High in the sky, a Golden Citadel pulsed with ancient energy, its massive gears grinding against the flow of time. Suspended in the void, the structure floated like a decaying monument to order.

  Its halls remained largely silent, the only constant sound being the rhythmic grinding of gears, like an irregular heartbeat measuring the slow entropy and corrosion at the edges of creation.

  Seven ornate golden thrones, encircled a black hole in the heart of the Citadel. Above the black hole and in between the seven floated a model of the local universe.

  Each throne a reflection of each of the Watchers identity.

  There were seven Watchers in all. Each wearing a golden mask with a number in black. One through to seven. A representation of their strength and their place in the hierarchy.

  One's throne was the largest. The only gold one. Its back and side embedded with many different sized and shaped living eyes. All watching different fates and futures.

  One sat rigid in his gleaming gold throne, his form shifting constantly between countless parallel versions of himself. His many eyes—positioned at impossible angles across his masked face—blinked out of sync as he studied the model's movements.

  A thread of golden light suddenly snapped within the great machine, the sound echoing through the chamber like a death knell.

  'Another collapse,' One murmured, his voice layered with echoes of realities that might have been. 'The Veridian Realm has been severed from the pattern.'

  Two, a demonic female beauty, lounged across her throne of entwined figures carved from crimson stone, her perfect form draped in silks that seemed to flow like blood. She sighed, the sound like velvet and venom. 'I do so hate when resources are wasted. A thousand years of careful cultivation... gone.'

  Three, a bard, tapped a long finger against his silver throne, the movement creating subtle vibrations that rippled through the Citadel. 'This isn't mere happenstance,' he observed, his voice reverberating as if spoken by a dozen mouths slightly out of sync. 'First the dungeon beneath Vallenport, then Miragos, now this.'

  'A pattern,' agreed One, his countless eyes narrowing simultaneously. He reached out, plucking a strand of fate from the air. It writhed between his fingers like a living thing. 'Someone is systematically dismantling our network of control points.'

  Two leaned back in her throne, which was carved from red marble shaped like entwined bodies. She was radiant and opulent, her voice like velvet and smoke.

  'Is it him again?' she asked, every word tasting like honey laced with venom.

  'Not him,' One replied. He lifted a single shimmering thread from the air—a fate-thread that writhed unnaturally between his fingers. 'A new aberration. Not on any path. The moment it appeared, five of our victorious fates ended.'

  Across the circle, Three, master of sound, smiled thinly. He tapped one finger on the edge of his silver throne, and the entire citadel hummed in time with the rhythm. 'Disruption, then. Should we silence them?' His voice echoed with reverb, like dozens of mouths speaking slightly out of sync.

  'No,' said One. 'We must be cautious. The Giants' continent gets ever closer. If they break through now, even we may lose control of the final battle for the Cronos fragment.'

  Four spoke next, though her form shifted constantly, making her difficult to focus on. Sometimes she appeared old, cloaked in tattered robes; other times childlike and barefoot, humming a funeral dirge. Her voice overlapped itself—young and ancient simultaneously.

  'The Giants are strong but stupid,' she said. 'Easily manipulated. Look how we played them the last time. This time we must make sure that they return to the pot of soil that they came from.'

  Five stretched in his throne, plant-like limbs creaking, bark splitting slightly along his arm as tendrils curled out and retracted. His voice was wet, rustling, slow. Like a tree speaking: 'I can root into their thoughts. Parasite them. Become them.'

  'No,' One said. 'Not yet. We'll need you intact. Six, you'll assist Five. The Giants are slowly making their way back, but they are still divided. Divide and conquer. Add to their division.'

  Six, a mimic, sat motionless in his ever-shifting mirror throne. He was featureless—his face blank porcelain, devoid of expression or even sensory organs. He nodded once, then shifted—his form twisting and folding until he resembled an exact copy of One, down to the multitude of blinking eyes.

  'Which leaves Vallenport,' One continued, turning his multi-eyed gaze to Seven, the Broken Tongue. 'That is the location of the aberration. Curse him. Remove him.'

  Seven stroked the golden book chained to his chest. He hummed softly, tunelessly, like an off-key lullaby. The book purred in response, pages fluttering despite the absence of wind. 'Say the name,' he whispered, lips cracked and smiling. 'I'll pet him into sleep.'

  'His name is unknown,' One said, frowning. 'But that alone is enough. The Watchers must see all.'

  Two leaned forward now, her lashes flicking upward like blades from underneath the eye holes of her mask. 'Send Seven alone? Such a delicate soul. Are you sure?'

  'His curses don't miss,' replied Three, fingers vibrating subtly on the throne arm, sending invisible shockwaves through the room. 'And he loves to play with his stupid journal.'

  One waved a dismissive hand, his form briefly fragmenting into multiple overlapping versions of himself before solidifying again. 'The Giants are the bigger issue,' he continued, 'they must not breach the barriers surrounding this realm. Three, Four, Five, Six—contain them. Delay them. Distract them. Destroy them if possible. Whatever is needed.'

  Four aged visibly in the silence. Wrinkles bloomed across her face like cracks in dried clay. 'Their bones have forgotten. We will teach them to remember.'

  Five's skin split open, briefly revealing a network of roots and mouths beneath his bark-like exterior. 'They are fertile ground. I will plant fear.'

  Six shifted again, his blank face rippling until he resembled Four perfectly, then Five. 'I will be whoever they trusted. Just before they fall.'

  One turned again to Seven. 'As for you: do not fail. Curse the aberration. Curse his memories, his name, his blood. Erase him from existence.'

  Seven rose slowly, stroking his book like a beloved pet. 'There there. No need to get angry,' glaring at three. 'We shall sing a golden lullaby for a forgotten child,' he muttered.

  A chain snapped loose from the book, and ink began dripping from the pages as he vanished between seconds, slipping through the folds of reality.

  'The Fragment is pulsing stronger,' One muttered, half to himself. 'It's close. Hidden somewhere nearby. Its protective barrier was weakening. Before something strengthened it, it was near the Southern Continent.'

  Two stretched like a cat, grinning as time coiled around her. 'Once we have it, this Gemworld ends. Rewritten. Purged.'

  'And we are free from this interminable mission,' Four murmured, now appearing as a child clutching a wilted flower. 'And we begin anew.'

  One stepped into the projection hovering in the central void, freezing an entire quadrant of potential futures with a gesture. 'No more deviations.'

  The Watchers began to vanish one by one. Three became a sound and faded into silence. Four crumbled into dust that spiralled into nothingness. Five collapsed into a tangle of roots that withered and disappeared. Six became light, then shadow, then nothing. Two sighed and dissolved into perfume and static.

  Seven's book remained suspended in the air for a moment longer than its master. It fluttered open, one page glowing gold with a single unfinished name: '—'

  And far below, in the mortal realm, the ancient city of Vallenport the morning bell tolled.

  A boy walking alone through a ruined street paused, looking up at the tower. He's suddenly struck mute. In his eyes the image of a golden book flashes briefly before disappearing.

  ***

  Tavalor gazed at the setting sun, its warm amber light reflecting off the distant mountains.

  I've changed my mind actually. Vallenport is the same. Ark Town looks more interesting.

  He turned to look back and Ark Town. After the destruction of the Veridian Realm, he felt like wasn't quite ready to return to Vallenport. The adrenaline of battle still coursed through his veins, and the thought of slipping back into his comfortable routine felt premature.

  'Let's take a detour,' he said to Little Shadow, who perched on his shoulder like an attentive pet. 'I think Ark Town is celebrating their victory over Veridian.'

  Little Shadow chirped in agreement, its violet eyes glinting with curiosity.

  With a thought, Tavalor's form shimmered. His horns returned, and his features shifted subtly, stripping away the ethereal beauty of a Moon Elf – high cheekbones, slightly pointed ears, and red eyes that seemed to reflect moonlight even in full daylight.

  He returned to his normal appearance. Tall. Human. Long black hair. Gold brown eyes. The long curved horns that made him half beastman. He looked like a well off nobleman from the Shimmerwind Desert.

  He floated using [Dragon Flight] towards Ark Town, running a low key [Intimidation] to keep eyes away from him. Tavalor could hear the faint strains of music and laughter carried on the evening breeze as he got closer.

  Ark Town looked beautiful in the twilight. A settlement build on the colossal wreckage of an ancient ship. The town was built precariously on a fragment of what remained on enormous wooden hull. Normally chaotic, buildings stacked upon buildings in a vertical labyrinth of makeshift architecture. Bridges, ladders, and enchanted lifting platforms connected various levels, while magical lights glowed from countless windows, creating the illusion of stars scattered across the wooden mountainside. Ark Town normally appeared quite helter skelter.

  Now, it appeared more colourfully helter skelter. Colourful banners fluttered from every rooftop, and lanterns in a rainbow of hues lined the streets, casting dancing shadows across the cobblestones.

  Vendors had set up stalls along the main thoroughfare, selling everything from spiced wine to enchanted trinkets. Children darted between the legs of adults, waving sparklers that left trails of magical light in their wake. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, sweet pastries, and incense.

  'Impressive for such short notice,' Tavalor murmured as he wove through the crowd. 'They must have been planning this celebration before we even defeated Veridian.'

  A voice called out from behind him, familiar and welcome: 'Tavalor!'

  He turned to see Luneth pushing her way through the throng, her black hair loose from its normal neat bun. Her moon shaped glasses catching the light of the lanterns. She looked different, somehow – more relaxed, perhaps, the perpetual tension in her shoulders momentarily eased by the festival atmosphere.

  'I thought you'd gone back to Vallenport,' she said, reaching his side. Little Shadow chirped a greeting, which she acknowledged with a nod. 'What brings you to Ark Town?'

  'Curiosity,' Tavalor replied. 'It seemed a shame to miss the festivities after all the excitement.'

  Luneth's eyes sparkled with amusement. 'The great and powerful Lord Tavalor, staying for a party? How unexpected.'

  'Everybody a good celebration now and then,' he said with a slight smirk. 'Besides, I thought you'd already left.'

  'I was planning to,' she admitted, 'but then I heard an old friend was performing tomorrow. Haven't seen her in years.'

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  'Oh?' Tavalor raised an eyebrow. 'Anyone I know?'

  Luneth shook her head. 'Maevi's a beastwoman – a lapine, to be precise. We trained together, years ago, before I became...' she gestured vaguely, 'this.'

  'A thief, you mean?' Tavalor couldn't help but teasing.

  'I prefer "acquisition specialist,"' Luneth corrected with a mock glare. 'Anyway, she's in town, and I thought I might catch up with her. Care to join me?'

  'What is a lapine?'

  'A rabbit'

  'Oh, interesting.' Tavalor nodded. 'Lead the way.'

  They navigated the crowded streets, occasionally stopping at food stalls where Little Shadow insisted on sampling the local delicacies. By the time they reached the quieter part of town, his arms were laden with skewers of spiced meat, sweet pastries, and a flask of something that smelled potent enough to strip paint.

  'Here we are,' Luneth said, stopping before a charming two-story building with a sign depicting a smiling bunny girl in a frilly outfit. The sign read 'The Whisker & Tea' in flowing common script. 'Maevi's place.'

  'A tea house?' Tavalor asked, eyeing the sign dubiously.

  'A maid café,' Luneth corrected. 'It's quite popular with the local cultivators, apparently.'

  Tavalor's expression remained neutral, though internally he was amused. A maid café? In this world too? It seemed some concepts were universal, regardless of realm.

  They entered to find the café bustling with activity, but not in the way Tavalor had expected.

  Instead of patrons being doted on by frilly-dressed staff, most of the attention was focused on a central table where two cultivators sat opposite each other, a game of cards laid out between them.

  What's happening?' Tavalor asked, leaning closer to Luneth.

  'Dragons Draw,' she explained in a hushed tone. 'It's a card game. Quite popular these days, especially among younger cultivators.'

  Tavalor remembered the name from when they had played it with Emberfist, back when they had first met.

  The game seemed to have evolved since then.

  The café fell silent as one of the players – a young man with fiery red hair – placed a card on the table with a flourish. 'I summon the Eternal Phoenix!' he declared, his voice carrying throughout the room.

  The card glowed, and a small, spectral image of a phoenix materialized above it, its wings spreading as it let out a silent cry.

  His opponent – an older woman with braided hair – smiled thinly. 'Impressive. But predictable.' She flipped over a card from her hand. 'I counter with the Frost Maiden's Kiss.'

  A pulse of blue light emanated from her card, and the spectral phoenix froze mid-flight, its fiery form encased in ghostly ice.

  The crowd erupted in cheers and groans as golden tokens slid across the table toward the woman. She gathered them with practices ease, her smile widening as she addressed her crestfallen opponent.

  Better luck next time, Firebrand. Perhaps you should diversify your strategy beyond "summon the biggest creature and hope for the best."'

  Someone in the crowd laughed. 'That's twenty straight wins for the Ice Queen! Is there no one who can challenge her?'

  'Twenty-one, actually,' corrected a voice, and the crowd parted to reveal a lapine beastwoman with soft brown fur and long upright bunny ears that twitched occasionally. She wore a frilly maid outfit that somehow managed to look both cute and authoritative. 'Welcome to the semi-finals of our Dragons Draw tournament, everyone! Next match begins in ten minutes!'

  She turned, her large amber eyes spotting Luneth, and her professional smile transformed into genuine delight. 'Luneth? By the Two Moons, is that really you?'

  Luneth's usually composed features lit up with a matching smile. 'Hello, Maevi. It's been a while.'

  The lapine woman rushed forward, embracing Luneth in a tight hug that lifted her slightly off the ground. 'A while? Try nearly a decade, you black-haired ghost! Where have you been hiding?'

  'Here and there,' Luneth replied evasively, but her smile remained. 'Maevi, this is my friend, Tavalor. Tavalor, meet Maevi, the best alchemical apprentice in our class and apparently now a successful café owner.'

  Maevi turned her amber gaze to Tavalor, her nose twitching slightly as she seemed to assess him. 'Any friend of Luneth's is welcome here,' she said, extending a paw-like hand which Tavalor shook gently. 'Especially one with such an interesting aura.'

  Before Tavalor could respond, a commotion near the card table drew their attention. The red-haired young man – Firebrand – had stood up, his face nearly matching his hair in colour.

  'I demand a rematch!' he shouted, pointing at the woman who had defeated him. 'You cheated! There's no way you could have drawn exactly the counter you needed three turns in a row!'

  The woman – the Ice Queen – remained seated, her expression cool and unbothered. 'Accept your loss with dignity, Firebrand. Accusations without proof only make you look desperate.'

  'I'll show you proof!' He lunged across the table, reaching for her deck, but before he could touch the cards, a blur of brown fur interceded.

  Maevi stood between them, her usually cheerful expression replaced by stern authority. 'That's quite enough, Firebrand. Accusations of cheating are serious. If you have concerns, they can be addressed through proper channels, not by creating a scene in my establishment.'

  Firebrand looked ready to argue further, but something in Maevi's stance – the subtle shift of weight, the tension in her shoulders – gave him pause.

  With a final glare at the Ice Queen, he stormed out, leaving a wake of whispers and excited murmurs behind him.

  'Well,' Maevi said, turning back to Luneth and Tavalor with a somewhat apologetic smile, 'that was exciting. Welcome to the Whisker & Tea, where the tea is hot and the competition is hotter.' She gestured to a small table in the corner. 'Please, have a seat. Consider yourselves my special guests for today's finals. I'll bring some refreshments.'

  As they settled at the table, Tavalor watched the remaining competitors with interest. 'This Dragons Draw seems more intense than I remember,' he remarked.

  Luneth nodded. 'It's evolved quite a bit. Used to be a simple tavern game, but now there are tournaments with substantial prizes. The cards themselves have become collectors' items, especially the rare ones with magical effects.'

  'Like the phoenix we saw?' Tavalor asked.

  'Exactly. The higher-tier cards produce spectral manifestations when played, and the truly legendary ones can even cause minor physical effects – heat, cold, that sort of thing.'

  Maevi returned with a tray bearing an elegant teapot and cups, along with a plate of delicate pastries. 'Celestial Bloom tea,' she announced, pouring the steaming, faintly luminescent liquid. 'My own blend. And honey cakes made with essence from the Whispering Glen.'

  Tavalor took a sip of the tea and was pleasantly surprised by its complex flavour – floral with hints of something almost like starlight, if starlight had a taste. 'Impressive,' he said. 'You weren't exaggerating about her alchemical skills, Luneth.'

  Maevi's ears perked up with pleasure. 'I've dabbled in a few things since our training days,' she said modestly. 'The café is my main focus now, but I still keep my hand in with some experimental blends.'

  'And Dragons Draw tournaments, apparently,' Luneth added, gesturing to the buzzing activity in the centre of the café.

  'That was a happy accident,' Maevi admitted. 'Started as a weekly game night for regulars, but it grew popular enough that we now host the regional qualifiers. The finals are tomorrow – you're just in time!'

  As they chatted, catching up on years of separation, Tavalor's attention was drawn to a display case near the counter. Inside, protected by a glass case, was a collection of ornate cards, each more elaborate and lewd than the last. One in particular caught his eye – it depicted a black-haired elf maiden in a rather suggestive pose, her features strikingly similar to Luneth's.

  He stood, moving casually toward the display for a closer look. The card was titled 'Moon Elf Enchantress,' and the resemblance to Luneth was uncanny. The illustration bordered on inappropriate, with the character wearing what could charitably be called 'strategic wisps of moonlight.'

  Luneth appeared at his side, following his gaze. Her expression shifted from curiosity to horror as she recognised the card's subject.

  'They didn't—' she began, her voice tight.

  'I'm afraid they did,' Tavalor replied, unable to hide his amusement entirely. 'It seems Moon Elves have become something of a celebrity in certain circles.'

  Luneth's face flushed with a combination of embarrassment and anger. 'This is outrageous! I never—I would never pose for something like this!'

  Maevi hurried over, her ears flat against her head in distress. 'Oh dear. I should have put that away. It's from the "Legendary Beauties" expansion – not my choice, I assure you! The publishers take... creative liberties with their subjects.'

  'Creative liberties?' Luneth hissed. 'That's practically—'

  'A gross invasion of privacy,' Tavalor finished for her, his tone more serious now. 'Who creates these cards?'

  'The Arcane Press,' Maevi replied, carefully removing the card from the display and tucking it away. 'They're based in Vallenport, actually. Their lead artist, Maestro Ignazio, is known for his... distinctive style.'

  'Ignazio,' Luneth repeated, the name clearly being committed to memory for future retribution.

  Tavalor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Perhaps Dragons Draw isn't the game for you,' he suggested, steering her back toward their table. 'Let's focus on enjoying the festival instead.'

  Luneth allowed herself to be guided away, though her eyes occasionally darted back to the spot where the offensive card had been displayed, a calculating look on her face that boded ill for Maestro Ignazio.

  As they returned to their tea, now growing cool, the café's doors swung open to admit a new wave of patrons.

  Among them, Tavalor recognised the distinctive figures of Captain Lyrawyn and her elven warriors, their graceful forms drawing admiring glances from the other customers.

  Maevi greeted them with the same professional cheerfulness she showed all her guests, but there was a slight stiffness to her posture that suggested she was somewhat intimidated by the elven captain's presence.

  'Welcome to the Whisker & Tea,' she said, bowing slightly. 'What brings such distinguished visitors to my humble establishment?'

  Captain Lyrawyn's gaze swept the café, lingering briefly on Tavalor and Luneth before returning to Maevi. 'We heard there was entertainment to be found here,' she replied, her tone cool but not unfriendly. 'And perhaps a chance to observe this "Dragons Draw" game we've heard so much about.'

  'Of course!' Maevi's ears perked up. 'The finals begin shortly. Please, make yourselves comfortable.'

  As the elves moved to find seats, Lyrawyn detached from her group and approached Tavalor's table. 'I thought you would've returned to Vallenport by now,' she said, her voice pitched low enough that only they could hear.

  'The festivities seemed worth a delay,' Tavalor replied casually.

  Lyrawyn's sharp eyes studied him for a moment before she nodded slightly. 'Indeed. A celebration of life is always worth experiencing, especially after facing its alternative.' She glanced at Luneth, offering a small but genuine smile. 'Good evening to you as well, Miss Luneth. I trust you are recovering well from our adventure?'

  'Well enough,' Luneth replied. 'Though some after-effects linger.' Her gaze drifted pointedly toward the card display.

  Lyrawyn followed her look, a question in her eyes, but before any explanation could be offered, a commotion near the centre of the café drew everyone's attention.

  Two new combatants had taken seats at the main table – the Ice Queen from earlier, and a slender, androgynous figure with pale skin and long hair so black it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

  'Ladies and gentlemen, cultivators of all ranks,' Maevi announced, her voice carrying easily over the buzz of conversation, 'welcome to the finals of our Dragons Draw tournament! Tonight's match pits our reigning champion, Mistress Frost, against the challenger, Shadow.'

  The crowd erupted in cheers and speculative whispers. Tavalor caught fragments – 'undefeated this season' – 'uses psychological warfare' – 'rumoured to have enchanted cards.'

  Luneth leaned closer to him. 'This should be interesting. Mistress Frost is known for her cool logic and devastating counter-strategies, while Shadow specialises in misdirection and mind games.'

  'Mind games?' Tavalor asked, intrigued despite himself.

  'Watch and see,' Luneth replied with a small smile.

  The match began with the ritualistic cutting and shuffling of decks, each player handling their cards with reverent care. Once satisfied, they drew their starting hands, and the tension in the café thickened noticeably.

  Shadow, moving first, placed a card face down on the table. 'Hidden potential,' they murmured, their voice barely audible yet somehow reaching every corner of the room.

  Mistress Frost responded with a card of her own – 'Winter's Advance' – which caused a ripple of frost to spread across the table between them.

  The game progressed rapidly, each move more strategic and visually impressive than the last. Shadow's cards tended toward illusions and feints, ghostly figures that would appear solid before dissolving into mist at crucial moments. Frost countered with precise, crystalline constructs that trapped and neutralized her opponent's spectres.

  But the true spectacle wasn't the magical manifestations – impressive as they were – but the psychological duel being waged between the players.

  Each move was accompanied by subtle taunts, probing questions, and offhand comments clearly designed to unbalance the opponent.

  'Interesting choice,' Shadow would murmur after Frost played a card. 'I wonder if you realise how much that reveals about your strategy... and perhaps your insecurities?'

  'Transparent attempt at distraction,' Frost would reply coolly, though a slight tightening around her eyes suggested the barbs were finding their mark. 'Your cards betray you more than my choices ever could.

  By the mid-game, the temperature in the café had dropped noticeably – a side effect of Frost's powerful ice cards – and small shadows seemed to writhe at the edges of vision, courtesy of Shadow's more esoteric plays.

  [Dragon Sight] caused Tavalor's eyes to glow red for a fraction of a second. 'This is no mere tavern game,' he observed quietly to Luneth. 'They're channelling actual magic through these cards.'

  Luneth nodded. 'The highest level of Dragons Draw involves spiritual resonance between player and card. It's a fraction of the power a true cultivation technique would wield, but impressive for entertainment.'

  The final moments of the match were a flurry of increasingly desperate plays from both sides. Shadow, down to their last few cards, executed a daring combination that summoned a spectral dragon made entirely of living shadow. It roared silently above the table, its phantom claws reaching for Frost's carefully constructed defences.

  Frost, however, had been waiting for precisely this moment.

  With a smile that finally reached her eyes, she revealed her trap card – 'Eternal Winter's Embrace.' The room plunged into near-freezing temperatures as a wave of blue-white energy erupted from her side of the table, engulfing Shadow's dragon and freezing it solid before it shattered into countless glittering fragments.

  The crowd erupted in cheers and disappointed groans – clearly, betting had been taking place throughout the café – as Shadow conceded with a graceful inclination of their head.

  'A masterful victory,' they acknowledged, their voice betraying no hint of the frustration they must have felt. 'You read my strategy from the beginning.'

  'And you very nearly overcame my predictions,' Frost replied, genuine respect in her tone. 'A worthy challenge.'

  As Maevi came forward to present the winner's purse – a surprisingly hefty bag of gold coins – Tavalor turned to Luneth.

  'I can see why it's popular,' he said. 'But perhaps not for you.'

  Luneth's expression was a mixture of fascination and distaste. 'The game itself is intriguing,' she admitted. 'But I draw the line at having anything resembling my likeness exploited for someone else's profit.'

  'Wise decision,' Tavalor agreed, thinking of the card he'd seen. 'Some fame is best avoided.'

  As the excitement of the tournament wound down, Maevi returned to their table, her fur slightly ruffled from the busy evening but her eyes bright with satisfaction.

  'What did you think?' she asked, sliding into a chair beside Luneth. 'Not bad for a little café in Ark Town, eh?'

  'It was certainly... educational,' Luneth replied diplomatically. 'Though I'm more interested in what you've been doing all these years. Last I heard, you were studying alchemy under Master Wolken'

  Maevi's ears drooped slightly. 'That didn't last. Master Wolken was brilliant, but his methods were... traditional. When I suggested incorporating some beastfolk techniques into his formulae, he wasn't pleased.'

  'His loss,' Tavalor commented, genuinely impressed by the quality of the tea and pastries she had served. 'You clearly have talent.'

  Maevi's ears perked up at the compliment. 'Thank you! I've found my own path. Speaking of which...' She leaned closer to Luneth, lowering her voice. 'I'm performing tomorrow at the festival. Music, not alchemy. Would you come? Both of you?' She added, including Tavalor in her hopeful gaze.

  Luneth glanced at Tavalor, who nodded slightly. 'We'd be honoured,' she replied.

  'Excellent!' Maevi clapped her paws together in delight. 'It's at the Third Circle stage, midday. Oh, this will be just like old times!' She paused, her expression growing more serious. 'Except, you know, without the explosions. Usually.'

  The three of them laughed and talked, and as the evening wore on, Tavalor found himself surprisingly content in this simple celebration.