Power does not gather by coincidence.
It arranges itself.
It schedules appointments.
It sends invitations to those morally bankrupt enough to RSVP.
The Archmage arrived first.
Archmage Valeron Thane, Grand Stabilizer of Arcane Order, High Custodian of Theoretical Catastrophes, and private owner of the world's most expensive moral flexibility. Tall, refined, voice like cold marble layered over ego.
He looked upon the chaos of the city not with horror.
But with curiosity.
"Remarkable. Reality… resisting classification."
He almost sounded pleased.
The Bishop followed.
Bishop Halix Vorn, voice like honeyed rot, posture dripping with practiced sanctity. Gold rings etched with prayers that never saved anyone but always justified cruelty.
"The flock panics," he lamented gently.
"Which means they need chains."
He never said chains aloud.
He didn't have to.
He smelled like them.
Next came the mercenary.
Captain Rhaas Gilden, commander of a company that didn't fight for nations or honor.
Just coin.
He grinned like a wolf who'd discovered the barn door was unlocked.
"So this is the thing everyone's afraid of.
Good. I was getting bored."
Behind them gathered others:
Council conspirators.
Shadow brokers.
Legal tyrants.
Mages who worshipped diagrams.
Clerics who worshipped authority.
Men and women who had never had to bleed themselves
But were very comfortable arranging it for others.
They stood atop a secured government bastion overlooking the central district plaza where Ardent now walked like a quiet nightmare.
None of them underestimated him.
That would be suicide.
They simply believed in:
money
structure
politics
law
faith
and their ability to stack enough of it to crush anything inconvenient.
Valeron raised his staff.
Circles upon circles upon circles unfolded above the plaza, magic layered in scholarly precision. Not wild fire. Not raw violence.
Calculation.
"Fae are… difficult," Valeron murmured. "But enough mathematics becomes law. Enough rules become reality. Enough structure… cages anything."
Halix smiled softly and kissed a holy seal.
"May order restore peace…
and may God forgive what must be done to achieve it."
He did not expect forgiveness.
He expected victory.
Rhaas rolled his shoulders.
"Alright then. Let's kill something legendary."
Down below, Aiden carried Liora.
She was conscious. Barely.
Breathing shallow.
Blood still leaking.
Teeth clenched so hard he worried they'd crack.
He found a storage alcove beneath a collapsed market awning where the containment field's pressure was weakest.
He lowered her gently.
"I'll be fine," she whispered.
She wasn't.
He cupped her face and forced her to look at him.
"I'm coming back," he said.
She stared at him like someone memorizing a face.
"…if you die, I'll be furious," she breathed.
He laughed wetly.
"Deal."
He squeezed her hand.
She held on like it was the only thing keeping her in the world.
Then she let go.
He turned.
He didn't want to.
He did.
Because Seris was somewhere in the belly of this machine, currently being legally consumed. Questioned. Dismantled. Documented. Prepared for "permanent resolution."
He would not let that happen.
Aiden ran.
The city bent around him like a maze built to swallow him whole.
He kept going.
Back in the plaza
Ardent looked up.
Saw the sky changing.
Saw spell layers thickening.
Saw religion weaponized politely.
He laughed softly.
The kind of laugh that ends parties.
Valeron's voice echoed through the lattice.
"Fae Entity. Stand down and be cataloged. Reality administration authority is now in effect."
Halix's blessed resonance followed like moral perfume.
"Yield, creature. Submit, and this may remain painless."
Rhaas' voice cut in, amused.
"Or don't. I haven't had fun in weeks."
Ardent tilted his head.
He did not grin.
He… brightened.
As if something inside him woke up that hadn't stretched in centuries.
"Ah," he murmured. "You stacked yourselves."
He stepped forward.
Golden eyes widened.
Gentleness vanished.
Something terrible smiled.
"Oh my darlings," he whispered fondly,
"You should never place all your arrogance
in one location."
The ground muttered.
The wind held its breath.
Fae magic is not orderly.
Not linear.
Not obedient.
It is born of bargains and story.
And very, very old wrath.
Demons fell silent in far-off planes.
Devils leaned closer.
Because when Fae stop laughing?
Terrible art happens.
Valeron slammed his staff down.
Circles tightened.
Light hardened.
Reality declared:
"You do not get to be impossible."
Ardent replied gently:
"I was impossible before your language knew the word."
The plaza screamed.
The magic screamed.
The city screamed.
And every powerful monster watching suddenly realized:
They were not fighting something they understood.
They were fighting something
legends politely warn children never to annoy.
And they had annoyed him
very,
very
deeply.
Meanwhile…
somewhere deep below government stone halls
Seris knelt
bound
collared
bleeding only where it wouldn't scar visibly
A smiling interrogator wiped a bloodless cloth.
"Let's continue," he said warmly. "There is still so much we'd like you to confess."
Footsteps echoed.
Aiden reached the door.
Breathing hard.
Hands shaking.
Heart breaking.
He didn't knock.