Three

The tea had cooled, but the air between them had not. Aiden sat back, unreadable as ever, while Alex's mind ticked like a finely wound artifact on the edge of detonation.

"I have questions," Alex said carefully, keeping his tone respectful but direct.

Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Of course you do. Everyone does. But here's the deal: you get three. No more."

Alex blinked. "Three questions?"

"Yes," Aiden replied, reaching for another biscuit as though he'd just announced something as casual as the weather. "Three. Total. Choose wisely. This isn't a tavern game, and I don't repeat myself."

It wasn't said with malice, just... finality. Like gravity.

Alex leaned back slightly, mentally discarding half a dozen questions that had floated to the surface. He wasn't going to waste one on anything petty. No "why me?" or "how powerful are you really?"

'Only three. Great. It's like a genie, but with more tea and existential pressure.'

He cleared his throat. "My first question, then. About your faction. I want to know what people and resources I'll have access to under your wing. Allies, tools, knowledge—anything I should be aware of."

Aiden smiled faintly. Not warmly, but with something that might have been... approval?

"Ah. You're thinking like someone who plans to stay alive. Good."

He set his teacup down and folded his hands together.

"My faction doesn't have a name. Names attract attention. But it exists. I've cultivated it over decades—sometimes centuries. It is a network. Some are professors, some students. Others are far older, hidden beneath layers of roles. You won't know them all. You don't need to. But they'll know you."

Alex nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

"You'll find support in strange places," Aiden continued. "A scroll passed in a hallway. A book that opens only for you. A gardener who gives you a single sentence at the exact right time. That is what I offer: not dominance, but presence. Influence that doesn't need permission."

He leaned forward slightly. "And if you ever truly need something—truly—it will find you."

Alex sat in silence, the weight of that answer settling in his bones. Not a hierarchy. Not an army. But something older. Stranger.

And powerful.

Two questions left.

He stared at the ripples in his teacup, thoughts coalescing around a quiet truth: nothing in this world—especially something this vast—came without a cost. His next question wasn't one born out of paranoia, but practicality.

"Alright," he said slowly. "Second question. Nothing's free. I understand that. So what's the price? Tasks, missions, favors owed—what's expected of me in exchange for access to this... presence of yours?"

Aiden didn't react immediately. He sipped his tea, gaze drifting toward the ethereal trees surrounding their little sanctuary. For a moment, Alex thought he wouldn't answer.

Then, softly: "It's not silly to ask. Most don't. They just take and wait for the invoice. You're different. That's good."

He set the cup down, fingers steepling lightly.

"There will be tasks," Aiden admitted. "Some subtle. Some not. But nothing arbitrary. No errands to test your loyalty. You'll be called when your skill, your insight—or your presence—becomes the needed ingredient."

He looked at Alex now with a gaze that felt far older than it had any right to be.

"Your end goal is your own. I don't shape that. I just make sure you survive long enough to get there. In return, when the time comes... I'll ask you to help shape something larger. No oaths. Just alignment."

Alex absorbed that, slowly. No forced contracts. No blood-bound allegiance. Just the promise of future involvement. And the freedom to define his path in the meantime.

One question left.

Alex remained still, fingers tracing the rim of his teacup. Then he looked up, steady and unflinching.

"I'll hold the last one—for now."

There was a pause. A subtle ripple in the air.

Even Tollen, who had been pretending to nap with impressive grumpiness, cracked an invisible eyelid. "Huh. Ballsy."

Aiden's expression didn't change much—but something behind his gaze sparked. Curiosity, perhaps. Or something deeper.

"Interesting choice," Aiden murmured. "Most burn through all three before I finish the tea."

"I'd rather ask when it counts," Alex replied. "And when I have the context to make it matter."

"Smart," Aiden said, settling back again. "Dangerous, but smart."

Tollen grunted. "He's got potential. Still probably going to poke the wrong mushroom one day, but potential."

Alex let the moment sit, choosing silence over any further declarations. The final question could wait.

And when it was time, it would be the right one.

Aiden poured a little more tea into his cup, the soft clink of porcelain the only sound for a moment. Then, as if they'd merely been discussing the weather, he said, "Just stay alive, Alex. Dead students make terrible apprentices. They're all silence and rigor mortis—absolutely useless in the field."

Alex gave a faint smirk. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good," Aiden replied. "You'll find that many will want your potential extinguished before it's even fully realized. And others will try to use it like a lamp in their dark little rooms. Your survival isn't just your job—it's your first lesson."

Tollen, now fully awake and aggressively unimpressed, croaked from his spot, "And if you do die, I'm not cleaning it up. The last one left bits in the begonias. Took weeks."

"Duly noted," Alex replied, setting his teacup down gently.

There was a strange comfort in the way Aiden spoke—not protective, but aware. A guiding force that didn't demand control, only understanding. The garden rustled faintly as if agreeing.

Their conversation slowed, no dramatic ending or magical flourish, just the kind of quiet that settles after something important has been said.

The real work, Alex knew, would begin soon.

Aiden gave a final nod—not dismissal, but something gentler. A cue.

Alex stood slowly, offering a small bow of respect, then turned and began retracing his steps through the still-glowing garden. The air still shimmered with otherworldly calm, though now it felt less intimidating and more... expectant. Like the garden knew a seed had just been planted.

Tollen, shuffling behind him for a moment before veering off into some misty shrubbery, muttered, "Well, at least you didn't trip over anything. That's a start."

The door greeted him with the same shimmer as before—soft, scanning, satisfied. It opened without a sound.

Outside, the world of Arcana greeted him with its usual lively chaos, a stark contrast to the meditative stillness of Gardenia. The sky had shifted to a warm afternoon hue, and the ever-busy streets buzzed with enchanted carts, merchants peddling ethereal wares, and gossiping students sprinting in semi-coordinated panic.

Waiting discreetly across the street was his small entourage—two royal guards in subtle, crestless armor, a quiet attendant, and a particularly judgmental-looking hawk familiar that Alex swore squinted at him anytime he was late.

They said nothing. Just stepped back into formation as he approached.

But Alex's mind wasn't on them. His eyes scanned the street.

A passing vendor with violet gloves and a knowing smile. A child sweeping dust runes into perfect spirals far too precise for play. A cloaked figure nodded almost imperceptibly before vanishing into the crowd.

'Are they part of it?' he wondered. 'How many of them walk these streets like ghosts, unseen yet everywhere?'

The city looked the same.

But now, Alex was looking differently.

He wasn't just a student anymore.

He was marked—subtly, quietly—by one of the most powerful forces in Arcana.

And the city, whether it knew it or not, had just felt a ripple—small, quiet, but unmistakable. The kind a stone makes in a perfectly still pond. He hadn't reshaped anything yet. But he had touched the surface.