The sun was only just beginning to bleed through the edges of the heavy curtains, casting long, amber stripes across the room.

  Aiven sat at the small wooden desk, his eyes burning from a lack of rest. He had managed barely three hours of fitful sleep before his mind forced him awake, the gears of his anxiety turning faster than the ones in his mechanical arm.

  Beside the bed, Virelle was still asleep. She didn't lie down like a normal person; she remained suspended in the air, her silver hair fanning out around her like a halo, her breathing so shallow and rhythmic it was almost silent. In the dim light, she looked less like a weapon of mass destruction and more like a fragile porcelain doll.

  Aiven stared at a blank piece of parchment on the desk, his mind trying to organize the chaos of the last few weeks into a logical ledger.

  The Situation:

  Virelle’s past. The government’s evidence from Hearthport was too specific to ignore. A silver-haired elf raining havoc during Catastrophe #3. Even if she couldn't remember it, the probability was high.

  The Pursuit. They weren't just running from a local guild anymore; they were running from the Aerilis authorities. If the Sovereign's decree reached this far, Fangreach was just a temporary cage.

  Resources. He had one gold coin and a handful of silvers. It was a small fortune for a clerk, but for two fugitives on the run from an empire? It was a ticking clock.

  He looked at the sleeping mage. The most logical way to stop the hunt would be to hand her over. But as a summoner, he knew that wouldn't absolve him. They already viewed him as the mastermind—the man who had pulled a "Star of Destruction" from the void to level a city. Even if he wanted to give her up, he couldn't. Not just because of the law, but because the mere thought felt like a physical weight on his soul. He didn't have conclusive evidence of her guilt, and more importantly, he didn't want it to be true.

  "We need the truth," Aiven whispered to the empty room. "But where do we find it?"

  The vampires were the only real lead. They knew who she was. They had tried to tamper with her mind to somewhat 'reboot' her. But the last time they fought, Aiven had lost an arm and nearly his life. Even if they had a fighting chance, he had no idea where they were hiding.

  He thought back to his encounter with Aelira. She had mentioned hooded figures being spotted across the archipelago. They were the keys. But he had no way to contact her, no way to track them, and no genius brain to piece it all together. He was just a regular guy, and he was failing at being a hero.

  "Too much," he muttered, burying his face in his hands. "It’s all too much."

  Suddenly, the air in front of him shifted. The scent of lavender and ozone grew sharp.

  "Master?"

  Aiven gasped, his head snapping up. Virelle was no longer by the bed. She was floating right beside him, her face so close to his ears that he could feel the cool, rhythmic puff of her breath against his skin.

  "Gah!" Aiven shrieked, his chair screeching against the floor as he jerked backward.

  In his panic, his right arm flew up instinctively.

  THWACK.

  His palm caught Virelle right across the bridge of her nose. The impact wasn't hard, but it was enough to knock her slightly off-balance in mid-air.

  "Ouch!" Virelle let out a small, surprisingly cute yelp, her hands immediately flying up to cover her face as she drifted backward.

  "Virelle! I’m so sorry!" Aiven scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering in his throat. "I didn't see you! You were just... you were right there!"

  Virelle stayed silent for a moment, rubbing her nose with a pained pout. Her silver hair was slightly disheveled from the sudden movement. After a few seconds, she dropped her hands, her nose a faint, rosy pink. "It is quite alright, Master," she said, her voice a bit muffled. "I suppose I should have accounted for your... unique reflexes."

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  She drifted closer again, though she kept a few inches of safety between them this time. Her expression softened, the playful arrogance replaced by a rare, quiet concern.

  "You were making that face again," she said softly. "The one where you look like you are trying to carry the weight of the entire sky on your shoulders. My Master should not stay down in the dumps so often. It makes me feel... rather useless."

  Aiven looked at her, his guilt deepening. "I’m just... I’m trying to find a way out of this, Virelle. For both of us."

  Virelle tilted her head, a small, smug smile returning to her lips. "Then stop thinking like a clerk and start thinking like a Master who can make the world submit. If the world is trying to crush you, you don't calculate the pressure... you simply find a way to break the world."

  Aiven looked at her, the words echoing in his mind. Break the world. It was easier said than done. If he truly switched his mindset to that of a fearless Master with the strongest mage by his side, where would that lead? Brute force through every obstacle? Becoming a tyrant who erases anything in his path? That wasn't him. He knew that path would only cause more problems down the line, potentially turning him into the very monster the government claimed he was.

  He couldn't do that. Making an enemy of the entire Aerilis was a death sentence. At that point, even a single archmage, as powerful as Virelle was, probably wouldn't be enough to save him.

  He wasn't a political mastermind, either. He had no influential connections, no noble blood, and no secret allies. If he were one of those legendary schemers from the history books, he could pull the strings from the shadows, letting someone else take the fall or act as his shield...

  "That's it!" Aiven said out loud, his eyes widening as a spark of clarity hit him.

  Virelle blinked, startled by his sudden outburst. "Master?"

  "Thank you!" Aiven blurted out, a genuine, albeit nervous, smile breaking across his tired face.

  "You're... welcome?" Virelle replied, tilting her head with a look of utter confusion. She clearly had no idea what her Master had just thought of, but she smoothed her skirts nonetheless. "I am glad my infinite wisdom is useful."

  "I still haven't thought of the exact details," Aiven said, pacing the small room. "But I don't have to be the one pulling the strings. It could be someone else. A proxy. We find someone with influence, someone who can talk to the authorities or move through the shadows where we can't. We just need to find that person... and maybe resort to a little persuasion."

  Hearing the word 'threaten'—or at least the implication of it—Virelle’s eyes lit up with a terrifying, radiant brilliance. She spun in a graceful circle in the air, her prismatic orb hummed with a predatory glee.

  "Persuasion? Threatening?" she purred, her voice dripping with a sweet, lethal anticipation. "Oh, Master, you are finally speaking my language. That is my absolute specialty. I can be very persuasive when there is a looming threat of molecular deconstruction involved."

  "Let's not go that far yet," Aiven started, but he was interrupted by a sudden, violent commotion coming from downstairs.

  Shouting, the sound of heavy boots, and the high-pitched, terrified squeak of Lulu echoed through the floorboards. Aiven froze, his heart dropping back into his stomach. For some reason, as a man who had been plagued by neverending troubles, he wasn't at all surprised that the trouble had finally found their door.