A new pulse spread across the floor. Cool, steady, floral.
Lirael stepped in, her aura humming with quiet light.
"Lie down, both of you," she ordered. "You're all insane."
Her magic streamed like spring water, closing my ribs, knitting Julius's bruises, sealing Malenia's cuts. The warmth settled my breathing.
"Saints, Annie," Lirael muttered while working. "You and Salem could headline a war."
From the balcony the kings descended, their auras solid pillars. Lincoln followed, arms folded.
King Hadrian's gravelled voice carried. "Lincoln, if those two aren't even Bound, where would they sit inside your Ætherbound Fifteen?"
Lincoln considered before answering. "If it comes down to straight fighting ability. Salem around fifth. Annabel about eight."
A ripple of surprise passed through the nobles.
I managed a shrug. "Doesn't shock me. Salem trains twice what I do."
Across the mat Julius sat up, flame-aura flickering sheepishly. He waved toward the gallery.
"KATE! I'm alive! tell Lumos to pay up."
Then to me, laughing, "You're ridiculous. Holding back lethal spells and still flatten me?"
"You were playing it safe," I shot back. "I know you've got sharper edges."
His mana brightened, pleased.
Malenia woke next. Her outline jerked upright, spear already half-summoned before she realized Lirael had disarmed her. Rage simmered in her aura, hot, unfocused.
Lincoln approached, tone regretful but firm. "You're not ready for the Ætherbound. I'll find another to fill that seat. The realm can't spare a slot for anyone who can't keep pace."
Silence. Malenia's outline trembled, then she turned and strode out, fire sputtering behind her.
The watching nobles buzzed like startled birds until King Gimli clapped his hands, voice booming.
"Enough gloom. Food and drink, everyone! Dining hall's just down the right corridor."
The crowd drifted away, excitement rising again.
King Beren paused beside me. His aura weighed like thoughtful stone.
"Come, girl. We have plans to discuss, about tutors, deployments, futures."
I felt Salem's arm tighten around my shoulders, shadow-warm.
"Lead on," I said, already tasting the next horizon.
The stone under my boots no longer throbbed with combat. But the castle hadn't gone still.
Murmurs still echoed along the corridors behind us, tight little clusters of nobles whispering about the fights. About Salem. About me. Julius was up now, I could sense him, light on his feet again, even if he leaned on the medic walking him out. Malenia had vanished altogether.
My ribs ached. Mana sat low and cold in my core. My arms felt like iron rods that had been bent and unbent too many times. But one thing was louder than pain:
Hunger.
The smell hit first—grilled meat, sweet smoke, roasted starch. I could taste salt and garlic on the air, hear the pop of sizzling oil even as we entered the dining hall.
Not the main crowd, though. I felt the pull of that space to the left—the nobles, soldiers, and aristocrats packed elbow-to-elbow at long tables. Their mana buzzed with energy and cheap victory. But Lincoln's hand at my back nudged us to the right.
Quieter table. Fewer voices. Denser weight.
This table pulsed differently.
Lincoln's mana was steel-wire tight. He sat at the head of the stone bench, broad and immovable. Next to him, Kali. His devil bond. Her outline looked like it had been carved out of obsidian and held together with cold threat.
Across from us were the three kings.
Gimli's mana was dense as a mountain. Every movement was slow, deliberate.
Beren's was colder, coiled like a viper beneath fine robes.
And Hadrian? His aura buzzed like lightning inside a steel cage.
To my left, Salem. Her mana didn't flare. It watched. A curtain of shadow I'd grown to trust like instinct.
I didn't wait for permission. I sat. I ate.
Plate piled fast. Venison, roasted root vegetables, something spiced and peppered and dripping with oil. I didn't taste it. I devoured it.
"Your appetite survived," Gimli's voice rumbled, more amused than surprised.
"She needs it," Salem said, cutting in smoothly. "Her pool's a void. Feed it, or it'll start feeding itself."
I didn't bother answering. Just grabbed another strip of meat.
⸻
Lincoln's voice cut the warmth like a blade across silk.
"The front lines are shifting. The devils have stopped throwing elites at us. Now they're sending numbers. Hundreds at a time. Untrained. Sloppy. But they're testing our exhaustion."
I heard Kali shift. Her voice came cool and clear.
"They have breeding programs. The lower ranked ones are the most common, but the devil king has his elites, i've heard whispers about a small group who's made just for Lincoln alone, and for the other higher ranks…Lycian was just the first."
My hand paused. Teeth clenched. Fork clattered a little too hard against the plate.
Salem's mana brushed against mine. Quiet reassurance.
Kali kept speaking.
"He was made, human blood and devil spliced with something else. Something ancient. He wasn't just a soldier. He was supposed to lead."
My grip tightened.
"Lincoln," I said, keeping my voice low, "how much free will does she have? Your bond?"
A small silence.
Then Lincoln answered, steady and grim.
"She can speak her mind whenever she wants. But acting? No. She's too powerful. I don't have the same link you have with Salem. If I slipped, if I gave her one wrong thread—ten mages would die before I could blink. And most of our kingdom isn't warriors. They're farmers. Blacksmiths. We can't afford her at full freedom."
Kali didn't argue. Her shape remained perfectly still. Unashamed.
Lincoln's next words were worse.
"And we might be double-screwed."
The room went quiet.
"We think the devils might be working with outsiders. Something… else. Scouts near the edge of the continent reached the sea. And they saw—things."
"Things?" Hadrian asked, his mana buzzing tighter.
"Machines," Lincoln said. "Massive floating constructs. Carrying people. Coming and going on the water."
Something cracked open in me. A memory that didn't belong to this life. Salt wind. Creaking wood. Canvas sails.
"You mean a boat," I said, before I could stop myself.
Silence.
Confused mana shifted around me.
"A what?" Beren asked.
I shook my head. "Never mind. Go on."
Lincoln didn't press.
"They weren't devils. Or demons. Or anything from the Seven Continents. Our scouts couldn't describe them well, just that they weren't like anything we've seen. If they're allied with the devils… we're not just outnumbered. We're outmatched."
⸻
The silence held for a moment too long.
Then Hadrian spoke.
"We're going to merge the Ætherbound with the Tri-Continental Academy. Mixed squads. Overlapping training. More access to spell archives and war-grade equipment."
Gimli added, "Resources are being stretched. We need every strong mage working together."
"And we want you," Beren said, "to lead one of the Academy's squads. Just under your three magisters."
I finished chewing a spiced root. "Why ask me? You're kings. Lincoln's already got the devil on a leash. You could tell me, not ask."
Beren let out a quiet laugh. "See? Gimli, I told you she wasn't just some prodigy. She thinks like a monarch."
Hadrian's voice was calmer. "We don't need your permission. But we want your belief. We want this to succeed long-term. That takes investment."
I nodded. "Fine. One condition."
Salem's mana tensed beside me, watchful. Ready.
"When Lycian comes back… he's mine. No debates. No missions. I need to ask him why he did it."
A long pause.
No one disagreed.
Salem brushed my hand under the table.
"You'll get your answers," she whispered. "And your revenge."
I didn't speak. I just reached for more food, and let the warmth fill me.
I could feel the future darkening in the distance, pulling closer like a tide of teeth.
But for now?
For now, I ate.
The meat was half-gone when Hadrian leaned in, aura alive with fresh purpose.
"Five-person squads," he said. "Small enough to multiply, large enough to hold a devil phalanx for a minute or two. You'll captain one and hand-pick the rest: two Ætherbound, two students."
I set my fork down. Warmth still coated my tongue, but a different heat, anticipation started humming in my chest.
"For the Bound," I said, "I want Lirael. A healer is priceless. And I wouldn't mind meeting Raphos at last. Chimera blood, water and fire affinities… and apparently he just bonded a bear? Sounds useful."
Gimli's mana thumped like a fist on oak. "Excellent choices. Raphos pushes through walls; Lirael keeps them from falling on your head."
"Students?" Beren prompted.
"Rōko," I answered without pause. "She caught a couple of Kali's strikes last year, not to forget she nearly beat me. And Fay. She isn't the loudest talent yet, but her ice reminds me of Sir Aethon's groundwork. Give her real pressure and she'll bloom."
The kings weighed the names. Lincoln's outline tilted in a single nod; Kali's stillness flickered with what might have been approval.
"Squad confirmed," Hadrian said. "Training begins when term resumes."
A ripple of satisfaction pulsed through Salem beside me. She liked the roster—so did I.
But another pulse tugged at my senses: three familiar heartbeats a few tables away. Mother's voice, soft and bright. Father's deeper rumble. Ramon laughing at something I couldn't quite catch. A whole year since I'd heard them this close.
I rose. "Majesties, Lincoln… may I be excused? Family's right there, and it's been too long." I hesitated. "No offense meant."
Hadrian laughed, mana sparks dancing like happy embers. "Go, child. You're not even thirteen, and you've just sketched a war platoon. Take your victories where you can."
Beren added, dry but kind, "If we need you, we know where to shout."
I dipped my head, felt Salem squeeze my arm—a silent go—and stepped away from the war table. The kings' auras faded behind me, replaced by the warm, uneven glow of home voices and the promise of stories that didn't revolve around blood or devils.
For tonight, strategy could wait.