The parlor of Baron Celdrik's residence was in complete chaos. Empty and broken wine bottles lay scattered on the floor, along with shattered goblets and twisted tapestries. The curtains were partially torn, as if someone had clung to them in a moment of desperation. The air smelled of sour liquor, sweat, and suppressed rage. Amid the chaos, sitting on his high-backed throne, Baron Celdrik held his forehead with one trembling hand, while his other gripped the arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. His clothes were wrinkled and stained with wine, and his normally well-groomed hair hung in untidy clumps around his face, contorted with fury.

  In front of him, standing in complete silence, a group of finely robed mages with pale faces tried to find the right words to calm him, without success. No one dared to speak first, and no one wanted to become the immediate target of his wrath. The tension was unbearable.

  Just a few days ago, the Baron had received the strange news that the sculptor Alexander—an eccentric and brilliant man—had disappeared along with his entire household. Literally, the entire structure vanished from the grounds as if it had never existed. His daughter, Alicia, had been devastated by her mentor's sudden departure, unable to understand what had happened.

  For the Baron, this loss had been regrettable, but manageable. Alexander was a valuable asset to the county's cultural prestige, yes, but not irreplaceable.

  The real disaster began with news he learned that morning, in the form of an urgent letter from the duchy's capital. The content left him frozen: three powerful mages had disappeared without a trace while passing through his county.

  This wasn't just any group of mages—they were influential figures:

  Clarence Drimof, son of a marquis, a level 5 mage and active member of a respected guild in the capital.

  Mason Fadir, a level 6 apprentice to the Leader of the Duke's Guard, renowned for his electrical affinity and considered a future candidate to reach level 7.

  And perhaps most worrisome of all, Clay Emerson, the only registered mage with spatial affinity in the entire duchy, a direct disciple of the enigmatic and feared Dorian, possessor of one of the few magical towers in the region.

  The three were reportedly on a confidential mission for someone of great influence, and their last signs of life placed them in transit through his county, on a route that, for the baron, seemed all too familiar.

  The pieces fell into place too quickly in the baron's mind. The three had arrived with a hidden agenda, and there was no doubt that this agenda was linked to Alexander. Did they want to take something from him? Force him to collaborate? Interrogate him, rob him? Whatever it was, the outcome was clear: the three mages had disappeared, just like the sculptor.

  The disappearance of Alexander and the three mages weren't isolated events. They were part of the same disaster. And it didn't matter who was right in the potential conflict between the two sides, as Alexander condemned his version of events by disappearing from the scene. Now it was only a matter of time before he was found guilty of kidnapping or murder.

  It was Lucien, his magical advisor and personal bodyguard, who sent the second, catastrophic news, direct from the duke's court, which arrived less than an hour earlier. The duke himself had decided to involve the Empire, activating emergency protocols and notifying the imperial delegates. The case was being treated as a matter of regional security.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  But for the baron, the worst thing wasn't the disappearance of Alexander or the mages, or even the imminent arrival of imperial emissaries. What was truly terrifying was what these imperial investigators would bring with them: they dug into everything. They never limited themselves to solving specific cases. Their modus operandi was well known: they used the pretext of a major case to uncover all the corruption associated with each person involved. Extortion, illegal favors, nepotism, smuggling... everything would come to light.

  It was the Empire's way of keeping its vassal kingdoms under control: sowing fear of total exposure.

  And the Baron knew it. As the father of Alicia, apprentice to the missing sculptor, his name would be in the first reports. It didn't matter that he had nothing directly to do with the disappearance. All it took was for his daughter to have frequent contact with Alexander for the Empire's gaze to fall upon him with all its weight.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling like a bull about to charge. "Damn all those who caused this," he muttered hoarsely, more to himself than to those present.

  The Baron knew he would have to draw on all his contacts, both at the Duchy's court and in the few precious ties he retained within the Empire, if he wanted to survive this catastrophe without losing his noble title. But the real problem was Alicia, because although it was obvious the young woman probably had no idea what was happening around her, that wouldn't prevent her from being considered, at the very least, a suspect in aiding Alexander. Imperial agents wouldn't let any loose ends slide, and her position as the daughter of a baron isn't enough to save her from capture.

  And when that happened, the rest would be a painful and ruthless bureaucratic spectacle. Alicia would be detained, interrogated, and held in custody, to be used as one of the many pawns of the imperial system. At best, she would be assigned as free labor within the many departments of the empire; at worst, she would be sent as a soldier to some active war, where her noble lineage would only guarantee her the dubious privilege of being a few steps behind the front lines. All this, while her freedom was tied to the slow and cruel judicial machinery of the empire, which would only free her if the case was resolved… or if it was buried forever.

  The Baron knew he had to act, and act quickly. He wasn't willing to allow his daughter to suffer such a vile and uncertain fate. So he made a decision that not any father would be willing to make; one that, although it would also bring Alicia suffering, would at least guarantee her survival and dignity, with much greater certainty.

  Containing the fury that still burned within him, the Baron sat down to write a letter with his own hand. Each word weighed like lead, and when he finished, he sealed it with his official emblem and solemnly handed it to one of his most trusted men.

  "Deliver it by hand and make sure it is carried out," he ordered, his voice harsh.

  The letter was a direct order to his daughter's guards: Alicia was to be sent immediately to the headquarters of the local branch of the Deep Root Church, in the duchy's capital. There, she was to volunteer to join the institution.

  Inside the letter was an explanation to his daughter, with all the reasons she needed to understand the situation, something the Baron knew would hurt her. But unfortunately, it was the only option he considered the lesser of two evils.

  It was a decision with no return. By formally joining the church, Alicia would be beyond the reach of the Empire. As a sacred institution recognized by the crown, the Church had independent jurisdiction, and any attempt by imperial agents to touch it would be considered sacrilege. But protection came at a price: Alicia could never leave the church, not even if she wanted to. Her fate was sealed forever.

  Silent tears welled in the Baron's eyes as he gave the order. He knew it would be a long time before he saw his daughter again... if fate allowed it.

  The Baron finished giving his final instructions and silently walked to the large hall window. Outside, the sky was beginning to cloud over, as if the world shared his grief. He placed a hand on the carved wooden frame and from there gazed out at the gardens without really seeing them.

  He simply cursed... He cursed the fools who failed to see the obvious: that Alexander was someone dangerously strong, someone who only wanted to be at peace. He cursed Alexander himself for running away so selfishly, without a second's thought for Alicia and the consequences he would leave in his wake. He cursed the Duke for having involved the Empire in a matter that, although serious, could still have been resolved within the duchy. And finally, he cursed himself for not having foreseen it, for not having been more cautious, for not having accepted one of the many marriage proposals, and for having allowed his daughter to learn sculpture from Alexander, thus allowing their destinies to intertwine so dangerously.

  He clenched his fists. He couldn't change the past, but he had made a decision. And as painful as it was, he had chosen the only path that could still protect his daughter.