19- Listen closely. My magic… is this.

I stand there, still a little breathless from what I just did.

The air around me still hums faintly with the crushing aura I released. The elven counselors and warriors are staring at me—some still trembling, others barely managing to stand after collapsing under the pressure.

But my eyes are locked on her: the Matron.

Sitting on her carved throne, she hasn't flinched. Not a twitch, not a drop of sweat. Nothing.

She's watching me, and I feel a lump rising in my throat.

She resisted. Completely.

This woman gives off a strength I've never seen before.

If she can take my aura without blinking, then the Dragon King… he must be terrifying. Way more than I imagined.

A small voice in my head whispers: If she's afraid of him, what does that say about our mission? But I push the thought away. No time for doubt now.

I released that aura to show them I'm serious—to prove I'm not just some human kid talking nonsense. And it worked... I think.

The whispers in the hall have died down, and even the grumpiest of the counselors—the ones calling me "underling" five minutes ago—look unsure now.

The Matron still watches me, her face unreadable.

I take a deep breath and straighten my back. Alright, Liam. You impressed them. They'll listen now.

I even start to relax a bit, imagining a possible alliance, when she speaks again.

"Human," she says, rising from her throne, each step echoing through the silent chamber, "if your mission is as grave as you claim, then why isn't your superior the one standing before me? I want to see him. Bring him here."

My heart stops. Literally.

I blink, mouth dry, a wave of panic rising inside me like a storm.

No, no, no. Not this.

I did everything to avoid this moment. I spoke, I showed my power, I even told the truth—maybe too much—and now she wants to meet the Magister? Why did I mention there were only two of us? Why didn't I come up with an excuse, anything, to keep things under control?

The Magister... he's powerful, yes. More than me, even. But he's also... complicated.

The kind of person who can ruin everything with a single word or the wrong kind of smile.

If the Matron meets him, if she sees what he's really like, I can kiss this alliance goodbye. The elves will never agree to work with us. And I'll be the one who ruined everything. The mission, the country—everything.

I lower my head for a moment, trying to catch my breath.

The counselors are whispering among themselves, their gazes filled with doubt.

I don't have a plan B.

The Matron isn't joking. Her eyes pierce through me, and I know I can't say no. Not if I want her to take us seriously.

I sigh—a long, heavy breath that echoes in my chest.

No choice.

"Very well, Matron," I say, my voice trembling a little despite myself. "I'll go get him."

I lift my eyes to her, then to the assembly. They're all watching me—curious, tense, maybe a little suspicious. I don't blame them. I'd be suspicious of me too.

I stretch out a hand, my heart pounding in my chest.

Please let this go well, I pray silently.

The air around me begins to shimmer, and a bluish light bursts from my palm. It traces a circle in the space ahead, a portal opening with a low rumble. A cold gust blows through, rustling the leaves of the great tree in the center of the hall.

The elves step back, hands half on their weapons, but I don't look at them. My eyes are locked on the portal.

"I'll go get my superior," I say, more to myself than to them. "But just so you know… he's different."

I glance back one last time at the Matron. She doesn't move, but I swear I see the hint of a smile on her lips.

That does not make me feel better.

And then, I step through the portal, leaving the great elven hall behind.

I pass through with my eyes shut, hoping I'll land anywhere but here.

The smell of dirty socks hits me before I even open them. My stomach twists.

The Magister's room.

Stacks of dust-covered books teeter like card towers ready to collapse. Moldy teacups are scattered about. And in the middle of this chaos, sprawled like a starfish on a bed, snores the illustrious superior the elven Matron demanded to see.

I step closer, dodging a pile of clothes.

The young man's mouth is hanging open, one arm dangling off the edge. His hair is a tangled mess spread across the pillow.

"Magister?" I whisper, knowing full well it's useless.

A clear laugh rings out behind me.

I jump.

To my right, a girl floats on a moonstaff with angel wings.

"Back already, human?" she teases. "Did the elves throw you out? Can't blame them—with your face like a kid who stole candy..."

I cross my arms, annoyed. "Thanks for the support. No, they just want to see... him."

I point at the lump of sheets, which suddenly groans, "Mmmh... five more centuries..."

The girl bursts out laughing. "Forget it! We don't need those pointy-eared snobs."

"We do need this alliance," I sigh. "But if they see him like this..."

The clank of armor echoes. To the left, a second luminous being materializes—a towering man in full plate.

"My master is famously bad at diplomacy," he growls in a deep baritone.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious. You think he doesn't know that?" the girl shoots back.

I sit on a suspiciously soft pile of clothes, head in hands.

"What am I supposed to do..." I mutter. "Without the elves' help, reaching the Dragon King is basically impossible with the time we have. If only the Magister weren't such a..."

"Misunderstood genius?" the girl offers with a wink. "Relax! The Dragon King won't scare him."

"That's exactly the problem!" I snap. "The elves want a serious ally, not a... a..."

"Narcissistic slacker?" suggests the man in armor.

"I was going to say 'mysterious individual,'" I lie.

Suddenly, memories rush back—our first expedition day.

---

The Magister, sprawled on a floating sofa, had looked me over with a smile.

"So… Liam, right? Proud to be my right-hand man?"

I had nodded, stiff as a board. "Yes, Magister. I..."

He yawned, stretching his skinny arms. "Great. Then sit on the floor."

"On... the floor?"

"Yeah. You're too tall. I don't like looking up."

I obeyed, confused. He pulled a candy cane from who-knows-where and started munching on it while eyeing me.

"Alright, the rules—besides what Elder Libel already told you. One: if I snore, don't wake me up. Two: if boring people ask where I am, I'm 'in deep meditation.' Three..."

"In short, don't disturb you while you're sleeping."

His eyes lit up. "Exactly! Also, a good right-hand man anticipates the body's needs. Like… guessing I want tea."

I blinked, caught off guard.

He went on. "Organic, gluten-free, honey-infused. Thanks."

After serving the greenish, swamp-scented tea, I poured myself a cup out of habit.

The Magister, half-lounging, burst out laughing when he saw.

"You're drinking the poison too?" he cackled, eyes crinkling with amusement. "That explains your traumatized-hamster look."

I blushed, the cup trembling in my hand. "I… wanted to understand your tastes. So I can serve you better."

A pause.

Then he put his bare feet on the floor, suddenly serious.

"In that case, little soldier, let's share secrets. You know what my magic is?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Elder Libel just said it was... uh... unusual."

The Magister sighed, twirling his candy cane. "Let's be honest. You think I'm a lazy slob, don't you?"

"Never! Well, not lazy. Just... mysterious."

He blinked, then a mischievous smile spread across his face.

He picked up the cup, sniffed it, and made a dramatic grimace.

"Too much honey. And too hot. You trying to burn my tongue, you monster?"

He laughed again, then snapped his fingers.

"Listen closely. My magic… is this."