Master Elias, the elderly bookstore owner, could only nod dumbly in response to the Princess's request. His jaw felt unhinged. He gestured weakly towards the staircase, then stumbled backward into a stack of poetry books, vanishing in a small avalanche of leather and parchment.
FOOMP.
Princess Aurelia paid him no mind. Taking a steadying breath, she placed a dainty, slippered foot on the first creaking step. Every eye in the street was fixed on her. The fate of the Empire, as her father had so dramatically impressed upon her, rested on this meeting.
Grand Marshal Kaelen Dros watched her ascend with the eyes of a hawk. He was the most disciplined man on the continent. He believed in what he could see, measure, and break. Logic was his sword, and strategy his shield. This whole situation reeked of mass hysteria. A man who appeared from nowhere, a few lucky coincidences, and suddenly the Mad Sage and the Emperor himself were falling over themselves in terrified reverence?
Nonsense, Dros thought, his jaw clenched. This is either the most elaborate confidence scheme in history, or the man is a powerful but reckless mage. Either way, he is a threat to Imperial stability that must be assessed. Logically.
His military training screamed that letting the Princess walk into a potential enemy's lair unescorted was tactical suicide. He made a decision. He would follow. Not to interfere, but to observe. To gather data. If this "Master Lyno" was a fraud, Dros would see it.
He took his first step onto the staircase.
CRREEEAAAAAK.
The sound of the wood groaning under his immense, armored weight was one thing. The feeling was another. He felt a subtle... resistance. A pressure against his enchanted armor that had no physical source.
His eyes narrowed.
Upstairs, Seraphina felt the Marshal's heavy tread on the stairs. Her entire being went rigid.
"The soldier follows her," she hissed to Valerius, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "An armed escort? Does he not trust the Master's benevolence? This is an insult."
"Worse, my dear Shadow," Valerius murmured, his eyes gleaming. "He is attempting to bring the crass, crude energies of war and steel into the Master's Chamber of Stillness. A profane act."
He glanced at Lyno, who was now audibly whimpering under his blanket. "The Master is… displeased. His agitation is causing the very fabric of this place to… solidify."
The "solidifying" was, of course, a complete fabrication of Valerius's overactive imagination. But to Grand Marshal Dros, two flights below, it felt terrifyingly real.
Each step he took up the stairs felt heavier than the last. The air grew thick, pressing in on him. His armor, forged to withstand dragon fire, felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible giant.
What is this pressure? Dros analyzed, his mind working furiously. It's not a standard gravity ward. There's no aetheric signature. It feels... foundational. As if the concept of 'up' itself is resisting my presence.
By the time he reached the top landing, beads of sweat were trickling down his temples. He was breathing heavily, a feat that should have been impossible for a man of his legendary stamina. He felt as though he'd just marched up the side of a mountain.
This staircase... he realized with dawning horror. It's not just wood and nails. It's a filtration system. It drains the hostility, the skepticism, the very intent to analyze from any who climb it. Only those with a pure or supplicant heart can ascend without struggle. The Princess felt nothing. I... I nearly didn't make it.
It was the first piece of "evidence" his logical mind had encountered. It was irrefutable. And it was terrifying.
Princess Aurelia was already at Lyno's open door. She stood on the threshold, her regal composure a mask for her own nervousness. She saw the humble room, the figure huddled in the bed, the intense sage, and the silver-haired woman who radiated a danger that eclipsed even her own royal guard.
She curtsied, a perfect, deep bow of Imperial respect.
"Master Lyno," she began, her voice as clear and melodic as a silver bell. "I am Princess Aurelia. I come bearing the sincere apologies and profound respect of the Aethelian Empire."
Lyno peeked one eye out from under his blanket. The pretty princess from the coins was bowing to him. His brain, already operating on emergency power, flickered and died once more. He didn't say a word. He just stared, his one visible eye wide with pure, uncomprehending panic.
The silence was absolute.
To Princess Aurelia, this was the intense, silent scrutiny of a god. He was peering into her soul, judging her intentions, the intentions of her father, the intentions of her entire Empire. She held her breath, praying she would not be found wanting.
Grand Marshal Dros, standing in the doorway behind her, saw something entirely different. He saw a deathtrap. A masterfully subtle, psychologically devastating deathtrap.
He doesn't speak, Dros's military mind screamed. Brilliant! Words can be twisted, but silence is absolute! It forces the opponent to reveal their own intentions, to fill the void with their own anxieties. It's a classic interrogation technique, elevated to an art form!
He then watched as Seraphina, the former assassin, took a single, almost imperceptible step to the side. It was a simple shift in posture. But to the Grand Marshal, who could read tactical positioning like a book, it was a devastating revelation.
Gods above… what a position! Dros's mind reeled. From that single spot, she controls every line of attack. She can intercept a threat from the door, the window, and even the weak spot in the floorboards I just noticed. It's a perfect defensive fulcrum. That's not a position you find. That's a position you are taught. A position designed by a strategic mind that operates on a level I can't even begin to fathom.
His respect for this "Master Lyno" was skyrocketing against his will. First, the conceptual staircase. Now, the impossibly perfect deployment of his "guard."
Then, his gaze fell on Valerius. The old sage simply stood there, stroking his beard, a faint smile on his face. He seemed completely relaxed, utterly useless in a combat situation.
And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
They don't even need their strongest piece on guard, Dros realized, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. The Mad Sage Zathra is legendary for his apocalyptic-level elemental magic. And he's standing there... idle. He's not the shield. He's the retaliation. The doomsday weapon held in reserve. If we were to make one hostile move, the assassin would kill us, and the sage would turn this entire province into a smoking crater just to make a point.
Every logical deduction, every piece of observable data, led the Grand Marshal to a single, soul-crushing conclusion.
This wasn't a room. It was the most elegantly designed kill box he had ever witnessed. And the terrified man huddled under the blanket was not a fraud. He was the calm, silent, terrifyingly confident spider at the center of it all.
Lyno, feeling the intense stares of a princess, a general, an assassin, and a mad wizard, did what any cornered animal would do. He let out a soft, high-pitched squeak of pure terror.
squeeeeak
Dros's blood ran cold. He recognized that sound. He'd heard it only once before, from an ancient beast his legion had cornered—the sound it made right before it unleashed an attack that vaporized half a mountain. It wasn't a sign of fear.
It was the sound of a predator gathering its power.
Grand Marshal Kaelen Dros, the iron-willed skeptic, the man who had faced down horrors without flinching, instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, his hand flying to the hilt of his greatsword.
"Princess, GET BACK!" he roared. "HE'S ABOUT TO—!"