I met Hector's gaze. "Then," I said calmly, "let's see if your masterpiece can handle a hearthstone older than most legends."
His eyes widened. And just like that—History leaned forward to watch.
The moment we stepped onto the upper floor of the Mage Tower, I felt it.
Tension. Not the quiet, respectful kind—no. This was the mages-are-about-to-pee-their-robes kind of tension.
Whispers skittered along the marble walls like nervous insects. "What kind of hearthstone could she possibly—"
"I heard it's ancient—"
"No, no, that's impossible—"
Even High Mage Hector Sky—the man who once calmly corrected a mana storm mid-collapse—kept adjusting his gloves, fingers twitching. His breathing was steady, but his shoulders were tight.
That alone told me something important. They have no idea what's coming. Then we entered the main ritual hall. And I froze. Because everyone was there.
The King and Queen, seated upon elevated chairs carved with runes of authority and protection.
