The breeze in Edsoria smelled of lilies and ancient books. Up on the tower rooftop, where wind whispered secrets through enchanted stone cracks, Amy sipped tea. Or tried to. It was cold. Again.

  “Damn it, Arthalem…” she grumbled, flicking the floating kettle—which, offended, blinked orange and reheated the porcelain. “One day I’ll turn you into a kettle with legs.”

  Amy’s tower was, in a way, alive. Or close. The kind of magical build where stairs rearranged if you asked rude questions aloud, books complained if read out of order, and the master suite toilet scolded if you left the seat up.

  The veteran archmage—though no one dared call her that out loud—perched on a stool enchanted to mold to her mood. Today it was hard. Very hard. Like the memory hammering her skull.

  “You need to leave the city.”

  She sighed, chin in hands, staring at the orange-purple horizon.

  “Was I too harsh on him?”

  Wind didn’t answer. Arthalem, the enchanted kettle, just bubbled muffled protest.

  “But what else could I do? That girl’s sword… that thing…” she wrinkled her nose. “It’s basically a magnet for everything crawling out of space-time! If one of those Vortex creeps pops up mid-Thursday market, goodbye local trade. Goodbye guild rep. Goodbye my nap time.”

  She huffed, arms crossed, muttering:

  “Hm… surrounded by beautiful women… and I’M the pervert!”

  The laugh that escaped was short, dry, laced with irony.

  Amy reached out, pulling a thick book from the floating shelf beside her. It opened itself, showing pages marked with hasty notes and a twelve-year-old coffee stain.

  “Still remember when he thought a Salamander could be tamed with grilled sausages… idiot.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “And somehow… he always pulled it off.”

  Turned the page carefully. There—scrawled in her precise handwriting—a magical diagram. She touched the leaf margin lightly.

  “Hope he never has to use this…”

  The “this” was a scroll. Gifted as present—or desperate precaution, depending on view. Limited time-rewind spell. Three minutes back. Enough to dodge death. Or cause more creative one.

  “If he does… well, hope his luck’s bigger than his stupidity…”

  Amy took a sip of now-warm tea, then noticed movement below in tower courtyard. Squinted, adjusting glasses.

  Wavy brown hair. Leather outfit. Cleavage unapologetically present.

  “Tch… Julie.”

  She appeared with alchemical explosion subtlety.

  Amy descended enchanted stone stairs—which sighed under her steps like complaining about haste. Opening door, found Julie with mocking smile and arched brow.

  “Hey, old witch. Got my tea ready?”

  “Only if you want arsenic with it.”

  “How charming. Still how you win men over?”

  “Works for me,” Amy deadpanned.

  They stared a second longer than comfy. Tension there—not exactly hostile. Not friendly either. Energy built between war vets knowing exactly where the other’s weak spot hurt—and avoiding aim. Almost always.

  “Heard Jay left town,” Julie started, entering uninvited. Leather corset creaked each step. “Took that zoo with him. The girls are a special kind of charm.”

  Amy closed door slowly.

  “He needed to leave. Best for everyone.”

  “Hmm…” Julie stopped at shelf. Floating rune backed away suspicious. “This about that half-elf?”

  Amy didn’t answer immediately. Walked to hearth, snapped fingers to relight. Flames danced silent.

  “They’ve got a mission. I wouldn’t mess that up,” she said finally.

  Julie turned, leaning casually on chair that creaked jealous protest.

  “Right. Right. A mission.” Smile meaning anything but “right.” “And him sleeping under same tent with three gorgeous, energetic, young women… nothing to do with your call, I bet.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Amy snapped, slightly flushed.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “You just ground your teeth.”

  “W-was the thermal comfort spell. Sometimes gives soma reflux.”

  Julie laughed—that slightly husky, slightly intimate kind.

  “You know? He still carries that dumb pebble you gave him twenty years ago?”

  Amy spun.

  “He still has that?”

  “Yep. In his component pouch, like a talisman. Never understood why. Thing doesn’t even glow.”

  Amy stared at fire seconds, gaze distant—like whole world in crackling flames. But short sad smile said plenty.

  Julie finally sat—elegant as lazy cat knowing exactly where she stepped. Crossed legs, adjusted eyepatch with studied gesture, let gaze wander room pretending nonchalance.

  “But seriously now…” tone she rarely used, “why’d he leave, Amy?”

  Amy didn’t answer right away. Turned to enchanted kettle, mentally requested fresh tea. Kettle understood—with great reluctance—and floated to kitchen. Amy kept eyes on fire—like heat could shield thoughts.

  Julie watched.

  “Derek mentioned a sword. Not just that, was it?” pressed softer.

  Amy pressed lips—like holding something between teeth.

  “That thing’s unstable. City’s got enough problems without random tears in reality fabric. That’d be reason enough.”

  Julie unsatisfied.

  “And the girl?”

  Amy blinked.

  “What girl?”

  “The half-elf. One that looks straight out of those southern esoteric ballads. Light hair, confused face… you know who I mean, Amy.”

  Amy sighed, walked slowly to shelf. Finger traced spines like seeking answer there. Didn’t find. Obvious. Turned gaze to Julie—crimson eyes showing faint waver first time.

  “She… isn’t what she seems.” Said finally, not meeting eyes. “And don’t ask more, okay?”

  Julie laughed low.

  “You just made me more curious.”

  “Great. Keep your head busy with that instead of diving into taverns chasing drunk informants who take your wink as payment.”

  “Jealous?” Julie arched good brow. “Thought you got over that stuff.”

  Amy finally looked. Gaze sharp enough to leave marks on wall behind Julie.

  “I got over it, Julie. Long ago.”

  Silence. Awkward kind where air seems to shrink.

  Julie leaned back more comfortably. Pulled small flask from belt, took swig, offered to Amy. Who refused with lightning glare.

  “He still thinks about you, y’know?” Julie said casually—like weather talk. “Even with that portable harem he’s got.”

  “Don’t care.” Too quick.

  Julie smiled—satisfied.

  “Yeah, sure. And yet you gave him that rare scroll… Worth a fortune. Could fix Cassiopeia easy. With enough left for two more.”

  Amy turned back to hearth. Kettle returned floating with tray and hot tea. Perfect. Like trying to redeem itself.

  She poured herself a cup. Then one for Julie. Automatic gesture. Familiar. Like old routines no one admits missing.

  “He’s an idiot,” Amy said, staring into cup. “But he’s our idiot. Always was. Even when he messes everything up… it works out. He survives.”

  Julie took cup. Didn’t thank—Amy didn’t expect.

  “Hope he knows what he’s doing with that girl.”

  “He does,” Amy whispered. “Or will… when time’s right… or too late.”

  Julie stared. Room thickened a moment. Fire seemed to dim; even kettle stopped bubbling.

  “So something’s wrong with her,” grave voice.

  Amy just sipped tea.

  “Something’s wrong with the world, Julie. She’s just a poorly fitted piece.”

  …

  Julie finished tea, set cup down with soft “click” too soft for someone so imposing.

  “Well…” she stood fluid-provocative. “I’ll leave you to your books and worries. After all, if anyone can save the world with formulas and spells no one else gets… it’s you, right?”

  Amy rolled eyes without reply. Julie headed to door, stopped hand on knob. Looked over shoulder.

  “One thing before I go.”

  Amy raised brows—impatient.

  Julie smiled. That smile. The one before saying something uncomfortable for hours.

  “Careful with holes you dig inside hiding feelings, Amy. Sometimes one opens… swallows everything that still matters.”

  Silence dropped like stone.

  Amy gripped cup harder than needed.

  Julie turned knob, opened door… before leaving, tossed last tease—light as feather:

  “Oh, and if he comes back alive, tell him I’m still waiting for that dance. The real one, y’know?”

  And left—bootsteps echoing down stairs like laughing with her.

  Amy stayed motionless—staring void.

  Light breeze crossed tower—even with windows shut.

  Then she felt it.

  Gut stab, universe yank. Feeling something snapped in time. Invisible shiver down archmage spine; eyes widened.

  Cup dropped.

  Magical glass shattering on floor sounded muffled—like world distant a second.

  “…Jay?”

  Whispered name—but not calling old friend.

  Like prayer. Or old fear surfacing.

  She ran to tower window, stared horizon—like seeing through skies, fields, hills, winds—to wherever he was.

  But world looked normal.

  Terrifyingly normal.

  Amy breathed deep, hand to chest—heart still racing off-beat.

  “Please… not now.”

  …

  Time seemed to stop—but not figuratively.

  Moment Pretoriann raised hand—ancestral dragon shadow swirled crimson over camp—Jay understood. No blocking. No defending. Those girls… all three… pulverized.

  Ground trembled. Purple ring expanded from black-armored warrior’s feet—warping soil with profane energy smelling sulfur and ancient sin. Roots withered, insects burned, night held breath.

  Jay—even lance still chest-impaled—eyes wide.

  “Damn… if he casts Profane Ground followed by breath… won’t be ashes left.”

  Bloodied hand moved to pouch—pulled faintly glowing scroll wrapped silver-magic threads, almost fading from reality. Hesitated fraction second. Amy… still trust him that much?

  Without word, pressed scroll to chest.

  CRONOMANCEROS.

  Scroll blazed fossil-green blinding, dissolved silent sparks. A circular mandala rose around—twelve equal parts like arcane clock. Each connected circles golden-pulsing circuits. The mandala spun. Reversed. Spun again.

  Ethereal hourglasses sprouted ground—exploded temporal sand grains, enveloping like slow-motion storm.

  Time rewound.

  Breath never happened. Profane ground vanished mist to sun. Pretoriann’s lance flew back hand mid-throw. Nessa mumbled walking back near fire. Other girls… still slept, unaware.

  Pretoriann—forest again. Invisible. Waiting perfect moment.

  But now… Jay knew.

  Emerald sand rained around—vanished. Golden eyes glowed cold, determined.

  “…Visingr,” he whispered—pulling golden sword blazing like night lightning.

  Instead shouting, turned Nessa—voice deep, low:

  “Protect others. Don’t let them wake.”

  “Huh?! J-Jay… what…?”

  Before protest, he launched forward—leaving golden light trail like shooting star.

  Nessa stepped back—eyes wide. Heart pounded no reason. Spine chill.

  Then she felt.

  Something… happened. Huge. Invisible crack somewhere. Cleric intuition echoed soul.

  Jay did something forbidden. Irreversible.

  “…Jay?”

  Looked direction he went. Trees snapping. Golden blasts and violet sparks exploding trunks. Light and dark lightning flashing titan duel.

  Then dragon roar.

  …