The road to the capital was wider than Aurelian expected.
Not wide in the ceremonial sense—no marble, no excessive ornament—but wide in the way roads became when they were used. Wagon tracks overlapped in countless layers, the dirt packed hard by decades of trade, patrols, and the steady movement of people who believed the future lay in the same direction. Aurelian walked at the center of the escort without restraints, hands folded loosely behind his back, his pace unhurried.
Prince Elion rode beside him on a dark bay horse, posture stiff, eyes flicking repeatedly toward Aurelian as if expecting him to vanish again.
"You really just… appeared," Elion said at last, breaking the silence. "No summoning circle. No flare. Nothing."
"From my perspective," Aurelian replied, "I simply arrived late."
That earned him a confused look, which Aurelian accepted without elaboration.
The soldiers were tense, but not hostile. They watched Aurelian the way one watched deep water—calm on the surface, dangerous beneath. He did not radiate killing intent. He did not probe their mana. He did not act like someone testing defenses.
That unsettled them more than aggression would have.
After half an hour, Elion tried again. "You said you prefer teaching."
"Yes."
"…Teaching what?"
Aurelian glanced at him. The prince's armor was well-made but too polished, worn more from obligation than habit. His movements were careful, rehearsed. He listened more than he spoke—a good sign—but when he spoke, he measured his words too much.
Afraid of being wrong, Aurelian noted. Or of disappointing someone.
"That depends," Aurelian said, "on what you're failing at."
Elion nearly choked. "I— what kind of answer is that?"
"An honest one."
The prince frowned, then looked forward again. "You talk like you already know me."
"I know enough," Aurelian replied. "You're traveling personally to inspect border patrols instead of delegating. That tells me you don't trust reports."
Elion stiffened.
"You're guarded by veterans, not ceremonial knights," Aurelian continued. "So someone tried to kill you recently."
Elion's fingers tightened on the reins.
"And," Aurelian added mildly, "you're tense every time the road bends north. Which means you're more afraid of what waits at the capital than what waits outside it."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Finally, Elion spoke, voice quieter. "You're not guessing."
"No," Aurelian said. "I'm observing."
They rode on.
By late afternoon, the capital of Lythar rose before them—stone walls layered rather than tall, built for endurance instead of intimidation. Towers stood at measured intervals, banners snapping in the wind, bearing the sigil of the crown: a balanced scale crossed by a sword.
A kingdom that pretends it values justice over force, Aurelian thought. Or one that truly tries.
Both were rare.
As they passed through the gates, the city revealed itself not as grand, but as alive. Markets buzzed with restrained energy. Mages argued prices with merchants. Children ran between legs, chased by exasperated parents. Guards were visible, but not oppressive.
Aurelian noticed the details others ignored: patrol routes overlapped logically, sightlines were clean, mana lamps were placed where shadows naturally gathered.
"Your city is well-managed," he said.
Elion looked surprised. "You can tell that already?"
"I can tell it's being maintained," Aurelian replied. "That's different from being ruled."
They dismounted near the inner district. Servants rushed forward, clearly briefed, bowing deeply to Elion—and hesitating when they reached Aurelian.
"Guest," Elion said after a beat. "Under my protection."
That settled it, at least publicly.
Inside the palace, marble gave way to wood, then to stone again—layers added over centuries rather than rebuilt. The place felt heavy with continuity. Aurelian approved.
They were led to a quiet chamber overlooking an inner garden. Tea arrived quickly, carried by servants who pretended not to listen.
Elion dismissed them with a gesture, then exhaled sharply and dropped into a chair.
"I hate this part," he muttered.
"Being alone with your thoughts?" Aurelian asked, seating himself opposite.
"Being alone with people who see through me," Elion corrected.
Aurelian lifted his cup. "Then you're already doing better than most rulers."
Elion watched him drink. "You're not acting like a court mage. Or an assassin. Or a spy."
"I'm none of those," Aurelian said. "I'm unemployed."
Elion snorted despite himself, then caught it and straightened. "You said you prefer teaching. If that's true… then teach me something."
Aurelian set the cup down.
"Very well," he said. "Tell me why your last advisor was dismissed."
Elion blinked. "That's— how did you—?"
"Your posture relaxed when you entered the palace," Aurelian replied. "Someone you dislike is no longer here."
Elion hesitated, then sighed. "He wanted war."
"Against whom?"
"Everyone," Elion said bitterly. "The demon realms to the west, the merchant republics to the south, even our allies. He said conflict would 'harden' the kingdom."
Aurelian nodded. "And you disagreed."
"Yes," Elion said. "But the council says peace makes us weak."
Aurelian leaned back slightly. "Peace doesn't make you weak. Complacency does."
Elion looked at him sharply.
"War is easy," Aurelian continued. "It simplifies choices. Peace requires management. Planning. Accountability. It demands intelligence."
He met Elion's gaze. "You don't fear war. You fear failing at peace."
Elion was silent for a long moment.
"…How do you know all this?" he asked quietly.
Aurelian considered his answer carefully.
"Because," he said, "I ruled long enough to learn which mistakes repeat."
Elion swallowed. "Will you stay?"
Aurelian raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."
"I don't mean forever," Elion said quickly. "Just— for a while. As an advisor. A teacher. Whatever you want to call it."
Aurelian looked out toward the garden, watching leaves shift in the wind.
He had planned to observe first. To learn this world's power structure, its hidden players, its unseen dangers. Attaching himself to a prince would complicate that.
It would also accelerate everything.
"I will stay," he said at last. "On conditions."
Elion straightened. "Name them."
"First," Aurelian said, "I do not command. I advise. You decide."
Elion nodded.
"Second," Aurelian continued, "you do not ask me to fight your battles unless failure would destroy the kingdom."
Elion hesitated, then nodded again.
"Third," Aurelian said, "you listen—even when you dislike what you hear."
Elion exhaled slowly. "That's the hardest one."
"That's why it matters."
Elion stood and bowed—not formally, but sincerely.
"Then… welcome to Lythar," he said.
Aurelian inclined his head.
As the evening settled, Aurelian felt it again—that quiet pull of attention, distant and curious. Not hostile. Not human.
Far to the west, beyond borders and treaties, something old was watching.
Not a threat.
Not yet.
Aurelian smiled faintly into his tea.
Take your time, he thought. I plan to.