'd run out of things to say soon enough. And pleasant as the old man was, Sael had come for peanuts first, company second.

  "I am," Sael said.

  The lie came out smoother than he expected. Maybe because it wasn't entirely a lie, he'd known plenty of elves, had even been raised by one. He just wasn't one himself.

  The old man nodded, satisfied. "That explains it then. Thought you looked young for knowing about sixty-year-old candy." He paused. "Though I suppose sixty years isn't much to your folk."

  "It goes by quickly," Sael agreed.

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  The vendor was quiet for a moment, still caught up in whatever memories Sael had dredged up. Then something shifted in his expression.

  "You know what?" he said, sitting forward. "I could make some."

  Sael blinked. "What?"

  "The candied peanuts. Caramel and salt, roasted first." The old man was warming to the idea as he spoke, hands gesturing in the air like he was already measuring ingredients. "I remember the recipe. Grandfather made me help often enough that it's burned into my brain. I've got the equipment. Just need peanuts, sugar, butter, salt. Easy enough to source."

  He looked at Sael with something approaching excitement.

  "Might be nice," he continued, "making something from the old days again. Been selling the same stock for years now. This could be... refreshing."

  Sael felt a pang of something uncomfortable. Guilt, maybe. He was thinking of leaving this conversation a few moments ago and now this...

  "You don't have to do that," Sael said. "I didn't mean to create extra work."

  "Extra work?" The vendor waved a hand dismissively. "Boy—well, I suppose you're not a boy, but still—I've been sitting behind this stall selling the same candies to the same customers for forty years. Making something new isn't work. It's entertainment."

  He stood up, joints popping audibly, and started rummaging under the stall for something. "Besides," he continued, voice muffled, "you reminded me of good times. My grandfather, the smell of the house, being young enough that sneaking candy felt like a grand heist."

  He emerged with a small notebook, pages yellowed and worn. "This has all his recipes. Haven't looked at it in years, but I know exactly which page."

  The old man flipped through the notebook. His finger traced down one page, then another, then stopped.

  "Here," he said quietly. "Candied peanuts. Caramel and salt."

  He looked up at Sael.

  "Who's it for?" the old man asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

  Sael hadn't expected that question, but the answer came easily enough.

  "My granddaughter," he said. "Of sorts."

  The vendor's eyebrows rose slightly. "'Of sorts?'"

  "She's not blood related," Sael clarified. "But she grew up eating these. It was... tradition. When I traveled, I'd bring her back something. Usually these."

  The old man's expression softened completely. "That's sweet. Keeping traditions alive. That means something, especially to the young ones."

  "She liked them," Sael said simply.

  The vendor nodded, closing the notebook carefully. "Then I'll make sure they're perfect. Can't have you disappointing your granddaughter with subpar candy."

  "I really don't want to trouble you—"

  "Not trouble," the old man interrupted firmly. "Pleasure. There's a difference." He glanced at the sun, gauging the time. "Come back in about two hours. I'll have a batch ready for you."

  "Two hours?"

  "Give or take. Need to source the peanuts first—there's a vendor three stalls down who'll have good ones—then roasting, then the caramel work." He waved a hand. "Standard process. Nothing complicated."

  Sael opened his mouth to protest again, but the vendor was already moving, that earlier tiredness replaced with something that looked suspiciously like purpose.

  "Two hours," the old man repeated, more to himself than Sael. "Yes, that'll work. Might even make extra to test the recipe. Been too long since I made anything from that book."

  He looked at Sael and smiled.

  "Thank you," he said. "For reminding an old man that some things are worth remembering."

  Sael stood there for a moment, unsure how to respond to that. He'd just wanted candy. He hadn't intended to trigger a nostalgic crisis or inspire a cooking project.

  But the old man seemed happy about it, so maybe it was fine.

  "Thank you," Sael said finally. "For making them. I appreciate it."

  "Two hours," the vendor confirmed. "Don't be late. Candied peanuts are best when they're fresh."

  Sael nodded and stepped back from the stall, letting the crowd flow around him again. The old man was already packing up some of his display, probably making room for equipment, muttering to himself about butter ratios and roasting temperatures.

  Sael pulled his hood lower and started walking towards the castle.

  Two hours was plenty of time to report to the Duke and return for the peanuts. The castle wasn't far, twenty minutes on foot through increasingly upscale districts where the buildings got taller and the people got richer.

  The outer walls of Castle Eryndor came into view as he turned onto the main approach road. Guards stood at the gate, checking papers and waving through nobles and merchants who had business inside.

  Sael did not feel like small talk.

  He stepped into an alley, glanced around to confirm he was alone, and cast [Invisibility] then walked out of the alley and past the guards.

  They didn't look up.

  One of them was complaining about his wife's cooking and the other was simply nodding as Sael walked through the gate.

  Inside the outer courtyard, activity hummed along at the usual castle pace. Servants carried linens. A stable boy led a horse toward the farrier. Two people stood near a fountain having what looked like an important conversation.

  Sael walked past all of them.

  The inner gate had more guards and significantly more magical protections. Wards layered over the entrance like invisible spider webs, designed to detect unauthorized magic use, unauthorized entry, and unauthorized existing in general.

  Sael paused in front of the gate.

  The wards were decent. Whoever had commissioned them knew what they were doing. Detection spells woven into barrier spells woven into alarm spells, all tied together with enough redundancy that disabling one wouldn't collapse the whole system.

  Unfortunately for the wards, Sael had helped design the original versions of these protections centuries ago. He knew exactly where the weak points were because he'd intentionally built them in. Backdoors, in case he ever needed to bypass his own security.

  Forward thinking, that.

  He cast [Dispel] three times in quick succession, targeting the specific nodes that would create a temporary gap without triggering alarms.

  The wards parted like curtains.

  Sael walked through.

  A guard sneezed as he passed. Sael blessed him mentally—seemed polite—and continued into the inner courtyard.

  Sael crossed the courtyard and entered the main keep through a servant's entrance.

  Inside, the corridors were exactly as he remembered them. High ceilings. Tapestries depicting historical battles that the Eryndor family may or may not have actually participated in. Portraits of stern-looking ancestors who all had the same distinctive eyebrows.

  He passed a maid carrying fresh flowers. She walked right through where he was standing, or rather, he stepped aside at the last second, having learned exactly once that such encounters were unpleasant. Mostly for the other person, who would experience him as a wall.

  Sael turned down a familiar corridor and kept walking only to reach the door to what had been Bran's office.

  He stood in front of the door for a moment, still invisible and listening.

  Voices inside. Two people. He could wait for them to finish.

  Or he could not wait.

  Sael cast [Phase] and walked through the door.

  Richter stood near the desk, holding a document. Next to him stood Headmaster Koleen Andor in his gray robes.

  Sael had taken maybe two steps into the room, still invisible, when the headmaster stopped talking mid-sentence.

  His head turned. Not towards Sael exactly, but in his general direction. His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the space where Sael stood.

  Sael went very still.

  What was the old man's level anyway?

  He squinted slightly and cast [Third Eye]. The world shifted. Auras became visible, magical signatures lit up like colored smoke, and floating above Headmaster Andor's head, clear as daylight, was a number.

  Level 1000.

  Ah.

  That explained it.

  Richter was looking at the headmaster now, concern creeping into his expression. "Headmaster? Is something wrong?"

  Koleen didn't answer immediately. His gaze was still fixed on empty air; or what appeared to be empty air to anyone who couldn't sense what he was sensing.

  "It's very faint," the headmaster said slowly, "but for a moment, I felt like someone was using magic just now."

  Richter's hand moved instinctively towards his belt. "Here? In my office?"

  "Perhaps," Koleen said. His eyes tracked across the room again. "Or nearby. It's difficult to pinpoint."

  Sael stood perfectly still.

  Hmm.

  This was a hmm of annoyance. More at himself than the situation. He should have considered this possibility. A level 1000 mage serving as headmaster would obviously have detection capabilities sophisticated enough to sense spellwork through basic invisibility and phasing.

  And now that it had happened, it would be quite awkward to show himself. But he was already here, so...

  Richter was still looking around the room. "Should I call the guards?"

  "Let me check the wards first," Koleen said. He raised one hand and light bloomed around the headmaster's hand, spreading outward in a grid pattern that would reveal any breaches in the office's magical defenses.

  It passed right through where Sael stood.

  The headmaster frowned. "The wards are intact. No unauthorized entry through magical means." He paused. "At least, not through the wards themselves."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means either I'm sensing echoes from somewhere else in the castle, or someone bypassed the wards entirely." Koleen's tone was sharp, irritated. "Which would require either exceptional skill or intimate knowledge of their construction."

  Richter relaxed slightly. "Well, if the wards are intact, then perhaps—"

  "It could be stress," Koleen interrupted, though his tone suggested he didn't believe that for a second. "The past few hours have been... taxing."

  Richter seized on this explanation with visible relief. "Of course. You've barely had time to rest since Aldric fled. Anyone would be on edge after something like that."

  The headmaster let out a long, weary sigh. "Indeed. And now that he is on the run, I'll have to remain headmaster until another successor is elected." He sounded profoundly tired. "Do you know how close I was to leaving? Two days now. Two more days and I would have been free after nearly one hundred years of managing that academy."

  "Surely it hasn't been that bad," Richter offered.

  Koleen turned to look at him with an expression that could have curdled milk. "Your Grace, I have spent a century managing students who think setting things on fire is a valid solution to most problems, faculty who spend more time on academic feuds than actual teaching, and a budget that assumes gold materializes from thin air." He rubbed his temples. "I was this close to retirement. This close. Two days."

  "That is... unfortunate timing," Richter agreed sympathetically.

  "Unfortunate," Koleen repeated flatly. "Yes. That's one word for it."

  They were moving on. The moment was passing.

  Sael stood there, invisible, and tried to decide when to reappear.

  Now would definitely be awkward. They'd just convinced themselves nothing was wrong. Materializing would prove them wrong and make him look like he'd been eavesdropping. Which he had been, technically, but that wasn't the point.

  Maybe wait until they started talking about something else? Then interrupt naturally? But what if they finished their conversation and the headmaster left? Then he'd have to follow Koleen out while still invisible, which would just compound the problem.

  ...Or he could wait until Richter was alone. That would be simpler. Less explaining. But the headmaster might notice the magical signature again when Sael dispelled his invisibility. Then they'd know someone had been here the whole time, and that would be worse.

  Sael overthought it... he overthought it more.

  Richter and Koleen were discussing succession protocols now. Something about voting procedures and how long the process typically took. The headmaster was explaining—with increasing irritation—that historically, elections took between two weeks and three months depending on how many candidates stepped forward and how much they argued about it.

  Sael realized he was still overthinking.

  Just... reappear. Explain. Move on.

  Simple.

  He dropped [Invisibility].

  Reality reasserted itself and light stopped bending around him.

  "Ahem," Sael said.

  Both men turned.

  Richter's eyes went wide. His hand shot towards his sword.

  Headmaster Koleen didn't move. His expression shifted from surprise to understanding to something that looked suspiciously like resignation, followed immediately by annoyance.

  "Well, hello there," Sael offered.

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