Legend of Ransera

"I do not know whether Master Jacun is aware that I am aware that he is a dragon. I would assume, given he is a dragon, that he is craftier than I. But I can ensure he anticipates your visit."

As for the crystal and its altar, "A boon in dark times, aye, but also a mystery in his home whose mysteries even his sembling eye hasn't quite managed to unravel yet."

And for the Re'hyæan poison, he wrinkled his nose. "It seems they were playing the odds. Reaching out to Kalzasi and to Zaichaer. I suppose they settled on Kalzasi as the winning side, though it was little more than a cold war before multiple tragedies befell Zaichaer." He shrugged off their suffering. It was not so much that he had no compassion, but rather he disliked the culture that aligned more with the Solunarians than did Kalzasi's.

As for the Atraxians and their atrocities, he could only regret the rise of the Clockwork Empire, which distracted the Hytori long enough for the infidels to turn the tables on their human masters and fully entrench themselves. Why the Court of Princes didn't move to destroy them, he didn't know. Perhaps that was why Prince Rhydian was so interested in a dragon. While Laurevere didn't know Jacun well, he doubted he would take any side against Solunarium. But that was above his pay grade, anyway. A Val'Kor prince might just have been sent to recruit dragons to the Hytori cause.

A Val'Kor prince would be a dueling challenge as well, but he did not invite the prince to spar. The longer he stayed, the greater the chance he would investigate Sivan. The Sol'Miaren line was diminished—Sivan's wastrel father had only begotten a child upon a Dratori diplomat—but it was the closest they had to a new Arsoren. If only Sivan would wed a proper Hytori...

Laurevere mused silently, albeit briefly. The prince seemed discomfited by the silence, which Laurevere supposed could be used should he make any pointed questions that the secretive elf truly didn't wish to answer.

"This is conjecture only," he warned, "but I believe Zaichaer and Solunarium have more in common than one might think. There is a lazy, laissez-faire quality about magical regulation in Kalzasi. In Zaichaer, the Order controls it as strictly as an apostate could wish. They seem to have incorporated the covens they once hunted, bringing them under their dubious control. And power has been consolidated largely into the hands of two families: Dornkirk and Angevin.

"The former rose from obscurity as artificers of airships, so much so that an engineer is now their First Minister. His wife, née Angevin, has a ministerial position. Her half-brother, a half-Dratori bastard, has risen to be both an admiral of their fleet and High Sentinel of their Order. The Angevins were a royal line before Zaichaer became a military dictatorship, in fact. A student of history might say they are coming full circle. Perhaps one of their children will be the next king or queen of Zaichaer, and they will ever have an eye on empire. They are already taking a firmer hand at controlling their nominal territory, marking borders."

An eloquent spread of his hand assumed a Val'Kor prince could put two and two together far quicker than he had, and perhaps extrapolate beyond.

"Their rise to power smacks of Varværyn ambition and subjugation to me. It would not surprise me if their perpetual failures of mistborn demigods haven't got their hooks in Zaichaer somehow."

"Again," he offered by way of caveat, "my observations are limited and I only make what I consider to be logical extrapolations. I am certain His Majesty and his," he nodded respectfully to Rhydian, "agents would make more cogent conjectures."

Laurevere paused. He might keep secrets from the crown, but he still considered himself a patriot and considered the good of the Hytori people to be of paramount importance.

"But chaos is a ladder, 'tis said. Whether Dornkirk and Angevin create a northern knockoff of Luxium and Umbrium, I cannot say. It bears further inquiry, though."

And then his conjectures proved insufficient to deflect. Fuck.

"I can arrange a dinner, of course. Shall we say here three days hence?"


It was three days hence when a Len'Hytori butler let the prince into the home, saw to his outerwear, and led him through the house and out into the yard. A traditional Hytori home would have cradled a peristyle with some sort of garden or the like; here, at least, the yard had been turned into something similar, a sanctuary from the city where nature and the nurture of knowing hands brought a proper equilibrium for rest and respite.

A fine table had been laid for an informal symposium with an honored guest, and Rhydian found Laurevere speaking quietly with his neighbor. They turned to greet him, Laurevere's bow correct, his neighbor's lower as was proper.

"Welcome again to my home, Your Highness. May I present my young friend, Master Sivan Len'Myren. Alchemist, artificier, and collector of strange friends and acquaintances. Sivan, His Highness, Prince Rhydian of Koiláda ton Spathión."

Sivan did not rise, waiting for the prince's permission. He had wandered far, but he had spent many a formative year in Silfanore.

Sivan's own craft was restrained out of habit and respect; his senses only darted into a person's aura at their request, in imminent danger, or for contextual clues that weren't locked tight behind mental or magical walls. Even after all this time, he didn't know why Laurevere was truly here, though the friendship that had grown up between them remained an honest cover, at least.

"Hara máriessë, calima cundu," he replied before straightening.

Sivan Len'Myren didn't look Dratori. He had the golden sheen of the First Children about him, and looked untroubled and unravaged by age or disease. But perhaps the way the spirits took to him was proof enough that he had inherited spiritwalking from his mud-blooded mother. His dress was appropriate for a moderately prosperous Len'Hytori merchant; no ostentation real ostentation marked him, though the cut of his clothes and the quality of the fabric were fine indeed. He could have been a similar magician back in Aerion, and this an oikos clinging to some rock face in the Lípos range.

Whatever the provenance, the yard was comforting, not because some mesmerizing troubadour influenced the mood, but rather because the spirits of the place existed in harmony and enveloped those corporeal creatures who chose to abide there for any amount of time. The ground embraced the prince's footfalls. The balmy air caressed his skin.

"I was born in Silfanore, Your Highness, and have spent significant time there, though I have been out of Sol'Valen more than I have been in it," he said, continuing in more common, contemporary Mythrasi now that the formalities were complete. "Would you like to see the seedling and the stone now, Your Highness?" He indicated the moon gate between Laurevere's yard and his garden. Sivan assumed it was those tangible artefacts that had interested the prince, and not he himself. In that case, he wanted to ensure that Laurevere was able to provide the prince with what he desired, lest Sivan make his friend look bad.

"I followed my master out of Inokova," he began.

"Tavári'nar Val'Gwairil."

"...yes." Sivan flushed slightly at Laurevere's addendum. He hadn't wanted to seem as though he were bragging to a prince. Tavári'nar Val'Gwairil had already been ancient when a younger Sivan met him, and he still wasn't certain what had made the eccentric old enchanter pluck him out of where he had been and make him his apprentice. His name was known throughout Sol'Valen as a paragon of elven magical creativity. That he had left Sol'Valen to wander the north of Ailizane for his final years had been strange but in keeping with his strangeness. If Sivan had a sliver of his genius, then he held great potential.

"I followed Master Tavári'nar for his final travels on this earth. In his last days, he gave me a letter to take to Master Jacun here in Kalzasi, and so after seeing to his final rites, I came here and began to study alchemy rather than artificing. When I completed my apprenticeship, I had considered leaving, but then there were opportunities here."

With a nod, he led them through the circular gate and into his own garden, which was smaller, and certainly more lush. Both sides of the stone wall were still obviously recovering from being hothouses whose main purpose was the production of food for the masses. Sivan's garden was recovering more quickly, seeming almost overgrown in places. Bees buzzed contentedly in their hive in the branches of a great tree. A squealmouse chittered from the branches, then flung itself to land upon Sivan's shoulder, peering curiously at the Val'Kor prince.

"Your Highness may of course semble anything in my garden," Sivan said while they stood beside the altar. Nodding as well to what pieces of information the prince already had, he elaborated. "My friend Destynrael brought a strange seed back from an expedition in Ecith. As he is a wanderer, he asked if he could plant it here. He has frequently been a guest in my home. The erstwhile Shinsei, now Daizoku of Great House Novalys, was revealed as a reincarnation of Arcas. I met him once on the streets of the city, sembling as I walked and woefully unprepared for an undimmed divine aura. We spoke briefly while I recovered. In any case—Destyn wasn't entirely clear on the details—I believe he perhaps invited the then Shinsei to observe the seed. When I returned, this altar and its dawnfire crystal were here. It seemed imprudent to question a Draegir so I have attempted to be a good steward."