The boy let out a weary sigh. "No one truly knows what King Royce is planning, not even Deborah herself. When she secretly met with me in Duviliel, beyond expressing her longing after years apart, she brought a proposal from the King of Brigar." He paused before continuing, "King Royce is recruiting the world's most gifted sorcerers, and she recommended both Monica and myself. I trust Deborah, but not the King of Brigar. Somehow, Deborah seemed to know exactly what I desire most, so she offered a guarantee—Monica's safety. She swore on her life that Monica would come to no harm in Brigar, which is precisely what I need right now."

  "The King of Brigar is trouble," Bella remarked after a moment's reflection. "He's definitely planning something. Did Deborah reveal nothing at all? Not even the slightest hint?"

  "On this matter alone, she claimed the King disclosed nothing. Royce seemed troubled, like he was thinking hard about everything. He never used to be like that."

  "That probably means something," the Vice Principal murmured.

  "But nothing good, I fear." The Headmaster rested his chin on his hand, gazing vacantly ahead. "Royce's actions must be connected to the Godmans outside our gates." He turned to the sorceress. "I've been having dreams lately—dreams without cause or invitation. These dreams contain no distinct objects, only sensations. Sometimes I see undulating green light that feels glacial, freezing me to my very core. Other times, there's a thunderous pounding that threatens to shatter my skull." He tapped his temple. "It leaves me with a profound sense of foreboding—a warning that Cynthia's great walls may not be as impregnable as we believe."

  Bella Coren showed little surprise. "I'm relieved you see it that way, Patrick," she said. "Only those drunken fools would believe our walls invincible, capable of withstanding anything. They're wrong—catastrophically wrong. Self-delusion and false security won't halt the southern cavalry, who are both brutal and fearless. Stone cannot repel iron and fire; soil cannot absorb endless blood and tears. Thankfully, the Queen hasn't been blinded by our towering fortifications. The kingdom continues recruiting soldiers and expanding its forces; without that, we'd be defenseless. As for us," she emphasized, "we need to be ready for the Godmans. We have to protect the girls here--some are orphans, barely ten years old--but also the royal family, just because we're those damn court mages. That's the only time those nobles remember us 'freaks,' begging us to save their asses."

  "Don't speak so harshly, Bella. People's faith in the walls isn't without reason," Patrick explained. "The Wall of Cynthia stands as a magnificent legacy of the Titan Gods. Reaching 351 feet in height, it has never fallen since its creation."

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  "That's merely legend, my dear Headmaster. No one has proven the Titan Giants ever existed. If what you claim is true, how do you explain these dreams of yours?" Bella challenged. "Sometimes anxieties aren't unfounded. Perhaps we should consult a Dream Weaver to interpret your visions..."

  "Dream Wanderers navigate the dreamscape, while Dream Weavers construct dreams from memories—but those aren't genuine dreams," the Headmaster replied, looking up at Bella Coren. "I need neither—I haven't sunk so low as to require someone rummaging through my thoughts. If these dreams should ever materialize into reality, then regardless of our positions as court mages, we must defend the place we call home." He stated simply, "We are Cynthians."

  "And pawns of the royal family," the Vice Principal added, sweeping her hair aside. "When that moment arrives, we'll confront numerous challenges. The court may require our assistance defending the gates, or worse, demand we engage the enemy directly. Then there are our students—those precious girls... and the few boys among them. I can't imagine where they'd go with blood in the streets and bodies hanging from the ruins. I don't know where's safe... I doubt anywhere will be safe with the Godmans around." She spoke deliberately. "Even knowing this, you remain determined to keep Monica away?"

  "Yes, my decision stands," Patrick Fort replied firmly. "If circumstances become as dire as you describe, Monica's presence would scarcely alter the outcome. If it's merely defending the gates, I believe I can manage..."

  "You think you can fix everything. Aila breaks her legs climbing at midnight, you heal her yourself, pass out from the magic, and I have to save you. Rolisa gets called a witch, you go argue with the villagers--miracle they didn't kill you!" She jabbed her finger into his chest, knocking a glass from the table. "How much weight do you think those fragile shoulders can bear?" Tears welled in her eyes unbidden.

  "That's enough, Bella." He clasped her hand gently. "You understand why I do these things." He held her trembling fingers close. "We've already lost too much."

  "So, you finally noticed," Bella Coren whispered, nodding slowly. "Yes, we've both lost far too much..." She removed her glasses and cast them aside, covering her face as sobs escaped her.

  Patrick rose and steadied her shoulders. "When did it begin?"

  "I'm uncertain. Perhaps a year ago, possibly earlier," she answered, staring at her dampened hands. "I can only see blurry shapes and light now."

  "It's progressing too rapidly," Patrick remarked, astonished. "I observed peculiarities in your behavior recently, but nothing this severe. Tell me, Bella, when did you injure your eyes?"

  "I didn't, Patrick," Bella replied softly. "My eyes were never injured. Don't let appearances deceive you—fundamentally, I am," she drew a deep breath, "an old woman. Though magic preserves my youthful appearance, my physical functions continue deteriorating... I've tried my utmost."