Chương 117: Chapter 115. Departure

The guard was gone. Adom stood outside the prison gates, looking at the empty space where the real guard had been stationed less than an hour ago. The unconscious infiltrator—Merrick—was gone too. Most likely the guard had dragged him inside for proper custody before heading off to write what was bound to be the strangest incident report of his career. Which was a problem. Adom had meant to ask him not to include certain details in that report.

Details like names, or the fact that a thirteen-year-old student had single-handedly neutralized what turned out to be a coordinated Farmusian military operation.

"Brilliant forward thinking there," he muttered to himself. The prison behind him was secure again. Gale was back in his cell, still unconscious. The Farmusian infiltrators were now locked away in the other cells—prompting Adom to mentally retract his earlier complaints about the prison being too large for just two prisoners. As it turned out, the extra space had proven quite useful after all. Prince Kalyon was safe, though still completely unaware that anything had happened at all.

Mission accomplished, more or less. Adom started walking toward the city center, his boots clicking against cobblestones that were still damp from evening moisture. The celebration sounds had died down to a distant murmur, most of the revelers probably passed out in doorways or stumbling home to beds they'd regret in the morning. He wasn't even tired. That was the strangest part.

The entire operation—the rooftop chase, the fight with enhanced soldiers, the magic-slinging, the prisoner transport—had used exactly 844 of his 2000 available mana. Because he'd stuck to simple spells instead of showing off, his reserves were still mostly intact. His body felt loose and ready, like he'd just finished a light training session rather than a life-or-death encounter. When had real combat started feeling easy? The thought should have been satisfying.

He'd handled everything cleanly, efficiently, with minimal collateral damage. No one had died, the bad guys were captured, the city was safe. It was exactly the kind of outcome he'd hoped for. Instead, he felt like an idiot. In his urgency to prevent a catastrophe, he'd acted without thinking about consequences. The guard had seen his face, knew his name, watched him fly over a twenty-foot wall like it was nothing. Gale could describe his capabilities in detail to anyone who asked.

Word would get out that a student had fought and defeated trained military operatives. Which meant the Emperor would have exactly the excuse he needed to push through the child soldier initiative. Another headache to take care of, apparently. Adom sighed, already trying to calculate how much political maneuvering it would take to bury this story before it reached the wrong ears.

"Good job." The voice came from behind him. Adom turned around. Mr. Biggins stood about twenty feet away, hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world like he'd been there the entire time. His expression was perfectly neutral—not surprised, not impressed, just mildly interested in whatever came next.

"Took you long enough to get here," Biggins said.

"I was starting to think you'd decided to handle the entire thing yourself." Adom stared at him.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Oh, about fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. I arrived just as you were dragging that last fellow to his new accommodations. Quite thorough of you."

"And you just... watched?"

"You seemed to have things well in hand." Biggins tilted his head slightly.

"Though I did notice you forgot to wear a mask." Adom sighed.

"I tried to put a memory spell on all of them, but there were too many. The guard, the prisoners, Gale... I couldn't manage that many minds at once without risking permanent damage."

"Ah," Biggins said, nodding thoughtfully.

"Well, I suppose I could take care of that for you." He winked. For a moment, Adom felt a rush of relief. Of course—Biggins was infinitely more experienced with complex magic. He could probably handle a dozen memory modifications without breaking a sweat. Then...

"Wait," Adom said slowly.

"What do you mean, take care of it?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about," Biggins replied.

"Just a bit of cleanup." He gestured down the street with one hand.

"Shall we walk? The evening air is quite pleasant, and I find these conversations go better with a bit of movement." Adom fell into step beside him, though his eyes kept darting sideways.

"Cleanup doesn't sound like memory magic."

"Perceptive as always," Biggins said approvingly.

"Tell me, how are you finding life these days? Settling into your studies? Making friends? Preparing adequately for your upcoming travels?"

"My upcoming—" Adom started, then stopped.

"The phoenix egg."

"Among other things, yes. Time does have this troublesome habit of moving forward, doesn't it? Whether we're ready or not."

Adom spat toothpaste into the basin and immediately heard Sam's voice from the main room.

"Hurry up, old man! The boat leaves in twenty minutes, and if we miss it because you're having a grooming crisis, I'm throwing you overboard when we catch the next one!" Adom rinsed his mouth and walked out to find Sam sitting cross-legged on his bed, fully dressed and looking like he'd been ready for hours. Perched on the windowsill was Zuni, his blue-tinted quills catching the morning light as he groomed one tiny paw.

"I must confess," Zuni said, "I find myself quite eager for this maritime adventure. I've never been aboard a proper vessel, you understand, though I've heard the most fascinating accounts of their construction and operation." To Sam, this came out as a series of melodic squeaks and chittering sounds.

"He says he's excited about the boat," Adom translated, wiping his face with a towel.

"Well, you can rejoice all you want," Adom said to Zuni.

"There'll be plenty of time to enjoy the experience. We're going to be on that thing for three days."

"Splendid," Zuni replied.

"I do hope the accommodations are adequate. One hears such varied reports about nautical hospitality." Sam watched this exchange in silence at first, then...

"I still can't figure out how you do that. It just sounds like... squeaking. Very organized squeaking, but still."

"Keep practicing," Adom said, grabbing his travel pack from beside the bed.

"You're getting better." Zuni turned toward Sam and spoke directly to him.

"Your progress has been quite remarkable, Sammenel. I have every confidence that with continued effort, we shall soon be conversing as proper gentlemen." Sam blinked.

"Was he talking to me? That sounded like he was talking to me."

"He was encouraging you," Adom said.

"Really?" Sam leaned forward slightly.

"What did he say?" Zuni repeated himself, speaking more slowly this time, as if volume and enunciation might bridge the communication gap. Sam stared at the quillick for a long moment, his face scrunched in concentration. Finally, he shook his head in defeat.

"Nothing. I got absolutely nothing from that." Zuni sighed—a sound like air escaping from a very small balloon—and scampered across the room to climb onto Adom's shoulder.

"Arkhos wasn't built in a day," the quillick said, settling himself with the dignity of someone claiming a throne. They stepped out into hallways that looked like someone had shaken a snow globe filled with teenagers and small magical creatures. Xerkes had declared a one-month break, which wasn't particularly unusual in itself. Back in the day, when the academy's team would win qualifications, that month was always given to all staff and students to travel along with them and provide support.

The tradition was older than the building's newest wing, though most people had forgotten what it felt like. It had been thirteen years since this last happened. So long that most people currently at the academy—not even the senior staff, and certainly not Adom—had actually lived through it before. For over a decade, the month that was usually reserved for the tournament had just been regular classes, since the team never qualified.

The whole vacation system depended entirely on whether or not Xerkes made it to the championship. Which meant the students were grateful to Adom, even if he'd spent most of the qualifying matches warming the bench.

"Adom!" called a third-year whose name he'd never learned. The boy jogged over and delivered a solid thump to Adom's shoulder that nearly knocked Zuni off his perch.

"Good luck, mate!"

"Goddamn, Sylla," said another student, delivering an even harder blow to his back.

"You're sturdier than you look." Zuni scrambled to maintain his dignity.

"Perhaps a warning next time," he muttered. Adom felt none of it. The enhanced conditioning from months of skill training had left him with enough physical resilience that what felt like friendly violence to everyone else barely registered as contact. Still, it was tradition—violently hitting the backs of team members for good luck. He'd seen it done to the older students, though he'd never expected to be on the receiving end.

"Thanks for the vacation, man," said a girl with paint-stained fingers and a tiny owl perched on her head. She gave him another solid pat.

"I needed that break. The spell-weaving classes were killing me!"

"I didn't really play," Adom pointed out as they continued walking.

"I spent most of the time on the bench."

"Whatever," said the paint-fingered girl with a dismissive wave.

"You were on the team. That's good enough for me." Everywhere he looked, students were hauling luggage and corralling familiars. A group near the main staircase spotted him and raised their hands in salute, grinning like he'd personally delivered them from academic purgatory. See, Krozball championship was... no. Maybe it would be better to show it, rather than tell it. The team wasn't traveling together.

Thirteen years without a qualification meant there hadn't been time to arrange proper team transportation—their victory had taken everyone by surprise, including the people whose job it was to organize these things. They'd meet up at the next destination, which was the Kingdom of Olden. Then continue to Cascadia for the next phase. The finals, if they reached them—and they had to—would be held at Northhaven, from where Adom would continue north to the Giant Highlands.

This was going to be his first time in Olden Kingdom. Well, his first time there while it still existed. In the original timeline, his only visit had been to survey the ruins after everything had already gone wrong. It was strange to think about experiencing a place that he'd only known as ash and broken stone. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Olden was famous for its eternal summer.

Always bright, always warm, with rain that fell like a gentle suggestion rather than a demand. The weather was said to be a gift from the Elder Phoenixes to the men who had once worshipped them, back when such things were considered reasonable behavior. The kingdom was one of the richest in the known world, which made it the perfect place to host the second phase of the Krozball competition. Assuming, of course, that Adom could manage not to accidentally prevent a war while he was there.

"Are you even listening?" Sam asked, waving a hand in front of Adom's face.

"I've been talking about seasickness remedies for five minutes."

"Every word," Adom lied.

For once in his life, Adom Sylla was not late at something. They stood in the boarding line like normal people who understood how time worked, watching dock workers load cargo while seagulls argued over scraps near the pier. The boat looked sturdy enough—not the luxury vessel he'd expected, but certainly better than the fishing boat Sam had been convinced they'd end up on.

"This is weird," Sam said, shifting his pack.

"You being on time. It's making me nervous." That stung more than it should have. But what could he say?

"I'm always on time."

"You would have been late even now if it wasn't for me waking you up."

"That was different. I was—" Someone bumped into him from behind with enough force to knock themselves completely off balance. The collision sent them sprawling backward onto the dock, their travel bag spilling open and scattering belongings across the wooden planks.

"Oh goodness!" the person gasped from the ground.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going and—""No, no, I'm sorry," Adom said immediately, even though he'd been standing perfectly still and minding his own business. He crouched down to help gather their scattered items.

"Are you hurt?"

"Not at all, not at all! Though you're quite sturdy for someone who looks so—not that there's anything wrong with being thin! I just mean—oh, I'm making this worse, aren't I?" The person kept apologizing while scrambling to collect their things, and Adom found himself apologizing right back while helping to stuff papers and clothing back into their bag. It was becoming a competition of unnecessary politeness.

"Really, it's my fault for—" Adom started, then stopped mid-sentence as he actually looked at the person's face. She was tall, probably in her late thirties, with thick glasses that magnified amber eyes and a mass of black curly hair that had come slightly undone from whatever arrangement she'd started the day with. Time seemed to stop. His eyes widened as his hand freezed mid-motion. It couldn't be. Not here, not at this point in time. He blinked hard, as if the action might change what he was seeing.

The woman tilted her head slightly, studying him with a quiet intensity that sent chills down his spine. That look. He knew that look. She probably noticed his expression and touched her cheek self-consciously.

"Do I have something on my face? I was eating an apple earlier and—""Not at all," Adom said quickly, handing her the last of her scattered belongings.

"You're fine."

"Say..." She studied him more closely, her head tilting slightly.

"Are you... are you Adom Sylla?" Adom's entire demeanor changed in an instant. His shoulders stiffened. His jaw set. The friendly stranger helping gather scattered belongings vanished, replaced by someone coiled tight, ready to strike. He straightened slowly, calculating distances—to Sam, to the ship, to potential cover if things went bad. A spell formed in his mind automatically.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, genuinely.

"That must seem terribly forward of me. A stranger calling you by name out of nowhere." She laughed lightly, the sound somehow both disarming and suspicious to Adom's ears.

"It's just—the white streak in your hair caught my eye. A boy in Arkhos with a white streak... I thought it might be you."

"Oh."Adom touched the streak automatically.

"Yeah, I am." Adom touched the streak automatically, the gesture almost defensive. His gaze never left her face, searching for any hint of deception, any sign that would confirm his suspicions.

"It's quite remarkable to see someone so famous here," she continued, rummaging through her bag.

"I was wondering if perhaps..." Adom watched her hands with unwavering focus, muscles tensing further. His gaze darted briefly to the crowded dock, to Sam standing near their ship. If this turned ugly, there would be witnesses. Panic. Possibly casualties. Should he act now? Should he wait? What if it wasn't who he thought? His right hand curled tighter, heat building in his palm as he prepared a fireball, just in case. He could feel the magic responding, eager and ready, just beneath his skin.

Zuni shifted on his shoulder, equally alert, tiny claws digging slightly into his cloak.

"Here!" she said triumphantly, producing a small, well-worn notebook and an ordinary pen. Nothing more. Adom stared at the items, the spell fading from his fingertips, confusion momentarily replacing suspicion.

"What is this?" She smiled, seemingly oblivious to how close she'd come to being on the receiving end of a combat spell.

"It's a notebook. I collect signatures of interesting people I meet on my travels." She held it out toward him, eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm.

"Would you mind terribly? It would be such an honor."

"You want... my autograph?" Adom said slowly, the tension in his body not quite dissipating. This wasn't how ambushes usually played out.

"If you wouldn't mind," she nodded eagerly.

"In my homeland, we believe collecting such mementos brings good fortune. And meeting the Adom Sylla is certainly fortunate indeed."

"By the way, your little friend is adorable," she added, gesturing at Zuni.

"I do not like this person," Zuni said flatly. To the stranger, this probably sounded like polite squeaking, because she was still beaming. Adom took the pen and signed her notebook, mostly because refusing seemed like it would take longer than just doing it.

"Thank you so much!" she said, clutching the autograph like it was made of gold.

"I'll be watching you."

"What?"

"Well, you're a player for Xerkes, right? I'll be watching the matches. Hope to see you again sometime soon!"

"Sure," Adom said.

"Thank you." The woman smiled once more and melted back into the crowd.

"You look pale," Sam observed as they advanced in the line. Adom turned around. She was nowhere to be seen, which was impossible given how packed the boarding area was.

"I'll tell you later," he said. The boarding process turned out to be exactly as tedious as every other bureaucratic nightmare Adom had ever experienced, just with more seagulls and the constant threat of falling into murky harbor water. A harried-looking dock official with ink stains on his fingers checked their papers three separate times, as if the documents might have changed between inspections.

Behind him, a line of increasingly impatient passengers stretched back toward the main street, everyone clutching travel bags and looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.

"Purpose of travel?" the official asked, not looking up from his clipboard.

"Tournament," Sam answered before Adom could speak.

"Krozball championship."

"Ah." The man's demeanor shifted slightly, the way it always did when people realized they were talking to someone moderately famous.

"Team Xerkes, right? Congratulations on qualifying."

"Thanks," Adom said automatically. The official stamped their papers with unnecessary force and waved them toward the gangplank.

"Cabin assignments are posted near the mess hall. Departure in fifteen minutes." Sam bounded up the wooden ramp like he was heading to a festival instead of three days of potential seasickness. Zuni maintained his perch on Adom's shoulder, though his tiny claws dug in a bit deeper as they crossed from solid dock to swaying vessel.

"Curious engineering," the quillick observed, studying the rigging with professional interest.

"Though I must say, the constant motion is rather... unsettling."

"You'll get used to it," Adom said, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true. The ship itself was bigger than it had looked from the dock—a proper passenger vessel with multiple decks and enough cabins to house what appeared to be half the academy. Students clustered around the railings, pointing at seabirds and making jokes about fish. Someone had already started a betting pool on who would be sick first.

"Oh, did I mention?" Sam said as they found their cabin numbers posted on a board near the galley.

"Eren's meeting us in Olden. Something about his classmates wanting him to travel with them instead of on a 'common transport.'" He made air quotes, rolling his eyes.

"First years, right?"

"Right," Adom agreed, though he wasn't really listening. Their cabin was small but functional—two narrow beds, a tiny porthole, and just enough floor space for their bags if they stacked them carefully. Sam immediately claimed the bed closer to the window and started unpacking like he planned to redecorate.

"Three days," he said cheerfully, pulling clothes from his pack.

"Think we'll see any sea monsters?"

"Probably not."

"Pirates?"

"No."

"Mermaids?"

"Sam."

"What? I'm just trying to think of exciting maritime possibilities." Zuni had taken up residence on the small writing desk, his quills catching light from the porthole.

"Your friend possesses an admirably optimistic outlook," he told Adom.

"Though I fear his expectations regarding nautical adventure may prove somewhat inflated." The ship's horn sounded--a deep, resonant note that seemed to vibrate through the entire vessel. Almost immediately, Adom felt the subtle shift as they began moving away from the dock. He found himself drawn to the porthole, watching as Arkhos slowly receded. The city looked different from this angle--smaller, more fragile.

The academy's floating towers were just distant spires now, the market districts a maze of tiny rooftops. Even the main academy tower, which dominated the skyline from ground level, seemed no more significant than any other building. It should have felt like freedom. A month without classes. Instead, all he could think about was the woman with the amber eyes and her too-bright smile.

"You're doing that thing again," Sam said.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you look like someone told you the world was ending but you're too polite to mention it." Adom turned away from the porthole.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Sam sat on his bed, giving Adom the same look he'd perfected during their friendship--equal parts concern and stubborn determination.

"You've been weird since we left the dock. Actually, you've been weird since that woman bumped into you." Zuni's ears perked up.

"Indeed, your demeanor shifted quite markedly following that encounter. Most intriguing."

"See?" Sam pointed at the quillick.

"I am not sure what he said, but I'll assume that even Zuni noticed, and he spends most of his time thinking about proper grooming techniques."

"I'll have you know," Zuni said, "that my powers of observation extend far beyond personal hygiene, though I maintain that proper grooming is essential to civilized discourse." The ship rolled slightly as they hit deeper water, and Sam grabbed the edge of his bed for balance. Through the porthole, Arkhos continued shrinking, becoming just another point on a coastline that stretched away in both directions. Adom realized he was considering asking them to turn around. Which was insane.

He had a tournament to compete in, an ancient grimoire to decipher, and approximately a thousand other critical tasks that required him to be anywhere but here. Going back because of one suspicious woman would be the height of paranoia. Except his paranoia had kept him alive for longer than most people got to live twice.

"Seriously," Sam said, his voice softer now.

"What did that woman do to you? You look like you've seen a ghost." Adom stared at his friend for a long moment, then reached into his pack and pulled out his communication crystal. The smooth stone felt warm against his palm, pulsing gently with stored mana.

"She was an old enemy," he said quietly.

"Yours?" Sam asked.

"Humanity's." Sam blinked.

"That's... dramatic. Even for you. And coming from someone who lived through the actual apocalypse, that's saying something." Zuni had gone very still, his eyes fixed on Adom with an intensity that suggested he was picking up on more than just words.

"Who was she?" Sam pressed. Adom activated the crystal, then set it aside while it established connection. The stone would glow when Mr. Biggins was available to talk. Until then...

"In my previous life," he began.

"There was a woman named Thessarian Valdris." The name felt wrong in his mouth, like speaking poison.

"Thessarian," Sam repeated.

"That's... an unusual name."

"Yeah. She's probably the only thing to bear that name.

""...'Thing'?" Sam asked.

"Homunculus." Adom finally said.

"She was supposed to be created eight years from now by a mad alchemist named Korven Thale. According to every historical record I knew, Thale doesn't even begin his experiments for another five years." Sam had gone silent. Even Zuni was leaning forward, his whiskers twitching.

"They called her the Mage Hunter," Adom continued.

"During the second Great War--the Mage Wars--she led armies that systematically tracked down and eliminated magical practitioners across three kingdoms. Not just combat mages, either. Healers, alchemists, academics who studied magical theory. Anyone with even minor magical ability."

"And she won?" Sam asked quietly.

"She won. By the time the wars ended, the mage population had dropped by over seventy percent. Entire bloodlines were wiped out. Schools of magic that had existed for centuries were reduced to scattered survivors hiding in caves and ruins." The communication crystal pulsed, indicating someone was trying to reach him, but Adom ignored it for now.

"I never met her personally," he said.

"But I saw her face often enough through scrying crystals. Hard to forget someone who personally ended the lives of that many people like me." Sam had gone pale.

"And you think that woman on the dock was...?"

"She looked exactly the same. Same face, same eyes, same mannerisms. But according to everything I knew, she shouldn't be... existing yet. At this point in time, she should just be some provincial nobody with a talent for organization and a growing resentment toward magical practitioners."

"But if she's here now, in Arkhos, asking for your autograph..." Sam began.

"Then either my timeline is more screwed up than I thought, or someone accelerated her transformation by nearly a decade." Adom's hand unconsciously moved to his communication crystal.

"Either possibility bother me."

"Forgive the interruption," said Zuni, "but might I inquire why this particular individual would be seeking your autograph? It seems... incongruous with the threat level you're describing." That was the question Adom had been dreading.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"It doesn't make sense." The communication crystal pulsed again, more insistently this time.

"I think," Adom said slowly, "I might be a target. I remember them working with Farmus in my previous timeline. But it makes sense. I stop the prince. Slow down Dragon's Breath project, so they switch to other methods, one of which is homonculus." He straightened up.

"But what do they know about me to be targeting me? I don't think this could be just for vengeance..."

"For the prince situation? I mean, it wouldn't make sense for them to focus on a single student." Sam said.

"Right..." Adom picked up the crystal and accepted the connection. Mr. Biggins' voice emerged from the stone, crisp and slightly amused.

"Adom, my boy. I was beginning to think you'd decided to ignore me."

"Mr. Biggins," Adom said, relief flooding through him.

"We have a problem."

"Oh? And here I thought you were calling to ask about seasickness remedies."

"Thessarian Valdris is in Arkhos. Eight years early." The silence that followed lasted long enough for Sam to start looking worried and Zuni to begin preening his quills nervously. When Biggins finally spoke, his voice had lost all trace of humor.

"Is that one of the persons of interest you told me about?"

"Yes."

"I see. That is... unexpected. Are you quite certain?"

"Absolutely. Same face I saw through dozens of scrying crystals during the Mage Wars. She hasn't aged a day."

"Which suggests the transformation has already occurred," Biggins said grimly.

"That's... problematic." Another pause.

"Well then," Biggins continued, and Adom could practically hear him adjusting his plans in real time.

"I believe we're going to need to have a very different conversation than I anticipated. And to think I was so excited to see you play."

"I think I can fly and return to--""Nonsense," Biggins interrupted.

"Continue to Olden as planned, but maintain constant vigilance. In the meantime, I want you to assume that anything connected to your presence at this tournament may be compromised. I will take care of our unexpected guest and send you some additional hands. After all, the Order is there to assist you." The crystal went silent. Sam stared at Adom.

"Compromised how?" Through the porthole, the last traces of Arkhos had disappeared beyond the horizon. The ship rolled gently on dark water that stretched away in all directions, carrying them toward a kingdom Adom had only ever seen as ruins.

"I don't know yet," he said.

"But I have a feeling we're about to find out." The communication crystal pulsed once more, then went dark. Outside, storm clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon, and the wind was picking up. It was going to be a very interesting month.