Time flowed slowly in the provinces. While the capital roiled with politics and plots, Mikhail's caravan wound its way through landscapes of breathtaking beauty.
In the research carriage, dawn found him bent over the stasis pod, his hands glowing with carefully controlled magic as he worked to neutralise another strand of the temporal binding agent.
Aurora stood beside him, her human disguise perfect save for the otherworldly knowledge in her eyes.
"The resonance patterns are stabilising," she observed, monitoring the pod's future-tech displays. "Each treatment breaks down more of the binding matrix. Though..." she frowned slightly, "the deeper layers are proving remarkably resistant."
"My father's strength continues to surprise me," Mikhail said softly, watching the steady rise and fall of the Emperor's chest. "Even unconscious, he fights against the poison."
Outside, life in the caravan continued its strange, peaceful rhythm. Valerie spent her mornings refining harmonic resonance patterns surrounding her wyvern egg and conducting research.
Aria, not to be outdone, devoted herself to earth magic practice. The ground would tremble slightly as she called upon her house's hereditary powers, stones dancing through the air in complex patterns.
The two women's rivalry had evolved into something more complex. They still exchanged barbed comments over meals, but there was an underlying respect in their interactions now. They'd begun sharing magical theory during the long evenings, their discussions growing more animated as wine loosened their natural reserve.
"The principle of resonant harmonics," Valerie would explain, sketching diagrams in the air with magical light, "applies to both wyvern training and earth manipulation. It's all about finding the natural frequency of the power you're working with."
"Like feeling the pulse of the stone," Aria would agree, then catch herself being too friendly and add something cutting about theoretical knowledge versus practical application.
Lydia managed it all with her usual efficiency, somehow keeping the complex household running smoothly while guarding Mikhail's secrets. Her newfound knowledge of the Emperor's presence seemed to have energised her - she attacked each day's challenges with renewed purpose.
Bella flitted between them all like a happy butterfly, serving tea and treats while gathering gossip. Her cheerful nature brightened even the tensest moments, though her romantic notions about noble life remained amusingly naive.
But while their caravan traversed these peaceful provinces, the capital witnessed a very different dance of power.
Crown Princess Lyanna moved through the court like a force of nature, her every appearance carefully calculated for maximum impact.
Military commanders pledged their loyalty, noble houses sought her favour, and even her opponents found themselves swept along by her unstoppable momentum.
"The empire cannot wait forever," she would declare in a voice that had commanded armies. "We must have leadership. We must have strength. We must have certainty."
The Empress watched it all from her seat beside the empty throne, her perfect composure masking complex calculations. She had taught Lyanna well - perhaps too well. Every show of support for her daughter was both a victory and a warning.
Meanwhile, in his private chambers, Wei the Unbreakable assembled his evidence with methodical precision. Broken shards of the ceremonial chalice, the High Priest's sudden wealth, the convenient scapegoating of House Draconus - pieces of a puzzle that painted an increasingly disturbing picture.
"The timing," he would mutter, studying his wall of connections. "Always the timing. The chalice switch, the poison's effects, the Emperor's disappearance - nothing is coincidental."
The streets of the capital buzzed with rumour and speculation. Merchants raised prices as uncertainty gripped the markets. Military patrols increased their presence both reassuring and concerning to the common people.
Each day brought new theories about the Emperor's disappearance, each more outlandish than the last.
But in the provinces, Mikhail's caravan continued its seemingly aimless wandering.
They passed crystal lakes that reflected impossible colours, forests where magic made the trees sing, and valleys where ancient power still lingered in the air. Each stop provided new opportunities for healing, for learning, for gathering strength.
In the evenings, Aurora would teach Mikhail more of Oracle's knowledge, their lessons hidden behind privacy wards. The secrets of temporal manipulation and light magic slowly became clearer, though each revelation brought new questions.
"The poison was brilliant in its complexity," she would explain, creating displays of temporal mathematics in the air. "But brilliance has patterns. Understanding those patterns is the key to unravelling them."
Time flowed differently for each of them. For Mikhail, every moment was measured in his father's steady breathing and the gradual dissolution of the temporal binding agent. For Lyanna, it was counted in pledges of loyalty and steps toward the throne. For Wei, it ticked by in gathered evidence and growing certainty.
The game of succession had become a race against time itself. And somewhere in the empire's heartland, a caravan carried its silent passenger while those who poisoned him grew ever more powerful.
But power, like time, has its own currents. And those who think they control such forces often discover, too late, that they are merely being carried along by them.