Raizō was sitting upright without help for the first time that morning. The movement still pulled at the burn across his side, but the pain had dulled into something manageable. That was enough. The room was quiet except for the faint sound of the city outside the window. Carts rolled across stone streets. Vendors called out to early customers. Somewhere nearby someone was hammering metal. Aseran had already begun to move on. Inside the room, the group was still deciding what came next. Taren stood by the window, arms folded as he watched the street below.

  “If we stay here too long,” he said, “someone will come looking.”

  Seris leaned back in her chair, her rapier resting against the side of the table.

  “They will,” she said. “The church collapse isn’t something they’ll ignore forever.”

  Rylan stretched lazily against the wall.

  “Well,” he said, “where exactly are we supposed to go?”

  Shizume sat quietly near the far wall. She hadn’t spoken yet, but her attention hadn’t left the conversation. Seris answered first.

  “Westgate.”

  Taren glanced at her.

  “You mentioned that before.”

  Seris nodded.

  “It’s the trade capital of Caldris. Busy and diverse. Travelers come and go constantly.”

  “Meaning it’s easier to disappear,” Taren said.

  “Exactly.”

  Rylan tilted his head.

  “An entire continent centered around merchants. Go figure.”

  Raizō exhaled slowly.

  “Then we go by sea.”

  Shizume spoke quietly.

  “That would be faster.”

  Seris nodded.

  “Port Veshra. From there we sail west.”

  “And once we reach Westgate,” Rylan said, “we vanish into Caldris.”

  Raizō didn’t respond but no one disagreed. A moment later, a knock came at the door. Raizō heard the door open behind them. Mara Voss stepped into the room and closed it quietly before anyone else could react. She didn’t rush. Her eyes moved across the room, studying each of them before settling on Raizō.

  “You’ve been busy,” she said.

  No one answered immediately. The weight of everything that had happened still hung in the room. Mara seemed to notice.

  “That’s understandable,” she continued calmly. “Encounters with magic rarely leave people comfortable.”

  Seris frowned slightly.

  “You make it sound like you’ve seen it before.”

  Mara’s expression didn’t change.

  “I haven’t,” she said. “But people far above my position have studied it for generations.”

  She folded her arms loosely.

  “And they all agree on the same thing.”

  Her voice lowered slightly.

  “Magic is not something you experiment with. For generations,” Mara continued, “the leaders of Aseran have kept records on one subject more carefully than any other.”

  Her gaze moved slowly between them.

  “Magic.”

  No one spoke.

  “You’ve read the files,” she continued. “The summonings. The power behind them. The miracles the church claims to perform.”

  Her fingers tapped lightly against the table.

  “But stories are all most people ever hear.”

  She glanced briefly toward the window before looking back at them.

  “Aseran doesn’t possess magic. We never have. But we’ve spent centuries watching what happens when others do.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Taren frowned slightly.

  “And what exactly happens?”

  Mara didn’t answer immediately.

  “People die,” she said calmly.

  The words landed with certainty.

  “You all understand Kaijin quite a bit,” she continued. “It grows with the person using it. Discipline matters. Instinct matters. When someone’s conviction deepens, their Kaijin evolves with it. If you question it, it fluctuates.”

  She looked directly at Raizō.

  “Magic doesn’t work like that.”

  Seris folded her arms.

  “Then how does it work?”

  Mara shook her head.

  “That’s the problem.”

  “No one outside Eryndor truly understands it.”

  Her voice remained steady.

  “What we do understand comes from the aftermath.”

  Silence stretched across the room.

  “Entire units erased in seconds,” Mara said. “Veteran fighters who survived wars… gone before they realized what they were even up against.”

  Rylan shifted slightly against the wall.

  “That sounds exaggerated.”

  Mara’s eyes moved to him.

  “It isn’t.”

  Her gaze hardened.

  “The reports all say the same thing.”

  She tapped the table once.

  “The moment someone treated magic like something they could predict… they were already dead.”

  The room grew still. Raizō said nothing, but the memory rose anyway. The church corridor, the heat, stone cracking beneath Cael’s blade, the way the air itself had changed when the man moved. He remembered the feeling of it pressing against his lungs. The sense that the space around them wasn’t behaving the way it should. Seris’ voice broke the silence.

  “The man we fought…”

  “Yes,” Mara said.

  “That was magic.”

  Raizō’s jaw tightened slightly. Cael had treated all of it as if the battle had been nothing more than observation. Mara continued.

  “And from everything we know… that man was still learning.”

  The room went completely quiet. Taren slowly exhaled.

  “You’re telling us the worst thing we’ve seen so far might not even be the worst of it.”

  Mara met his gaze.

  “I’m telling you,” she said evenly, “that it almost certainly isn’t. Don’t ever underestimate it.”

  No one spoke. The weight of that statement settled over the room like stone. Even Rylan didn’t have anything to say. Mara stepped away from the table.

  “Westgate will give you distance,” she said. “You should be safe for a while.”

  She moved toward the door.

  “I won’t be able to see you out,” she added. “There are matters here that require my attention.”

  Her hand rested briefly on the door handle.

  “Safe travels.”

  Then she left. The door closed quietly behind her. No one moved for several seconds. Rylan sighed.

  “Well,” he muttered, “that was encouraging.”

  Raizō stared at the table, the memory of that burning corridor still lingering in his mind. If Cael had truly been learning…Then whatever waited ahead would be something else entirely. Across the room, the others were thinking the same thing. And none of them had anything to say about it. Taren pushed away from the wall.

  “Let’s get moving.”

  —

  They left Aseran without ceremony. The city was already alive again. Vendors shouted across crowded streets. Merchants hauled crates toward waiting carts. Children ran through the market squares as if nothing unusual had happened days earlier. Rylan walked backward for a moment, looking around.

  “You ever notice how fast cities forget things?” he said.

  Taren groaned.

  “Do you ever stop talking?”

  “Nope.”

  Seris snorted quietly. Shizume remained silent, watching the movement of the crowd around them. Raizō kept his eyes forward. They were only a few streets from the harbor when the mood of the road shifted. People stepped aside. A clear path opened through the street. Taren noticed first.

  “That’s strange.”

  Seris followed his gaze, then a carriage appeared. Black lacquered wood rolled slowly down the road. Crimson curtains covered every window, thick enough that nothing inside could be seen. Mounted knights surrounded it. The symbol of Eryndor engraved across their breastplates. Their formation never broke. Rylan slowed slightly as they approached.

  “Well,” he muttered under his breath, “that’s interesting.”

  Taren frowned.

  “Don’t.”

  Rylan ignored him.

  He drifted a few steps closer to the carriage, curiosity written all over his face.

  “Relax,” he said casually. “I’m not stealing it.”

  His hand lifted slightly, as if he might peek through the carriage window. The sword appeared so fast it didn’t even look like it had been drawn. Cold steel stopped inches from Rylan’s throat. The knight holding it hadn’t moved from his position beside the carriage. His voice was calm.

  “Stop. You don’t approach the carriage.”

  The air around them felt suddenly tight. Rylan slowly raised both hands.

  “Alright,” he said easily. “Message received.”

  The sword didn’t move.

  “You don’t look inside,” the knight continued.

  Rylan leaned back slightly.

  “Wasn’t planning to.”

  The knight studied him for another long moment before lowering the blade. But the warning was clear. Whatever or whoever was inside that carriage… Was not meant to be seen. He stepped backward. The sword followed until he was well clear. Only then did it lower. The carriage never slowed. The crimson curtains never moved. The procession passed them completely and continued down the road. The sound of hooves slowly faded. Rylan exhaled.

  “Well,” he muttered. “That was excessive.”

  Taren stared at him.

  “You almost got your head cut off.”

  “Worth a try.”

  Seris crossed her arms.

  “That wasn’t normal.”

  Shizume kept watching the road long after the carriage disappeared.

  “They would have killed you,” she said quietly.

  Rylan shrugged.

  “Probably.”

  Raizō started walking again.

  “We’re leaving.”

  The harbor of Veshra opened wide before them. Salt drifted through the air with the steady breeze coming off the sea. Ships rocked gently against their moorings as waves rolled in from the open water. Gulls circled overhead, their sharp cries cutting through the sound of ropes creaking and sailors shouting across the docks.

  The wind felt clean compared to the crowded streets of Aseran. Raizō stood still for a moment, letting the breeze brush against his face.

  It had been a long time since the air felt this open.

  “Not bad,” Rylan said, glancing out across the water.

  Taren nodded slowly.

  “Still too hot for my taste.”

  Seris agreed quietly.

  “This is one of the cooler days.”

  People on the docks were laughing. Talking. Moving with a lightness Raizō hadn’t seen in a long time. Whatever problems this world had… For the moment, this place seemed untouched by them. Rylan looked out across the water.

  “Well,” he said. “Caldris.”

  Taren stepped onto the gangplank.

  “Let’s hope it’s quieter than the last place.”

  Raizō paused briefly at the edge of the dock, looking back toward the distant city one last time. Aseran stood calm behind them, then he turned and stepped onto the ship. The ropes were released. Slowly, Port Veshra began to drift away. Ahead of them, the sea opened wide. And somewhere beyond it—Westgate.