78

  The wooden door of Bona’s treehouse creaked open.

  Sunlight spilled inward as Durante stepped outside, followed closely by Finn, Maxi, Katherine, Lir, Soraya, and the lynx, whose ears twitched as soon as it felt the foreign air shift.

  Down the hill, the circular platform still glowed faintly.

  And figures were walking toward them.

  The air changed.

  Wind pressed lower against the grass.

  Even the branches of the treehouse seemed to stiffen, as if standing straighter.

  The first to arrive was a man whose presence felt like iron wrapped in velvet.

  A hawk-banner bearer stepped forward, cloth snapping sharply in the wind.

  A voice rang out:

  “King Revion Dorsen of Vergara!”

  King Revion walked ahead of his men, his steps measured, posture rigid as a steel spine. Two fully-armored knights followed behind him like shadows.

  And then—

  A girl.

  She wore a sculpted breastplate—white metal shaped to her form, stark against black layered shoulders. Her tight black pants tucked cleanly into her boots, silver armbands catching the light. Her hair was shoulder-length, black, neat, with blunt bangs sitting just above sharp eyes.

  Small sword-shaped earrings glinted beside her jaw.

  She didn’t smile.

  She didn’t blink warmly either.

  She looked like night cut into shape.

  Revion extended his hand to Durante.

  Firm.

  Respectful.

  Then bowed and kissed the hands of Bona, Lir, and Soraya.

  “This is my daughter,” he announced calmly. “Ana Dorsen.”

  Maxi and Finn froze.

  Actually froze.

  Not metaphorically.

  Literally.

  Their souls left their bodies for half a second.

  Katherine noticed.

  And drove an elbow straight into Finn’s ribs.

  Finn coughed.

  The second group descended.

  King Orson Sundervine of Dore stepped forward, calm and grounded like a man grown from earth itself.

  Two knights beside him.

  And then—

  A girl in a loose tunic and tight pants, boots tucked clean, rapier resting against her leather belt.

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  A familiar face.

  Maxi leaned toward Finn instantly.

  “Bro… that’s her. That’s the girl. The candle girl.”

  Lir turned her head slowly.

  Maxi stopped breathing.

  Orson shook Durante’s hand and kissed the hands of the women.

  He brushed Finn and Maxi’s hair gently like they were nephews.

  “This is my daughter,” he said. “Aelya Sundervine.”

  Aelya gazed into the field deliberately—anywhere but Maxi.

  She had known he was there.

  She refused to look.

  That was worse.

  Then—

  The air shimmered.

  The birds actually lifted from the nearby branches.

  A ripple of magic touched everything.

  Archmage Beren arrived like a walking pressure wave.

  No robe now—tunic and vest, more battle-ready than ceremonial.

  His blue eyes found Durante.

  “Finally,” Beren said, smiling. “The legend breathes.”

  Handshake.

  Firm.

  Then Beren’s eyes slid to Maxi.

  Lingering.

  Calculating.

  Maxi turned his head slowly.

  “Don’t look at him,” he whispered to Finn.

  “I feel like he can hear that,” Finn whispered back.

  Behind Beren stood a youth of pure elven beauty.

  Prince Darael Lumirien of Glory.

  Refined.

  Gentle.

  Noble.

  He kissed the hands of Bona, Lir, Soraya, and—hesitated—

  Katherine.

  She glanced at Finn.

  Finn nodded slightly.

  She let him.

  Then—

  The wind changed completely.

  The grass bowed without being touched.

  The treehouse swayed, despite no heavy gust.

  Light filtered brighter.

  A presence descended the hill like sunlight walking.

  King Vergilius Boyy of Mistral.

  The Angel Representative.

  Behind him walked two young knights in silver armor.

  One with yellow hair.

  One with red.

  Cross emblems on their chests.

  Scarves fluttering at their necks.

  They looked like living swords.

  Vergilius stepped up to Durante and gripped his hand.

  And did not let go.

  The air buckled.

  Pressure rolled outward.

  The wind trembled.

  Durante matched him.

  Grip tightening.

  Eyes narrowing.

  Both grinning like boys about to break something.

  Bona smacked both of them on the head.

  They released each other instantly.

  Dead silence.

  Then laughter.

  “That was rude,” Vergilius said calmly.

  “You started it,” Durante replied.

  Vergilius gestured behind him.

  “Gareth.” The yellow-haired knight bowed.

  “And Tristan.” The red-haired one followed.

  Inside the treehouse, space broke.

  There was no more room for breathing.

  Kings sat with knees awkwardly bent.

  Wood creaked.

  Ceiling felt too close.

  Lynx’s tail occasionally slapped into table legs like an accidental weapon.

  Only the kings and daughters entered.

  The rest remained outside.

  They were led upstairs into Bona’s tiny library.

  Bookshelves kissed shoulders.

  Dust danced in lantern light.

  A circular table waited.

  Durante placed the square bottle of alcohol onto it.

  Beside it, a single dusty glass.

  He filled it.

  Drank it.

  Refilled it.

  Passed it to Vergilius.

  Vergilius drank without pause.

  It moved.

  From hand to hand.

  From mouth to mouth.

  By the second bottle, everyone was warm-faced and loose.

  Bona placed a bowl of chichi—fried boar skin—on the table.

  Crunching echoed.

  Durante spoke:

  “So… this house is too small. Speak.”

  Beren leaned sideways.

  Aimed wrong.

  “We need your help—hic—splitting the Phoenix into three.”

  Durante leaned forward.

  “Why should I?”

  Orson wiped his eyes.

  “Because our people will die.”

  Revion nodded slowly.

  “This land will break if the Phoenix cannot be held.”

  Vergilius leaned closer.

  “For the land… for Irin…”

  Then softer.

  “…Please. For Elysia.”

  The air snapped.

  Durante rose halfway.

  Hand slammed onto Vergilius’s shoulder.

  Hard.

  “Now you drag her into this?”

  Bona opened the door.

  “Sit,” she said.

  The room shrank.

  Durante exhaled.

  Then said:

  “Fine.”

  Silence.

  “All of you listen.”

  “First…” Durante said. “I want Queen Elara’s journal.”

  Beren’s face collapsed.

  Kings stared.

  “That is impossible,” someone breathed.

  “Second — I want a Vergaran smith.”

  Revion nodded without hesitation.

  “You’ll get my best.”

  “Third — free pass through all of Irin.”

  Orson nodded.

  “That’s nothing.”

  “Last.”

  Durante looked straight at Vergilius.

  “Holy water… blessed by the Angel.”

  Vergilius stood instantly.

  Walked out.

  Door slammed.

  The rest stood.

  Left.

  One by one.

  Downstairs.

  The young ones.

  Chaos.

  Maxi whispering again.

  Aelya stepped up.

  “If you have something to say,” she said loudly, “say it.”

  Room turned.

  “I’m not saying anything!”

  Aelya moved closer.

  Looked at Finn.

  Face to face.

  “So this is your brother?”

  She tilted her head.

  “He looks better than you.”

  “Shut up,” Maxi snapped.

  Ana walked between them.

  Silent.

  Watchful.

  She drifted to Soraya.

  Listening.

  Finn’s eyes absolutely betrayed him.

  Ana noticed nothing.

  The knights from Mistral tried very hard to look casual near Katherine.

  Then Vergilius descended.

  “Come.”

  They followed.

  Light swirled at the circular platform.

  One by one—

  They vanished.

  The wind fell.

  The room sighed.

  And the treehouse stood still again.