Flynn's idea of a journey differed sharply from mine. I hadn't realized as much until I arrived just after sunrise three days later, as we had discussed and planned.

I had prepared with the assumption we would be on the road for at least a few days. The light mage had said it would take only one to reach our destination, but plans had a way of falling apart.

My attire was thick and dark, made of sturdy, magically reinforced cloth and leather. My boots were waterproof, my hooded cloak designed to keep me warm even in a monsoon or blizzard, and the gloves on my hands would protect my fingers from frigid temperatures while still retaining enough mobility to handle a weapon unimpeded.

Those preparations continued with my backpack. The leather satchel held a tent, medical supplies, travel rations, extra water in metal canteens, spare clothes, flint and tinder, glass vials with cork stoppers, soap, and even a black notebook with some writing implements.

Completing the image were the weapons dotting my person. Six daggers of solidified mana sat across my belt, safe within sheaths of the same material. They were the best I had made so far, stable enough to last a month before breaking down into their component energies. But even they paled in comparison to the polearm I held in my left hand.

It was a swordstaff, but unlike any I had seen in my life. All six feet of the emerald weapon, from razor-sharp tip to rounded base, burned with the power of pure mana. Runes covered the flat of the blade, and I could sense the burgeoning intent within the shaft. Just touching it gave me a sense of cutting, as though I were staring at the idea of sharpness itself.

Unfortunately, all that work imbuing it with intent had affected overall stability. Using runes had been a half-measure, but I estimated that the weapon would last two, maybe three weeks before it became too unstable to risk using.

When I saw Flynn's appearance, it took all of my willpower not to laugh.

Flynn looked as if he planned to take a short hike around the family estate with honored guests. His white and gold attire was heavier than usual, his boots sturdy, and the cloak across his shoulders waterproof, but the pack slung on his back was much too small for a journey lasting even one day.

I looked him up and down, making my pointed stare clear before commenting, "You packed light."

"And you overpacked. You did hear me say it's only a day away, no?"

"Fortune favors the prepared," I replied, shrugging one shoulder. Fortunatus mewoed from his perch on the other, though whether in agreement, as a joke, or simply from pure coincidence, I couldn't tell. His emotions felt like amusement, but they weren't always a one-to-one match with human feelings.

Flynn looked between the two of us, opened his mouth, then shook his head and walked away. I followed after a moment, laying my weapon against my shoulder as I fell into step beside him.

I had expected us to head for the family barracks and pick up a small retinue of guards. It was customary for nobles to have at least some protection on any kind of trip, even if it was mostly a formality at our level of advancement.

Instead, Flynn walked right past the barracks without a hitch in his step. I followed, and together we made our way northwest.

Hours passed as we hiked up the hills, heading further and further away from the Sion estate. The sun overhead beat down mercilessly, harsh in the cloudless sky. Winter had come and gone in a heartbeat, and the days had begun to warm with the first signs of spring, even high on the mountains making up the valley.

Despite that, I felt surprisingly comfortable. A short hike and some warm weather weren't enough to make me sweat anymore, though I did privately admit that Flynn might have had a point. The cloak may have been unneeded.

The sun had begun sliding towards the horizon when Flynn diverted our course. Instead of hiking up loose rock and dirt, he moved sharply westward. I followed, clambering over a high lip, only to come up short at what lay just beyond this.

A narrow gash led through the mountain, as though cut by some great, invisible blade. The walls were smooth, the path flat, and the entire thing angled downward, leading deeper into the earth.

I hesitated, but Flynn slid down the walls to land within the narrow passageway. He carried on with his arms tucked under his cloak and a skip in his step, pausing only just long enough to shout, "You coming?" over his shoulder.

The sky remained overhead for a time, but soon we reached an opening within the earth and stone. The passageway was inky black, quiet, and foreboding.

Flynn stopped by this entrance, turning to face me with a smile. "Almost there. How are you feeling?"

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"Curious, mostly. Exactly where are you taking me?"

"That'd spoil the surprise," Flynn replied with a brief laugh.

Before I could push him further, he turned back to the tunnel. Flynn's mana swelled for a moment, and four golden orbs appeared around him. Each was the size of his fist and burned like bonfires, casting ribbons of light across the dusky valley.

I let the silence stand, and together we entered the tunnel, heading deeper into the mountains.

At first, the tunnel looked rough and unshaped, though clearly artificial. The walls and floor were rounded, carved out of the very stone by magic, but without any of the artistry that suggested purposeful craftsmanship. But soon, this changed.

Rounded walls gave way to a squared-off tunnel. The floor under our feet became smooth and tiled, and I could make out a ceiling seven feet overhead of interlocking stone slabs.

What gave me pause were the markings carved into the walls and ceilings. I could only make out bits and pieces, the dim light of Flynn's orbs ill-suited for actual study, but I ached to stop and take a closer look. Unfortunately, my adopted brother carried on without pause, and I had no choice but to follow.

Time passed, though I had no idea how much. It was impossible to judge how long we had walked with only the unnatural glow of Flynn's magic. Any hint of natural light had long since faded, leaving only the ribbons of gold dancing across flat, gray walls.

I tried three times to start a conversation with Flynn. The first time, he made a joke about breaking the silence. The second, he deflected with a comment about spoiling the surprise. But the third was the most strange of all. He didn't respond at all.

This was decidedly unusual, but what truly set me on edge was his demeanor. Flynn's shoulders looked tense, his back ramrod straight, and his mana rippled and twisted in a way I might call anxious.

I hadn't seen this kind of behavior, and I wanted to push. But before I could, the walls seemed to fall away.

We now stood within a square room, about eight by eight feet. The walls to either side were flat and unadorned, and directly ahead of us was a single, towering doorway.

This door was wide, made of a brighter white stone, and had the same markings as I had seen on the walls. It gave off a feeling like staring at the sun, and I could sense mana burning within it.

Flynn said nothing as I walked past him, leaning in closer to the door for a closer look. Thankfully, his magic provided enough light for me to make out the symbols.

I ran my fingers along one in particular, pausing and muttering, "What the hell...?"

"What is it?" Flynn asked. I couldn't quite place his tone, but it sounded close to challenging.

I decided to treat it as an honest question and replied, "It's a message of some kind, but strange. Archaic, even. Think a particularly primitive dialect of Old Ferren, the type not spoken since before the founding. See this here? That's sentence structure and grammar we only see in our earliest writings."

"Can you read it?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the light mage, who examined me with a focused expression.

Slowly, I nodded. "To a point, yes. I learned Old Ferren, and there's enough here to piece it together. Give me five minutes."

Despite my outward confidence, the actual task proved more challenging than expected. Whoever left this message used not only ancient grammar and spelling but also words that historically carried multiple, distinct

meanings. Several had no modern counterparts, and I had to take a best guess.

After what felt like a small eternity, I had pieced together enough to take a guess, though.

"Blood of my blood and kin of my kin, step forth and be tested. For only through strength may you be baptized in the fires of the arcane," I said rhythmically, as though reciting poetry.

The words had felt meaningless, but even as they left my lips, I felt something change. The mana around us shifted, rising as though waking from a slumber.

Runes lit across the walls around us, burning from within with a fiery white-gold light. This same illumination poured down to the floor, flowing through cracks in the tiles and into the door before me. I stepped back, pulling mana from my core and preparing a spell, only to jump out of my skin when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Easy there," Flynn said, and I turned to see a confident smile on his face. "Nothing to worry about."

I shrugged off his hand, adjusting my grip on my swordstaff and continuing to prepare my spells. Within seconds, my Armor had settled across my body, and the power of Aether poured through my limbs.

That golden white mana continued to pour into the door, filling the runes with the sun's light. These markings went from bright to blinding, and I cast a third spell, a simple defensive barrier designed to block out glares and flashes that I had learned to counter Flynn's magic.

When that glare reached an apex, I felt the mana calm. For a moment, there was silence. Then, with the deep growl of stone grinding against stone, something began to move.

Slowly, the doors swung inward. A line of impenetrable darkness split them, revealing a gaping maw of pure darkness. My senses reached forward, piercing that veil and finding nothing beyond it save the barest traces of mana.

Something within me, some primal thing, recoiled against that darkness. I pushed it aside with a growl and was about to ask Flynn precisely what this was when I noticed he'd already begun walking again.

"Come along, little brother," Flynn tossed over his shoulder with an easy smile. "You already passed the first test."

He stepped into the room beyond, and I followed with a grumble on my lips. I was growing remarkably sick of whatever surprise Flynn had in mind.

Any complaints died on my lips as I stepped into the next room.

It was massive compared to the last one, a domed half-sphere easily fifty feet across with a ceiling just as tall. The floors, walls, and roof were smooth, leveled, and formed of perfectly carved and interlocked tiles, such that I could barely make out the gaps between each. At least a part of that was the dim light, which Flynn seemed to have noticed.

My brother waved a hand, and the orbs surrounding us multiplied. Four became eight, then sixteen. Within seconds, he controlled a whole swarm of glowing orbs that shot across the chamber, floating at even distances from one another and casting the entire room in light.

The first thing I noticed was the seven shapes standing along the walls. I realized in an instant that they were statues, taller than me by a head and made of stone carved in the shape of flesh and cloth.

I glanced to my left, walking towards the nearest of these statues. It looked to be a woman, beautiful and haughty, with a cold glare in her eyes. The robes around her body looked as though they still moved, and she had both hands raised in what appeared to be the beginnings of a spell.

The statue stood atop a plinth carved with depictions of a raging fire. It was lifelike enough that I could almost see the flickering of the flames, and swore I could feel the heat of an inferno.

At the very center of this flame was a small, flat plaque. And it was there that I read what must be the title of this statue.

"The First Flame."

I blinked, then slowly my eyes rose to the face again. The woman—the fire mage—looked powerful. Untouchable. Arrogant.

Familiar?

My memory returned to my time at the Everforge. There, I had seen depictions of the Smith, the first fire mage in Ferris. One of the Founders.

One of seven.

Slowly, I turned to face the rest of the chamber, my eyes landing on each of the other six statues ringing the room. Finally, I let my gaze land on Flynn, who stood near the center.

He'd taken off his cloak at some point, either stuffing it into his pack or throwing it to the ground. Both hands rested on his hips, and his smile was confident and challenging.

"Welcome," Flynn said, spreading both hands. "To our family's greatest secret. So, what do you think?"

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