The grand doors of the library creaked open, and Arwin strode in with his usual commanding presence. His robes shimmered faintly, evidence of the space magic that clung to him like a second skin. Michael, seated at one of the long oak tables, glanced up from a stack of books detailing advanced mana techniques. His focus shifted entirely to the Archmage, who carried an air of both exhaustion and triumph.
Arwin approached the table with measured steps, dropping a stack of sealed documents with a soft thud. He waved a hand, and two chairs pulled themselves out. Lowering himself into one, Arwin gestured for Michael to remain seated.
"Michael," Arwin began, his voice calm but firm. "The King and I had a lengthy discussion about you, your proposal, and the path forward for this Kingdom."
Michael straightened, his focus sharpening.
"The King was impressed with your plan," Arwin continued, tapping the table lightly with his fingertips. "He understands the importance of patience, of leveraging information to its fullest potential. The Zeranthians will be their own undoing if we orchestrate this properly."
Michael nodded but remained silent, sensing there was more.
"Your suggestion to maintain Varrik's cover was not only approved but praised," Arwin said. "The King sees the merit in using the traitor as a weapon against his own. But the war is far from over. The King believes, as do I, that this is merely the beginning of a long and grueling campaign."
Michael met Arwin's gaze, the weight of the war's duration pressing down on him.
"Now, onto the matter of you," Arwin said, his tone shifting slightly. "The King has decided on several actions regarding your future. First, the Kingdom will officially announce your death."
Michael's eyes flickered with surprise, though he quickly schooled his expression.
Arwin leaned forward. "The story is simple. The Zeranthians, aware of your role in the mission, placed a death mark on you. You were killed before you could return. This lie serves two purposes. One, it removes you as a visible player in the game, allowing us to operate with fewer eyes on you. Two, it will ignite the people's fury. A martyr inspires unity and strength, and the King intends to use your 'death' to rally the soldiers and the common folk alike."
Michael exhaled slowly, his mind processing the implications. The notion of being a ghost in his own life felt strange, but he understood the necessity.
"Furthermore," Arwin continued, "you are to sever all ties with your former squad, Captain Garren, and your family. This is not negotiable."
Michael's jaw tightened. The thought of cutting off his family, especially his sister, Elara, stung deeply. He had barely begun to reconcile his new life, and now those connections would be stripped away.
Arwin's voice softened slightly. "This is for their safety as much as yours, Michael. If the Zeranthians even suspect you're alive, they'll stop at nothing to find you. And anyone close to you will suffer for it."
Michael gave a curt nod, burying the ache.
Arwin leaned back in his chair. "Now, to your reward. The King recognizes the gravity of your contribution, and a mere promotion would be insufficient. Instead, he has granted you the title of Baron of Dawnfield."
Michael's eyes widened slightly, and he leaned forward. "Dawnfield?"
"Yes," Arwin said with a faint smile. "Your home village. A modest and underdeveloped area near the Talaris border, but with significant potential. The King believes you can nurture it into something greater once the war is over. You'll also receive a monetary reward of one thousand gold coins, though that will be held in trust until the war concludes."
Michael's thoughts turned to Dawnfield, to the simple life he had once known. A title was far more than he had ever dreamed of, and with it came responsibility—a chance to make a difference not just on the battlefield but in the lives of those he'd left behind.
Arwin watched him closely, gauging his reaction. "The King sees this not just as a reward but as an investment in the Kingdom's future. He believes in your potential to lead, both on the battlefield and beyond."
Michael nodded, his resolve hardening.
"Now, for your immediate future," Arwin said, shifting the topic. "You'll be reassigned to a special squad of elite mages. Their strength is formidable—levels five and six, most of them—but they lack strategy. They are raw power without direction, and that makes them vulnerable. Your role will be to act as their handler and strategist, guiding their missions and ensuring their success."
Michael frowned slightly. "I won't be fighting?"
Arwin shook his head. "Not directly. Your value lies in your mind. These missions will be high-risk, but your involvement will be primarily from the sidelines. It's also a way to keep you out of the public eye, ensuring your safety while we maintain the illusion of your death."
Michael leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The shift in his role felt monumental.
Arwin stood, his robes billowing slightly. "You'll remain here for now. Your new squad will arrive soon, and you'll begin training and planning with them. Until then, study, prepare, and ready yourself for what lies ahead."
As Arwin turned to leave, he paused at the door. "Michael," he said, his voice softer now, "you've been given a rare opportunity. Use it wisely. This war is bigger than any one of us, but your role in it may well shape its outcome."
The heavy doors closed behind Arwin, leaving Michael alone in the vast library. He looked around at the towering shelves, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
Baron, strategist, handler, martyr—the titles swirled in his mind, but Michael clenched his fists. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it head-on, determined to protect what he held dear, even if it meant walking a path cloaked in shadows.