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    Chapter 50


    <b>High Magistrate Primus</b>


    I remember the weight of her—small, impossibly


    warm, like a flickering ember swathed in silk. Lyra’s heat pulsed against my


    chest, steady, almost sentient, as though something more than flesh and alchemy


    breathed beneath her porcelain skin. She cooed, a fragile sound swallowed by


    the rhythmic clack of heels on wet cobblestone.


    The alley reeked of damp decay, the ghost of rain


    lingering in the air. But beneath it slithered fouler scents—the sour rot of


    wood left to wither, the acrid taint of old magic abandoned to fester, the


    sharp metallic sting of alchemical runoff from the upper tiers of Avinnois. A


    cocktail of filth and forgotten sorcery. Yet in Merlin’s presence, the city’s


    grime seemed to shrink back, retreating into the shadows, cowed by her


    radiance.


    She was beautiful. Effortlessly so. The kind of


    beauty that made the world hesitate—that made me hesitate. And my heart, that


    traitorous thing, had thundered in my chest. It hadn’t been fear. Not entirely.


    Looking back, I see it for what it was. Jealousy. Me—jealous of her.


    Merlin’s silver-blue gaze, keen as a dagger’s


    edge, flickered between Selene and me, the air thickening with a tension that


    crackled like a distant storm. Then, she extended a hand—slow, deliberate,


    fingers poised like a hunter closing in on its quarry.


    “By the Great Anvil…” the dwarf beside me


    murmured, his deep voice a rumble of unease. “A homunculus. Well, that’s not


    good.”


    Merlin smiled then. Not a warm smile, nor a kind


    one—just a patient, knowing curve of the lips. “Give it here, dear.” Her tone


    was gentle, almost maternal, but her eyes betrayed her. I recognized that look.


    The same one the caretakers wore when I brought home a stray, pity barely


    veiling the intent to take it away.


    Selene moved faster than thought—a streak of orange


    fur, a flash of motion—then the sharp snap of teeth.


    Merlin’s gasp was nearly swallowed by the dwarf’s


    booming laughter. “Oh-ho! Nipped ya, did she? That lil’ lass has spunk!” He


    stroked his beard, eyes twinkling. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you


    didn’t see that coming.”


    Merlin flinched—not in pain, but in something far


    deeper. Her expression twisted, though not at the bite.


    The massive ogre let out a rumbling laugh.


    "Feisty..." he mused.


    Nearby, the smaller, younger female chuckled as


    she effortlessly hefted the limp body of a gnoll and tossed it into an open


    sack. It landed with a wet thud. "I like her," she murmured,


    amusement curling at the edges of her voice.


    Merlin turned, fixing them with a piercing stare.


    The laughter died. Stiffening, they bowed their


    heads and silently returned to their work.


    “No…” she admitted, voice low. “I did not.”


    The dwarf coughed, as if he’d swallowed his own


    breath. “Oh…” he said slowly, deliberately. Then, he took a step back.


    Selene’s ears flattened, her tail bristling as


    she darted behind me. She trembled, but her voice, though barely a whisper, was


    fierce. “Elara… They don’t have it either.”


    And I understood. These two—they were like us.


    Like Enoux.


    Then, a voice sliced through the air, sharp as a


    drawn blade.


    “Elara. Selene.”


    Not a question. Not a plea.


    A verdict.


    At the alley’s entrance, framed by the sickly


    glow of lantern light, stood Enoux. Behind her, two ogres stuffed dead


    carcasses into a massive leather sack. Hands on her hips, scowl deep as a


    canyon, she radiated disappointment. Not anger—something heavier.


    I swallowed hard.


    And when I say I, I mean all of us—the dwarf and


    Lady Merlin included.


    I remember how Merlin had been all sharp angles


    and exotic beauty—raven-black hair, silvered-steel eyes, and a presence that


    demanded attention. But Enoux?


    Enoux was something else entirely.


    Serene. Regal. The kind of beauty that made the


    world hold its breath. Her long silver hair cascaded over her shoulders like


    liquid moonlight, catching the dim alley glow. Amethyst eyes, polished and deep


    as cut gemstones, regarded us with quiet authority. Unlike Merlin, clad in


    practical leather armor, Enoux wore robes of shimmering silk, each thread laced


    with silver, bending the light as if woven from the night sky itself.


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    "Pretty..." Selene whispered beside me,


    ears twitching. Even the baby in my arms had fallen silent, wide eyes locked


    onto Enoux, as if recognizing something beyond words.


    The two ogres stuffing corpses into a giant,


    leathery sack halted at the quiet command that followed.


    "Leave us," Enoux ordered, her voice


    neither loud nor harsh—but absolute.


    The ogres hesitated only long enough to bow


    before hefting their grotesque burden and vanishing into the shadows.


    Beside me, the dwarf suddenly busied


    himself—tugging at his coat, smoothing his beard with frantic strokes. When he


    finally spoke, his voice came out more croak than speech.


    "Uh… High Magister, Primus," he


    stammered, swallowing hard. "What brings you out today… in the cold, wet…


    uh… alley?"


    Selene stiffened, tugging at my sleeve.


    "High Magister!" she hissed. "Elara… what''s a High


    Magister?"


    I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat had gone


    dry.


    She turned to me, confused. Then, seeing the look


    on my face, she simply said, "Oh."


    We were standing before the highest seat in the


    Magistrate. The strongest mage in the known world.


    The best of the best.


    I saw Merlin’s jaw tighten. Her fingers twitched,


    but her hands were shaking.


    Enoux, however, ignored her. Ignored the dwarf.


    Ignored everyone but me. She approached, slow and deliberate, her lips curving


    into a smile. But it wasn’t kind.


    It was the kind of smile that made your stomach


    drop.


    The kind of smile that said, <i>You are in so


    much trouble.</i>


    She reached out and pinched my ear. Then she


    twisted.


    "Ow, ow, ow!" I yelped, squirming.


    “Elara, my dear," Enoux murmured, voice


    silky smooth. "You have so much to answer for.”


    I gave an awkward laugh that was more breath than


    sound.


    Then, Merlin exhaled, long and deep, as if she’d


    been holding it in this entire time.


    "Oh, thank the Great Cycle," she


    muttered. "For a second there, dear cousin, I thought you were here for


    me."


    <i>Cousin?</i>


    Selene and I spoke at the same time.


    "Cousin!?"


    Even the baby let out a tiny, shocked gasp.


    Enoux turned her head slowly toward Merlin.


    “Dear cousin," she repeated, her voice


    carrying the unmistakable weight of unspoken accusations.


    “Y-yeah," Merlin replied awkwardly.


    “I thought you were at the fringes, hunting the


    Blood Raider remnants?”


    Merlin gestured toward the bloodied sacks left


    behind by the ogres. "Oh, I was… but it seems some of them made it farther


    inland than we expected."


    "I see..." Enoux murmured, unreadable.


    Merlin, ever the rogue, threw an arm over Enoux’s


    shoulder with a mischievous grin. "You’ve been busy while I was gone,


    haven’t you?" she teased.


    A faint, unmistakable shade of red crept onto


    Enoux’s face.


    "I beg your pardon?"


    The dwarf chuckled into his beard. "Come


    now, Lady Primus… the lass has your embroidered gloves on."


    Merlin elbowed Enoux playfully. "So… who’s


    the lucky guy?"


    "What—" Enoux sputtered, scandalized.


    "There is no guy. You know the rules as well as I do. Magisters of title


    are forbidden from—"


    Merlin waved her off with a smirk. "Yeah,


    yeah, I figured. You’re a stickler for the rules."


    Then, her eyes flicked toward Selene and me.


    "No, dear cousin. I meant them."


    Enoux followed her gaze, irritation shifting to


    something colder. Calculating.


    The dwarf was the one to say it aloud, motioning


    toward the barely breathing gnoll at the alley’s edge.


    "They’re… gifted," he said simply.


    Merlin gave a sly wink. "Ah, yes.


    Gifted."


    Enoux’s grip on my ear loosened, and for the


    first time, something flickered behind her composed mask. She turned fully to


    face me, amethyst gaze locking onto mine.


    "What does she mean?"


    I exhaled. "Selene… she…" I ran a hand


    through my hair, suddenly aware of the weight of this moment. "Her Inner


    Leyline woke up."


    Enoux straightened, scanning the alley with fresh


    scrutiny.


    "Let’s take this conversation somewhere more


    private," she decided.


    She turned on her heel, robes whispering as she


    moved. I followed.


    We had barely taken three steps when her voice


    cut through the night, calm, decisive.


    "Garik."


    "My lady Primus?" the dwarf responded.


    "Kill the gnoll."


    The dwarf sighed heavily, like a man resigned to


    a duty he did not relish.


    "Sorry, lad," he muttered.


    Then came the sickening crunch of hammer meeting


    skull.