– Day 64 –
Rain, once again in his guise as Gandolf, sat within the luxurious quarters Duke Orwin had arranged for him in Elshire Castle. The chamber was grand, befitting an Archmage, with towering bookshelves lined with ancient tomes, a massive window overlooking Elshire's vast landscape, and a broad, ornately carved wooden desk stacked with notes. As he sat, he reviewed Kephela's insights about key figures and future events, absorbing details about potential allies and enemies.
A knock at the door interrupted his focus. "Come in; it's open," Gandolf called.
The door opened to reveal the Head Maid, who entered with her usual grace. Following her was Kephela, her gaze warm yet subtly mischievous. Gandolf's brow lifted in mild surprise at Kephela's sudden appearance.
The Head Maid, bowing deeply, addressed him with unwavering formality. "Good afternoon, Archmage Gandolf. The Saintess Kephela Sunfire has come to present herself before your esteemed presence."
Gandolf offered a slight nod, keeping his expression neutral, as Kephela gave him a playful wink and brought a finger to her lips in a silent 'shh,' pretending they hadn't met before. Then she dipped into a respectful bow.
"Good afternoon, Archmage Gandolf," she greeted, her voice polite and steady. As she straightened, Kephela extended her arms, and seven glowing circles materialized around her heart, each one pulsing with a radiant light. Then, to complete the formal display, two additional mana circles appeared, marking her status as a 7th-circle mage of noble lineage.
"My name is Kephela Sunfire," she continued, her tone rich with pride, "the first daughter of Duke Thorne Sunfire, and a Saintess."
Rain observed the elaborate introduction in silence, noting the ritualistic grace expected among high-ranking mages. 'So this is how you greet each other formally,' he mused. 'Good thing she's here before the meeting.'
Gandolf responded with equal dignity. "Good afternoon, Saintess Kephela," he replied in a deep, measured voice. "I am Gandolf, one of the few hundred humans to reach the 8th circle. A Hermit who carved his path to power alone."
To mark his own strength, Gandolf revealed his four mana circles, each one significantly thicker and more robust, almost three times the size of an ordinary mage's.
As he and Kephela concluded their introductions, two other mages stepped into the room, each clad in robes of their respective towers. One wore a deep sapphire-blue robe trimmed with silver, while the other was draped in crimson, accented by golden embroidery.
The mage in blue inclined his head. "It is an honor, Archmage Gandolf. I am Elric, the Blue Tower's current Grand Mage."
"And I am Kellan, Grand Mage of the Red Tower," the other mage announced, his voice rich with authority.
With introductions complete, Gandolf, Kephela, Elric, and Kellan left to bid Duke Orwin a brief farewell before departing for the Grey Tower. Located in the heart of Elshire, the tower loomed over the city, a colossal structure piercing the clouds, nearly four kilometers high. This tower served as neutral ground, a place where mages from all factions gathered without prejudice.
As they flew, dozens of mages joined the procession, each wearing robes of various colors, some casting curious glances at Gandolf. Among them, two large flying ships hovered in the distance. The first bore the crest of a sun and star—the unmistakable insignia of the Sunfire family, which drew a quiet chuckle from Gandolf. The second ship resembled a cathedral in flight, ivory and adorned with silver filigree, signifying the Church's presence.
Once airborne, Kellan, the Red Tower mage, leaned toward Elric. "I'm still trying to comprehend the thunderstorm from weeks ago. I've never seen anything like it in all my years."
Elric nodded, his expression deeply contemplative. "It wasn't just the storm's scale," he replied, his voice low. "The clouds reached the stratosphere, and each lightning strike grew stronger than the last, culminating in one blinding flash that illuminated the sky for miles."
"It wasn't only that," Kellan added, his brow furrowing. "Every bolt hit the exact same spot, like it was drawn there. And after the final strike, the clouds just vanished without a trace."
Gandolf held back a smile at their bewildered speculations, keeping his expression neutral. 'If only they knew who caused it…'
Feigning innocence, he asked, "And why are all the high-ranking mages gathering over a weather phenomenon? Surely there's a logical explanation."
Kephela, flying beside him, replied in a tone that was both matter-of-fact and instructive. "To create a phenomenon of that scale, the mage would need the power of a demi-god, at least."
Then, with a sidelong glance at Gandolf, she sent a telepathic message directly to him. 'The breakthrough to the Golden Core realm spans over 100 kilometers. Even an 8th-tier tsunami spell can only affect around 50 kilometers. But if someone managed to create this without leaving a single mana trace within a thousand kilometers… well, that's enough to make every high-circle mage uneasy.'
'Interesting,' Gandolf thought back with an amused smile. 'Looks like I caused quite a stir without even trying.'
As they neared the Grey Tower, Gandolf took in the scale of the gathering. Hundreds of mages from various factions converged, their combined energy vibrating through the air, filling it with a palpable tension and anticipation.
For now, Gandolf kept his thoughts private, carefully observing the conversation around him.
The vast hallways of the Grey Tower unfolded before Gandolf, Kephela, and the Grand Mages of the Red and Blue Towers as they were welcomed by an unexpected group of attendants. Each wore maid attire, yet their presence betrayed something far greater than simple servitude; the mana radiating from each woman marked them as formidable, likely 4th or 5th-tier mages in their own right. This tower, it seemed, allowed no one of lesser power near its elite visitors.
The maids led them upward, ascending through levels of increasing grandeur until they reached the VIP section near the tower's pinnacle. Here, the space seemed impossibly vast, nearly ten kilometers in diameter—a feat achieved through space magic despite the Grey Tower itself only measuring half a kilometer thick. A grand sight greeted them: walls of gleaming marble inlaid with intricate runic symbols, massive stained-glass windows, and swirling mana crystals illuminating the space with a celestial glow. Every detail spoke of prestige, a place reserved only for the rarest of mages.
As they made their way deeper inside, several Archmages took notice and began hovering close, studying Kephela and Gandolf with keen eyes. Four of them floated within speaking distance, each bearing the weathered appearance of someone in their fifties or sixties, though some Archmages farther away seemed almost frozen in place, their faces deeply lined, as if age itself bound them.
Kephela transmitted a telepathic message to Gandolf, her tone carrying a mix of caution and amusement. 'Those Archmages on wheelchairs are nearly five centuries old, hovering on the brink of their lifespan limit. The ones surrounding us now are closer to three hundred. Based on your appearance, just say you have a "natural baby face." They'll believe you're only around three hundred fifty, given your fabricated status.'
Gandolf gave a nearly imperceptible nod, keeping his gaze forward. 'Noted. It's oddly reassuring to see age impacts mages here as well.'
Their destination soon became clear as they approached the very center of the VIP floor. There, an aura of immense power commanded the space—a lone figure standing with a composed elegance. She bore an intricate halo that shimmered like finely woven threads of light, adding to her ethereal presence. Her appearance, strikingly youthful, suggested she was around thirty, though her bearing was ageless.
The Red Tower Grand Mage inclined his head respectfully and murmured to Gandolf and Kephela, "That is Lyria Celestine, disciple of Goddess Tyriel herself, a demi-god mage who achieved the 9th circle over eight centuries ago. Like her mentor, she is both a space and holy mage, a millennium genius… not unlike Saintess Kephela."
Kephela responded, her tone reverent yet matter-of-fact. "Reaching the 9th circle demands nothing less than that level of talent. Without the gift of genius, few survive long enough to achieve mana circles equal to their magic circles, let alone reach the perfection required of an Archmage."
Gandolf took in the space, absorbing every detail: the towering columns spiraled with glistening vines of mana, the crystalline floors that echoed with each footstep, the quiet hum of power saturating the very air. And yet, despite the aura of grandeur, something about Lyria's calm stillness made her the undeniable focal point.
Just as Gandolf's attention sharpened on her, a voice resonated within his mind—unexpected, like a gentle touch from a distance, yet with a distinct weight of authority.
'It is rare for an otherworldly presence to stand among us. Who are you… truly, that you would dare step into these hallowed halls?'
The voice was serene, each word laced with a calm divinity that left no room for falsehood, carrying the unwavering wisdom of centuries. It was unmistakably Lyria Celestine, and her question held a gravity that seemed to pierce beyond Gandolf's disguise.
Rain's mind raced, struggling to process Lyria's words.
'How… How could she see through my disguise?!'
The sheer audacity of her insight struck him like a bolt. 'Body Reconstruction shouldn't leave a single hint. There's no way she'd sense anything unless—'
He felt a wave of unease ripple through his core. 'Is this the power of a demi-god? I thought I was prepared, but... she's reading me like an open book!'
In a rare moment, Rain found himself genuinely rattled, his heartbeat quickening under the scrutiny of Lyria's gaze.