"Martin! Your turn to watch the City!" Laurel called as she sprinted towards the nearest open window.

Not slowing, she flung herself out of the opening, catching on a current of air and flying east towards the mountains. Mountains where the largest surge of mana she had felt outside a beast wave had just originated.

Willing more mana under her control, she sped up until the landscape around her was a blur. It still took hours to reach the range. Long enough for every catastrophic scenario to go through her mind. She dismissed each in turn, Martin and the rest of the sect could handle anything that came at them while she was dealing with the threat. If not, she might as well chain herself to the City for the rest of her life.

Not bothering with a veil, she spread her senses out and forced herself even faster. Her quarry wasn't hiding either. Confident or stupid?

Laurel slammed into the ground, skidding to a halt with a spray of gravel and snow fanning around her.

"Who the fuck are you?" she said.

The man across from her raised a perfectly tapered eyebrow but didn't respond. On a hunch she repeated her question in Alrasian.

"Ah, good. I have a translator but I hate using it. My name is Drivastian Letheros. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Laurel Stormblade. Sectmaster of the Eternal Archive. Explain."

"Oh, the Archive! Still going after all this time. What great news." He spoke with his hands, the wide sleeves of a split outer robe falling down to his elbows, revealing thick black lines, arcing across tanned skin, twisting and slithering with potential, waiting to be unleashed.

"That's not an explanation. Start talking or draw your weapons." She felt for the comfort weight of her favorite sword, waiting in her tattoo.

With a delicate working of mana, Laurel sent a message to Hesduras while she spoke. If this was going to be a fight, she would need the backup. The man in front of her was more dangerous than anyone else she had ever met.

"I must admit, when Galana told me she was going to create a sect of glorified librarians, I didn't think it would work. Glad to see she was wrong."

"You're claiming you knew my sect's founder."

"Of course I did! She was quite the wanderer, always looking for something new to pick up. Still is, if rumors can be believed."

Laurel's frustration reached a boiling point, as tiny arcs of lightning started jolting from the tips of her hair down to the ground. "From the beginning," she ground out. Part of her was toying with the idea of attacking straight off, but if there was a surviving grandmaster in front of her, getting her ass kicked to let off some steam wasn't the best course of action.

"Fine," he sighed. "If you're going to be like that. I don't suppose you have anything to drink?" He trailed off and actually batted his fucking eyelashes while she stood and watched. "Ugh. No fun."

"Well. I was in the neck of the woods, and realized I could use some time home. I saw that the blocking formation was mostly gone so I decided to pop in for a spell."

Laurel forced herself to take a single deep breath, and then let it out as slowly as she could manage. Drivastian didn't seem to mind the wait, surveying the nearby mountains from the peak where he had chosen to make an entrance.

"You're saying you ascended from Decorra. And you just happened to be nearby in the wider cosmos. And just looked over and saw that you could visit. And decided to pop over for some nostalgia? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Now, now," he tsked. "No need to be rude."

That decided it. He might be stronger than her but cultivators at a certain level stopped expecting an attack. She jabbed forward, aiming for the jawline. People this arrogant deserved to get punched in the face.

Her fist never landed. Without seeming to move, he had evaded the blow, leaving Laurel to stumble off to the side. Point taken. She refrained from a follow up attack, contenting herself with picturing it in her mind, while continuing to spit out questions.

"How did you get back? Are there others coming? And by all the stars above and below, what side are you on?"

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His head tilted to the side, Drivastian studied her. Really studied her. With a touch so featherlight she almost missed it, Laurel felt his perception pass over her spirit, assessing. Then she pulled her own senses back as he unleashed a small fraction of his spirit.

Grandmaster. Or whatever came after that.

Only willpower kept her knees from buckling, and even that didn't stop her staggering a pace or two back. Weight, like the planet itself was protesting her height. Her connection to the air puffed away like mist burnt by a rising sun, gone without a trace. Her lungs refused to inflate. With what little mana she could control, Laurel reached out to her tattoo, if she was to die it would be with a blade in hand. But even that bit of control evaded her.

From beneath the man's feet spread something Laurel wasn't able to fully understand. Nonetheless, she recognized it. Around her, the very fabric of the mountain was being rewoven. Smooth flagstones replaced uneven rocks and muddy snow. Walls rose where none had stood before. And behind Drivastian, what could only be called a throne was pulling itself together, from mana, silver, and the same deep-gray stone. The whole sequence had taken ten seconds at most.

What did it say about someone when their Domain was a literal throne room?

Laurel gasped for air as the pressure changed. It wasn't gone, but no longer was a will greater than her own attempting to force her to kneel. Looking up at Drivastian, he was seated now, fiddling with his sleeve and not looking at her at all.

"Now, child, why don't you explain."

Chastised, and still fantasizing about violence, she did just that. From her awakening to the present, everything she knew or suspected about the Order and what they had done to the world. By the end, she was pacing and ranting about the most recent attack on the sect, and her own impotence in sending others to retaliate instead of herself.

"Hmm. Fascinating. That method of tampering with cosmic mana anchors is not what I would call novel, though I'm embarrassed to hear it popped up on Decorra. About an equal chance of preventing any City Core from ever forming again on the planet as there is in actual success."

"I, what, people have done this before?"

"Yes. Not often, you understand, it's quite taboo. And only societies not yet fully anchored are susceptible. But the cosmos is a wide place. And dreams of grandeur are so very common for those too weak to seize real power." The man crossed his legs and lounged in his throne like he owned the world. Which, to be fair, was true. At least in this small part of it.

"It's vile. The act of cowards and opportunists."

"Yes. It's an impressive piece of work, but an affront to nature itself. Imagine what such minds would dream up if they did not let fear twist their ambition."

"So you'll help us?" Laurel was leaning forward like a tiger poised to pounce.

"No."

Air hissed out of her mouth as she grit her teeth against the tirade that threatened to explode from her. The sensation of gasping for what should have been hers to control was still sharp in her mind. "Why not? This is your home, yes? Defend it."

"There are rules, child. Ones I am bending by even being here. There are watchers that even I am not willing to offend."

"Fuck off with that nonsense. A dozen names. It will take you less than an afternoon, and then the whole world will be better off for it."

Another knowing look came her way, and Laurel's hope fell even further. "And if I had appeared elsewhere. Would these same people claim the world would be better off without you in it?"

"I have proof! They already broke your precious rules with this whole fucked up situation. Where were your watchers then?"

"Dangerous presumptions. No outside force imposes rules on a society not yet ready to defend itself. What happens on a lower planet is for the residents to deal with. No World Capital, no rules."

"Then why are you here at all? Just getting your kicks watching us kill each other over it?"

"Visiting one's ancestors is allowed. Sometimes. Killing their enemies is not. Ahem. And if on those visits one picks up a souvenir, then that can hardly be penalized."

Laurel shivered at the callous remarks. A visitor from the wider cosmos, strong enough to stomp across every master on the planet, couldn't be bothered to save it.

While she surveyed the man, he had no need to watch her right back. Within his domain, there was no resistance. He knew every twitch of muscle or stuttered heartbeat. Stars above, she wasn't confident he couldn't read her thoughts. No, she was a nuisance to him, where he lounged on his throne, eyes glazed over as if there was nothing nearby worth looking at.

Without warning, the domain collapsed. Laurel managed to keep her feet as her mana surged back to normal speeds, and the world seemed to let out a collective breath.

"Why don't you go ahead and show me around that quaint City you're running, while I'm here?"

It wasn't a suggestion she could refuse. Few people would keep to their precious rules when they felt themselves slighted, and Laurel was not willing to risk her sect on the assumption that Drivastian was such a person. But perhaps there was still a way to spin this to her advantage.

Legends said a grandmaster could count the flakes of snow in a blizzard half a world away. Information was one of their biggest weaknesses right now. Anything the man let slip could be an advantage. And the longer he stayed nearby, the less chance he was doing anything similar for the Order.

In response to his demand, she lifted herself into the air. He followed with a small shrug. Despite watching with every sense she had, Laurel couldn't detect any mana coming from the man at all. Rather he simply seemed to float in the air because he so willed it. Not. Fair.

She turned that rage into speed as she shot back towards Verilia.

"Not a bad technique. You're doing something to the air ahead to make yourself faster."

It wasn't a question so Laurel didn't bother explaining herself. If she didn't engage, then she wouldn't be tempted to watch where the grandmaster – or higher? – sailed next to her in repose, like he was lying on a couch that the world just happened to be moving around. Because why wouldn't one of her best techniques be trivialized by this interloper?

When the City came into view, Laurel forced herself to slow, and to calm down. This man had only wronged her by refusing to fight for her cause. Which made him less than an ally but far from an enemy. Perhaps almost a decade of looming conflict and constant friction was having more of a toll than she had thought, if she was forcing every stranger to choose a side. Even if there was an obviously correct choice…

She cut off that line of thought and gestured expansively with her arm. "Welcome to Verilia. Capital of the Kingdom of Merista, one of the greatest mercantile cities in the world, best selection of tea shops on the continent, and home of more ink varietals than you could ever imagine."

"Where's the wall?"

Laurel's head dropped between her shoulders, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. "Don't ask."

Beneath her the sect house blazed with power, every defense engaged, and every cultivator inside poised to defend themselves. That would have to be first.

The unlikely pair alit on top of the steps. As she entered, Laurel took a moment to deactivate the alarms, letting the rest of the Eternal Archive know they could stand down. At a World Capital, maybe even a Capital, the Core would be channeling enough mana to keep the man behind her out of the sect house. Probably. Maybe. As it was now, he could force his way in if he wanted to. Better to avoid offending. But she made a promise that when she was able to stand toe to toe with the interloper, there would be a very different kind of visit.

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