The main problem with the streets of Veltraxis was their absolute chaos. Most of them had no names and had been built at random, shaped by the needs—or whims—of whoever put up the houses. That usually didn’t trouble Aedran; he knew the area well, and trouble almost always concentrated in the city center. This time, however, the world seemed determined to make his life miserable.

  Kaeldric and Lyara tried to stay close, but Aedran moved like lightning—slipping through alleys, vaulting over fences. At one point, Kaeldric was certain they were trespassing on private property. As they cut through the back gardens of an old mansion, an elderly man with dark skin and a body adorned with golden prosthetics and some strange marks stormed out, brandishing a curved saber and shouting at the guards… though Aedran suspected most of the insults were meant for him.

  The sounds of unrest were getting closer, yet they still couldn’t pinpoint their source. Aedran stopped in front of a building under construction, scanning both sides as he tried to track the noise. Kaeldric caught up, exhausted, and shot him a reproachful look.

  “What? Tired of running in circles?” the captain asked between gasps. Even for him, keeping up had been torture.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty irritating. I wonder why the outer districts are laid out like this…” Aedran grumbled before turning to Lyara. She, on the other hand, was smiling, eyes alight, without a single bead of sweat on her face.

  “Great…” he muttered.

  “It’s incredible! I’ve never seen anyone move like that,” Lyara exclaimed, brimming with excitement.

  Aedran felt as if diabetes were already forming inside him.

  “Yeah, that’s what girls usually say about me,” he joked. Lyara frowned, confused for a second.

  “Alright, sugar bomb, try to keep up.”

  Lyara tensed, ready. Kaeldric, about to complain and demand a bit of seriousness, lost his words when he saw Aedran launch himself toward the scaffolding and start climbing with practiced ease.

  “Damn it,” Kaeldric muttered, refusing to follow him.

  Lyara, however, took a running start and reached the scaffolding, climbing it with surprising agility. Reaching the top was no problem; she landed on one of the concrete pillars. She still distrusted that material, though she had to admit it was useful. From there, she began scanning the area for the source of the commotion.

  Aedran was waiting for her higher up.

  “Not bad,” he said when she straightened atop the column.

  Lyara smiled, and he added with a half-smirk, “You only weigh about twenty kilos, so that helps.”

  She let out a soft laugh.

  Suddenly, behind them, gears screeched and a metal box rose on a pulley to their level. Kaeldric emerged from it, already recovered.

  “You do know they invented this for a reason, right?” he snapped, stepping off the lift before it descended again.

  “Yeah. Because people are boring and there aren’t any mages left to do it for you,” Aedran shot back.

  Lyara shuddered at how casually he’d said the word mage; even Kaeldric glanced at him with some discomfort.

  From that height, they could see much of the city. Amid the bleak gloom of the outer districts, City Hall stood out. Griffins cut across the skies, and a few nightmare-eaters glided toward the houses. They’d been using them far too often lately, and Aedran wondered how there still wasn’t a loose dream-devourer roaming the streets.

  In the distance, the central districts and the upper quarter of Veltraxis shone with blinding light. The Guard Tower rose hundreds of meters above the ostentatious rooftops and massive buildings, and at the summit, upon the mountain, the Chancellor’s mansion gleamed.

  “What a view… I can barely make out the edge of the city,” Lyara said.

  “This will be the tallest building in the outer districts. It’s always worth looking from up here,” Aedran replied.

  He ran his fingers over the marks on his skin, and a sharp pain shot through him. He closed his eyes, focusing until the lines trembled faintly. Lyara’s reaction hovered between fascination and fear.

  Aedran turned sharply and pointed to the right.

  “Found it,” he announced with a grin. “It’s in the construction zone of the Marca District.”

  “Great, that’s like a kilometer away… how do you plan—?” Kaeldric began, but stopped when he saw Aedran already in a runner’s stance, eyes locked on the next building. A second later, he hurled himself forward, leaping between columns and clearing several meters to the nearest rooftop.

  Lyara moved to follow, but Kaeldric grabbed her arm.

  “What is it?” she asked, confused.

  “Be careful. Aedran is anything but reliable,” he warned.

  “Well, I’ll be spending quite a lot of time with him. I suppose I’ll have to learn how to decipher him,” she replied firmly.

  She pulled free and ran after Aedran. Kaeldric was tempted to chase them, but in the end decided to use the elevator again.

  It took Aedran only a few minutes to reach La Marca, one of the districts that had changed the most in recent years. After the Red Night, Veltraxis had tried to “reform” the outer neighborhoods… a process that, in practice, meant hundreds of families were driven from their homes and “compensated” with a handful of bills barely enough to survive a year.

  Aedran moved through half-built structures until a recent crash guided him forward. He ran in that direction and dropped into a construction site where unfinished apartment blocks were rising. From above, he saw the heart of the scene: a knight in silver armor was hurled through the air, a glowing wound cutting across his plates. He slammed into a column. Surprisingly, the structure held.

  Aedran looked away and immediately found the source of the chaos. At the center, surrounded by knights, stood a man with bronze, grimy skin—clearly a resident of the outer districts: ragged clothes, a face smeared with dirt, skin hardened by endless days under the sun. A greenish aura wrapped around him, rising in waves like spectral smoke.

  Under normal circumstances, the knights should have tried to negotiate first. But that chance was long gone. Aedran scanned the site and spotted the real problem: greenish markings gleamed from the excavation pit. Fragments of Camellium.

  His magic probably spiraled out of control the moment he touched the mineral… how long had it been hidden down there?

  Aedran drew his sword: a long, double-edged blade of black steel etched with pale runes, its pommel gleaming yellow. One of the knights stepped forward, but the mage’s aura twisted and, with a simple flick of his hand, a volley of green arrows burst into the air. Shields snapped shut into formation as the soldiers braced themselves, the arrowheads clanging against metal. One arrow pierced a knight’s armor, sending him sprawling backward, blood running down his arm.

  “Hey!” Aedran barked.

  Every head turned toward the construction scaffolding, where he stood with his arms crossed.

  “No… he didn’t… he didn’t…” the mage stammered, naked terror in his voice. He trembled at the sight of the newcomer.

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  “Lieutenant Aedran,” one of the knights said, lowering his spear and frowning beneath his helmet. “No. Not him.”

  Lyara finally reached the edge of the site, eyes wide as she took in the scene. The mage raised his hand, and two chained swords materialized before him, hurling themselves at Aedran and shattering the concrete. The first slashed from the right—he twisted aside, dodging it cleanly. The second lunged from the left.

  “Olé!” he mocked, until the ground beneath his boots began to crack. “Shit…”

  The floor gave way, and Aedran fell into the rubble. A cloud of dust exploded upward. Lyara blinked, stunned. The mage smiled smugly, brushing back his black hair in triumph. But instead of finishing him off, the knights lowered their weapons, eyes fixed on the rising dust cloud.

  The mage frowned… then froze when he heard footsteps within the smoke. Aedran emerged, limping slightly, one hand pressed to his back, his face set in pure irritation. He shook concrete dust from his clothes.

  “Ah, what a nuisance…” he muttered, locking eyes with the mage. Lyara held her breath, waiting for his next move.

  “Come on, try again. I can’t afford to roll around like these knights you’ve been tossing through the air,” he added with a dry smile.

  The soldiers averted their gazes, embarrassed, and began to withdraw.

  “So delicate…” Aedran scoffed.

  The mage’s teeth ground together. With a snarl, he summoned his chained swords again. They coiled around his arms and launched into a lethal dance, ripping through columns and tearing up the ground as if matter itself did not exist for them.

  Aedran dodged the blows with ease, his confident smile never leaving his lips. Lyara realized with shock that the swords passed through obstacles like ghosts, yet still sliced stone as if it were flesh.

  “Materialization magic, right?” Aedran taunted, watching his opponent unravel.

  “Yes! Everything I imagine, I manifest. It’s limitless power!” the mage roared, raising one of the chained swords.

  Aedran followed its arc, though the glare of the sun blinded him for an instant. The blade came down with a shriek, and Lyara instinctively stepped forward, ready to intervene… until she noticed the faint, amused smile curving Aedran’s lips.

  He raised his black sword with perfect calm.

  “Fool!” the mage shouted, triumphant. “My creations can ignore any matter I choose. That sword will pass through you like air and—”

  He never finished.

  A thunderous metallic crash tore through the site.

  Lyara’s eyes went wide. Aedran’s black sword had stopped the blow dead, tearing sparks free on impact. The dark edge gleamed with a strange intensity as he skewered the mage with a look of pure, arrogant contempt.

  “Let me guess…” Aedran said, taking a step toward the mage, who flinched and drew his swords back. “This is the first time you’ve ever used your powers in real combat, isn’t it?”

  “I–I…”

  “Look, I’ll explain.” Aedran spoke with the calm of a man delivering a lesson, deliberately stretching out the mage’s agony. It was obvious he wanted to break him; the sadistic curve of his smile gave him away. “Materialization magic is powerful… but it relies heavily on imagination. Creating tangible or intangible things is practical, sure…”

  “Shut up!” the mage screamed. His eyes burned with a desperate green light as the swords duplicated and lunged forward.

  Aedran swung his blade with what looked like chaotic speed, yet every motion precisely deflected one of the mage’s attacks to the millimeter. Lyara drifted closer to Kaeldric, her expression alight with excitement; the scene looked torn straight from the books she devoured.

  “Blackstone…” she murmured, studying Aedran’s weapon closely. Two golden lines ran along the blade, flaring with every impact against enemy magic. “I thought it was extremely rare.”

  “It is,” Kaeldric confirmed, folding his arms. “What you’re seeing is a family heirloom. And he’s one of the very few people in this world who’s actually allowed to wield it.”

  Lyara glanced at him, noticing how he sighed and leaned back against one of the unfinished walls.

  “Shouldn’t we… you know…” She turned fully toward him. “Help him? Mages are supposed to be restrained by at least one full unit.”

  “I forgot you were the model student,” Kaeldric replied, ignoring her as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and put it to his lips. “Don’t take it so literally. It’s just a recommendation. The truth is, a mage can either be contained by one man… or not even a hundred will manage it.”

  “But—”

  “Besides, jumping into the ‘fun,’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers, “just makes things annoying later when we have to tell him what to do. So enjoy the show.”

  Lyara bit her lip and turned her attention back to the fight. Aedran kept advancing, step by step, while the mage stared in disbelief. Several of his attacks struck nearby structures by accident, cracking the concrete and causing minor damage.

  “As I was saying…” Aedran continued. He tightened his grip; the golden markings glimmered faintly, and his next swing shattered the magical construct the mage had just launched. “That kind of magic is powerful, yes—but it consumes such an absurd amount of Camellic energy that it ends up being the most inefficient of all.”

  The mage clenched his teeth and let out a strangled cry, forcing his body to give more than it should just to keep up. Aedran smiled in realization. He adjusted his grip in a very specific way; the golden sections flared again, and the next impact destroyed one of the mage’s swords. The mage jolted as his energy drained all at once.

  Each strike erased another sword. At last, the mage dropped to one knee, feeling the strength leave him as his insides burned. A muffled groan escaped his throat.

  “What’s happening?” the mage asked, startling Lyara.

  He’s unconscious of it… this must be the first time he’s ever truly used his abilities, she thought, stepping a little closer. The mage’s eyes trembled as they scanned his own body. He’s terrified. That’s why he’s acting like this. It’s almost pitiful.

  For Aedran, however, it was nothing more than boredom. He couldn’t help thinking how monotonous his job had become. The swords ceased their attacks, and he advanced slowly. The knights, who had been relaxed, straightened up at once. The mage, fighting back tears, slipped a hand into his pocket.

  It all happened in a second.

  The mage pulled out a scrap of paper wrapped around something. He squeezed it tight. A sharp crystalline crack rang out, and a reddish flash blinded Aedran. The mage lashed out in his direction.

  Aedran ducked on instinct. A red arrow screamed over his head, far larger and faster than any previous attack. It detonated in the sky, making the entire site tremble. The crimson glow lit Aedran’s face and dragged him, for an instant, back to that day. He felt the red smoke again—the suffocation, the nearness of death.

  The mage tried to stand.

  Aedran’s expression hardened.

  In the blink of an eye, he was beside him. The strike was brutal, almost desperate. The arm went flying.

  Dark metal rang violently, and the red magic dissipated the instant the severed limb hit the ground. The mage screamed for only a few seconds before Aedran slammed the pommel into the back of his neck, knocking him unconscious.

  The knight breathed hard, blood pounding in his head. He stared at the severed arm with a flicker of dread. It was scorched black by magic. It still clutched the scrap of paper, from which small shards of red crystal protruded.

  “Red Camelium…” Aedran murmured.

  On the page, a vibrant red page, there was a draw of a white hand clutching something. Aedran tried to step closer to take it, but his marks burned as he neared the mineral.

  Then a sharp screech made him flinch.

  He looked up, still dazed, and saw one of the columns beginning to collapse toward him.

  “WATCH OUT!” Lyara shouted, throwing herself at Aedran and knocking him out of the way.

  The column slammed into the ground with a deafening crash, shattering and crushing the mage’s body beneath it.

  Aedran opened his eyes. Lyara was on top of him, breathing hard, staring straight at his face. For a moment, Aedran paused on her expression; her violet eyes were hypnotic. He raised a hand toward her, and Lyara startled.

  Then he shoved her away roughly, pushing her aside and sending her to the ground.

  “Get off me,” Aedran said as he stood up.

  The young woman looked at him in confusion before lowering her gaze toward the mage.

  Aedran clenched his teeth and approached cautiously. There was no sign of the Camellium or the paper in plain sight; they had to be buried beneath the mountain of concrete. The only thing visible was the mage’s corpse, staining the ground with blood.

  The knights moved in, passing by Aedran. Kaeldric stayed where he was, watching him. His expression was shaken, rigid, as if he were about to vomit.

  Aedran walked off to the other side, rubbing his face, trying to calm himself as much as possible. He gripped his father’s medallion so hard his knuckles turned white. He let out one last breath and sat down, staring at the knights, who were watching him with barely concealed fear.

  “WHAT? DID YOU ENJOY THE SHOW OR WHAT?” Aedran shouted.

  At once, the knights began clearing the rubble, trying to reach the mage. None of them looked particularly eager, especially with red Camellium possibly nearby. Kaeldric stepped up beside Aedran. Lyara came up behind him.

  “What was that?” she asked, visibly shaken.

  “It’s modified Camellium,” Aedran replied. “The same kind they used during the Red Night…”

  He paused, choking back a groan. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

  “It’s called red Camellium. It’s toxic and volatile. But it’s also an even better energy source for mages than normal Camellium… assuming it doesn’t kill them in the process.”

  Aedran lowered his head. Kaeldric glanced at him cautiously.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Nothing a little fun won’t fix.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Kaeldric said flatly.

  Aedran shot him an irritated look.

  “The Lord wants to see you. The letter they sent you… which I assume you threw away…”

  “Look, I don’t care who he is. He can wait until tomorrow.” Aedran stood up and tried to walk off.

  Kaeldric planted a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him cold.

  “What? Why don’t you take Sugar Candy with you and tell me about it tomorrow?”

  “Hey, maybe you should—” Lyara tried to interject.

  Aedran shot her a glare. She didn’t flinch, but her expression hardened.

  “…be a little nicer.”

  “I agree,” Kaeldric added.

  “And why should I? Is she some bourgeois’ daughter or something?”

  “Something like that. And she’s your apprentice.”

  Aedran’s eyes flew open in exasperation.

  “What?”

  “The letter informed you that you were chosen to lead the Guard’s new department.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Aedran demanded, brushing Kaeldric’s hand aside.

  “You’re the new head of the Magical Counterterrorism Division,” Kaeldric said at last, turning away.

  Lyara watched Aedran for a moment longer before following him.

  “And the Lord didn’t ask,” Kaeldric added without looking back. “He ordered you to come.”

  End of the chapter.