"Where did you get a flying rug?" I asked Nysera as she landed beside me, the faint scent of dust and old wool trailing in her wake as the rug's frayed edges fluttered to a stop.

  "From a pixie in the alley! Only charged me five gold pieces for it," she chirped, her voice bright as a bell. The air shimmered faintly with the rug's residual magic, a sharp tang like crushed mint stinging my nose.

  She grinned like she'd just bought an ancient artifact on clearance, her eyes glinting with reckless glee.

  I just stood there, utterly unsure how to respond. At this point, I shouldn't be surprised anymore.

  We returned to the Pale Lantern, its warped wooden sign creaking overhead as we stepped into the dim, smoky haze of the inn, and finished the night in our respective rooms, the straw mattresses crackling under my weight, the air thick with the scent of stale ale and candle wax.

  When morning came, we regrouped outside, the dawn air crisp and biting.

  "Drennar, as much as it pains me to say this... I'm sorry," I said, my voice rough against the stillness, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

  His eyes flickered with surprise, wide in the pale light, the faint crunch of gravel under his shifting boots breaking the quiet.

  "Velguira found me last night. She confirmed everything you said," I admitted, the memory of her voice still echoing in my ears.

  He chuckled, brushing dust from his coat, the sound a dry rasp like leaves skittering across stone, the faint powdery grit rising in a cloud that caught the sunlight.

  "Suspicion comes with the territory when you're the best Veilcaller in the Shadow Hand. If even your allies don't know where you stand, you're doing your job right. I'm used to it," he said.

  I regretted that apology immediately, the sting of it burning in my chest like a swallowed ember.

  "We've got enough intel. Let's head back," I muttered, the words clipped and sharp, tasting of resolve.

  I turned without another word, leading the way out of the city, my boots thudding against the cobblestone, the skyline receding into a jagged silhouette against the bruised purple of the horizon.

  If I ever came back to this place, it wouldn't be soon.

  Above us, Nysera circled the rooftops on her flying carpet, its faded threads glinting like spun gold in the sun, dropping illusion bombs onto unsuspecting citizens—puffs of iridescent mist bursting into shrieking phantasms of bats and serpents.

  She giggled gleefully—manically—as the city filled with screams of sheer terror.

  Home sweet home. The familiar ache of exhaustion settling into my bones.

  The familiar hidden entrance came into view, a jagged crack in the moss-slick stone wall, damp and cool to the touch as I brushed past.

  Nysera landed beside us, rolling up her carpet like it was a picnic blanket, the fabric rustling with a soft, dusty whisper as she tucked it under her arm.

  As we moved through the tunnels, the air grew dank and heavy. Kaelen rounded the corner, his leather armor creaking faintly.

  "Kaely! Look—I'm a vampire now!" Nysera crowed, flashing him a wide grin, revealing a mouth full of illusionary fangs, sharp and glistening like polished ivory.

  Great. Just... great.

  Kaelen didn't hesitate—he flash-stepped forward, dagger drawn, the blade singing through the air.

  I sidestepped him easily and, in one fluid motion, disarmed him—the dagger clattering against the stone with a sharp clang—and slammed him into the wall, the rough-hewn rock scraping against his armor with a grating crunch.

  "If you think for one moment I would ever turn her immortal—tormenting my sanity for eternity..." I snarled, my voice low and guttural, the heat of my breath brushing his face.

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  I leaned in, our faces inches apart, his shallow gasps warm against my skin, his pulse hammering beneath my grip.

  "...I would rather rip my own heart out and serve it on a silver platter to Velsangui," I finished, the name tasting like blood and shadow on my tongue.

  Nysera giggled as I let Kaelen drop to the floor, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud, her laughter bubbling up like a stream over stones.

  "Where's our oh-so-humble leader anyway?" I asked, voice dry as the dust motes swirling in the flickering torchlight.

  "He's in the training room," Kaelen replied, his words rasping as he rubbed his throat. "Testing his new gear—with Torglel."

  Of course he is, the faint rumble of combat already vibrating through the tunnel walls.

  I made my way through the tunnels of the hideout, the sounds of battle growing louder with each step—grunts, the clash of steel, the low hum of magic pulsing like a heartbeat in the stone.

  When I stepped into the training chamber, I paused, the air thick with the sharp scent of sweat, and scorched metal.

  Five new faces stared back at me: Nightblood. Veilborn. Durekkin. Oh Velsangui help me... a Velryn. Finally a Noctixan.

  This place had become a circus.

  I found my way to the back wall, leaned against it, the cool, damp stone pressing into my spine, and crossed my arms.

  Let's see what they think passes for strength now, I mused, the air buzzing with anticipation.

  In the ring, Solari and Torglel squared off—magic humming between them, a low, resonant drone that prickled my skin, eyes locked, the crackle of challenge thick in the air like static before a storm.

  Then they moved.

  Torglel surged forward, activating Anchor Mode mid-sprint, his boots. The floor trembled beneath him, kinetic generators roaring with a deep, guttural growl as his crimson armor locked into place, clanking like a mountain refusing to fall, the air around him shimmering with heat.

  Solari didn't flinch.

  He leapt upward, flipping clean over the charging dwarf in a burst of force from his aether nodes, the air whooshing as he twisted midair, his body a blur against the torchlit ceiling.

  Fwoom.

  A concentrated blast erupted from his bracer, a searing blue-white flare that hammered Torglel in the back with a deafening boom, the dwarf skidded but held—gauntlets grinding against stone with a screech that set my teeth on edge as he regained footing, dust swirling in gritty clouds.

  "Is that all ye got?" Torglel bellowed, echoing through the room with a grin splitting his beard.

  Then came fire.

  Twin jets of flame erupted from his back, arcing forward into a roaring wall of heat, the air crackling and popping as the inferno blazed.

  Solari's runes flared—crimson, alive, glowing like fresh-spilled blood against his skin.

  He slashed the inferno in half with his blade, the steel singing a high, keening note as it parted the flames, and thrust his free hand forward, fingers splayed.

  Crimson lightning ripped across the room, a jagged arc of light that hissed and snapped like a living thing, slamming into Torglel's chest with a thunderous crack, the air tasting of burnt copper.

  Anchor Mode held.

  The impact scorched the armor, smoke rising in acrid curls, Torglel roared—a primal, guttural sound—and slammed his hammer into the floor, the metal glowing white-hot.

  CRACK.

  The chamber shook—floor splitting in a jagged line as a shockwave thundered through the air, the tremor rattling my bones, dust stinging my eyes. Solari staggered, but recovered in a blink—flash-stepping forward with lightning trailing behind him, a sizzling afterimage of red sparks.

  They collided in the center.

  Solari's blade hummed with ashen power, a low, ominous thrum that pulsed in my ears.

  Torglel's hammer blazed molten bright, radiating heat that scorched my face even from the wall.

  BOOM.

  The explosion tore through the ring, a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar that slammed into my chest. Recruits dove for cover as dust, flame, and force rippled through the chamber, the air thick with the choking grit of pulverized stone.

  When the smoke cleared, they stood there—grinning, sweat gleaming on their faces, the faint sizzle of cooling metal ticking in the silence.

  Idiots.

  I let out a slow, deliberate clap, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness.

  "Powerful magic. Furious strikes. A battle-of-the-titans spectacle... for anyone who actually thinks that's real power," I said, stepping forward slowly.

  Torglel scoffed, "Like you know what power is, you overgrown leech," he spat.

  I moved faster than breath, the air rushing past my ears in a fleeting whine.

  One moment he stood. The next, I had him by the throat, raised off the ground, his armor clanking as he dangled.

  "I do," I said. My voice was cold steel, cutting through the lingering hum of magic. "It's all of that—fury, magic, muscle—with precision. Without that, you're just a beast easily caged."

  I hurled him into the wall, the impact a dull thud. Dust cascading in a gritty veil.

  Solari lunged—crimson lightning trailing behind, the air crackling with its volatile hiss.

  I smiled, the expression tight and sharp against my face.

  "Not fast enough," I said, sidestepping as the lightning scorched the air where I'd been, slamming my fist into his ribs—the crack of bone sharp and satisfying—watching him crumple into the far wall.

  Silence fell.

  Only groans followed, low and pained, echoing faintly off the walls.

  I turned toward the door.

  "If you want to learn how to match precision with power... come find me," I said.

  I paused—just once—glancing over my shoulder, the torchlight casting long, jagged shadows across the room.

  "Oh, and one more thing," I said, voice sharpening like a dagger drawn from its sheath.

  "I have that report from the mission, too," I added, the words clipped and final.

  Then I walked out.

  Let them think on it.

  This concludes my part of the story. I'll let the pragmatic one take it from here once again.