13 – Proposal

Guard Captain Soren rubbed his forehead as he received the brief from the City Guard’s highest-level magical consultant. At low mithril, and Institute-educated, Marcus was no neophyte mage, and indeed had a prestigious career ahead of him. Soren could trust what he said. Which was exactly the problem.

“It was mostly illusory,” the boy was saying. “If not, it would have shattered every glass pane in the city and deafened anyone below silver rank.”

And wasn’t that a sobering statement? Bronze ranks were hardly the most durable sort, but they were well above the typical civilian in constitution. A spell that could shatter the eardrums of an entire city, including the bulk of their bronze rankers, was terrifying to consider even in the abstract.

“What tier was it?”

“I could only speculate.”

“Do so.”

The boy scratched the stubble on his chin as he debated internally. “Eleventh? Twelfth?” he finally settled on.

Soren sat back in his chair, stunned. Level 1000 marked the defining line for Titled. Eleventh tier magic put the spellcaster above that by a hundred levels. Twelfth, by two hundred. Essentially a full ranking tier.

“At least,” Marcus added. “It might be higher. Maybe much higher. I simply can’t make an accurate analysis. That level of spell is way beyond me. I just know it’s something I’ve never seen before. Even my instructors couldn’t have managed it, barring perhaps one of the Archmages.”

Somehow, he didn’t think Marcus had underestimated the spell. He hadn’t seen it himself, locked up in his office, but he’d heard it. Heavens above, he’d heard it. “So we have an unknown Titled in the city. A mage of at least Institute Archmage quality.”

Titled. It wasn’t a strictly accurate descriptor, since Titled were recognized by a Kingdom—or by the elves, demons, or dwarves—but the term had become shorthand for ‘absurdly powerful individual’.

“Power,” Marcus corrected. “The power of an archmage. Not necessarily quality.”

Soren didn’t comment on the pedantry. “Do we need to be concerned?”

“I don’t believe so. The illusory aspect was intentional. He was…considerate. He wanted to impress but not cause damage. To add to the festival. A rogue element, but a friendly one, or at least one without malicious intent.”

He?

Soren realized only then that he had a suspect in mind. And it wasn’t a ‘he’. An image of bored red eyes and a slight, condescending frown filled his thoughts.

Was it coincidence? Throwing around and detaining mithril ranks was impressive, but Prismarche had at least six orichalcum-ranks and a Titled inside its borders. The feat didn’t qualify as something that woman alone was capable of. She had just been in the right place at the right time to mete out justice.

That said, only one of those individuals was a mage, and he didn’t fit the description.

Soren rubbed his temples. “At least the city got a show out of it,” he said sardonically. “If we find—him,” he corrected at the last second, “we ought to thank him.”

“I’m not sure we should approach that person at all,” Marcus said bluntly. “Malicious intent or not, Titled are dangerous. Especially one who hasn’t announced himself.”

Soren grunted. He certainly wouldn’t offer disagreement there.

Saffra stared at the demon in the alleyway, staff raised to the sky, the aftermath of her spell still booming through the city.

It had been coincidence she’d spotted the long, sharp ears of the woman who’d helped her earlier—who she owed her life to. Saffra had been wandering the crowds, feeling satisfied from her successful mission, when Vivi’s distinctive figure had pulled her gaze. She’d felt guilty stalking her around, but her curiosity had been piqued. Just who was this woman?

She’d clearly had a few drinks. It was comically easy to follow her without being noticed. Why did the lack of alertness make her feel so much more comfortable? Probably because someone who could let their guard down wasn’t that bad of a person. It wasn’t a trait purely reserved for scum to always be looking over one’s shoulder, but it did trend that way.

So she’d prowled after the demon mage.

Then…this had happened.

An explosion of branching, prismatic fire that engulfed the sky as far as the eye could see. Whose thunder grabbed her by the arms and shook her like a ragdoll. It was cacophonous. Cataclysmic. She would have sworn that the heavens themselves had descended to demonstrate their might and wonder in awesome pageantry.

And the small demon mage in front of her had been the source.

Saffra’s mistake was instinctively pulling together a defensive spell. She hadn’t been able to help herself, not with the world ending right above her. She was paranoid and quick to throw up defensive magic. Could she be blamed? Those instincts kept her alive.

Sensing magic, the demon mage’s attention had instantly snapped toward her, and thus caught her at the mouth of the alleyway. It all happened in a handful of seconds, too fast to retreat around the corner.

They held each other’s gazes for a moment.

Saffra might have bolted in some other circumstance. Run for her life. But despite how terrifying this woman was, something her instincts recognized, she herself had never been scared. Despite how she could slap mithril-ranks around like low-bronze apprentices, this woman wasn’t dangerous. Not in the way that mattered. Saffra—the higher-order, more logical part of her brain, the part that made her her—had never feared Vivi.

So she stepped out around the alleyway’s corner, put one hand on her hip and pointed with the other, and announced:

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“I want you to teach me. I’m your apprentice now.”

The words caught Saffra herself by surprise as much as they did the demon mage.

They both took a moment to be stunned.

Saffra’s cheeks heated up, but she was in bluster mode now.

She took a stab in the dark, phrased in an ambiguous enough manner she could deflect if needed. “I know about Daisy and her cat, by the way.”

Vivi’s eyes widened, and Saffra wondered if that meant what she thought it did. Though she didn’t know what she thought herself. Had Vivi been involved, somehow, with Monocle’s rescue? She didn’t see how that could be possible.

She had only said the words to throw the woman off, to be honest.