- Twenty-four days later -

  Cygnus Spellbane rose from his chair, the quiet of his study in Morsalem folding around him like a second skin. Shelves of arcane tomes loomed in shadow, their spines catching the dim light that bled through tall windows. The air carried the faint scent of ink and cooled embers.

  “Sicilia. Clarify your report.”

  Hundreds of meters away from the Stargate, Sicilia stood concealed behind tangled shrubs and old trees whose branches sagged under the weight of mist. Her transmitter trembled slightly in her grip. The device worked flawlessly. It was her voice that faltered.

  Not from fear of failure, but from hesitation. The truth she carried felt heavier than any blade.

  “Your report determines the All Realm continuity,” Cygnus said, his tone quiet yet immovable. “Do not restrain yourself.”

  The Master of Shapeshifters swallowed, forcing moisture into a throat that had gone dry.

  “Yes, Master Spellbane. The matter has spread among all Stargate personnel. They will ensure will not postponed the program and will support everything. Starslayer always talking about this every three days, so I could say it's already a certainty.”

  She paused, eyes drifting toward the distant spires of the citadel, their crystal surfaces reflecting a pale sky.

  “Financial losses, the honor of Stargate, Lord Star and Lady Star’s despair over their situation, and their respect for Leroy. All of it has converged. Even if our faction insists the clone is not ready, the process will continue.”

  Silence followed. Only the faint rhythm of Cygnus’s breathing traveled across the transmission.

  Sicilia did not elaborate. They had circled this discussion for nearly an hour already. Doubt lingered, not in her, but in the Sorcerer Supreme who now weighed the consequences.

  “Where are Leroy and Starmist?” Cygnus asked.

  “They are still on duty. Many things to handle before engagement.”

  “Will they return soon?”

  “Most likely in four or five days, Master Spellbane.”

  Her gaze slid toward the palace behind her, scanning for movement. Guards patrolled the perimeter with habitual precision, unaware of the conversation threading through hidden air.

  “Inform me the moment they return.”

  “Yes.”

  A brief pause lingered before Sicilia spoke again. “Do you intend to meet him? Arrange a gathering, perhaps?”

  Cygnus allowed a faint breath to escape, almost a quiet amusement.

  “I only need to know when they return. Leroy will seek me out on his own.” A subtle stillness followed his words. “I will make certain of that.”

  The certainty in his voice carried no arrogance. It sounded more like inevitability.

  “But can you ensure Starmist remains there?” he added.

  “I will try, Master Spellbane. Yet if she refuses…”

  Silence resurfaced, thicker this time, stretched between distance and intention.

  After a moment, Sicilia spoke with measured care. “From my observation, Starmist never accepts assignments the day before Sevenstar.”

  “That is six days from now,” she concluded.

  Understanding settled over Cygnus like a quiet revelation.

  “I see. Then I will have Elysius arrive in Morsalem earlier.”

  Sicilia hesitated. “Must it be him, Master Spellbane?”

  “He will gather reports from the Abyss and the Cogworks and reach Stargate the following day. Precisely when they departs.”

  The plan unfolded with the calm logic of a completed equation.

  “I will report any developments,” Sicilia said.

  The transmission faded.

  Sicilia slipped back toward the palace, her figure dissolving into corridors of marble and glass. Meanwhile, Cygnus returned to his chair, lifting a cup of hot tea whose steam curled upward in fragile spirals.

  He took a slow sip.

  Outside the window, Morsalem stretched beneath a dim sky, its towers standing like silent witnesses to designs few could perceive.

  “So this is how they choose to mend the fracture,” Cygnus murmured.

  Four days later, green and white light descended upon the Stargate.

  The landing fractured the midday stillness as heat poured across the white citadel, sunlight striking marble towers until they glowed like polished bone. Air shimmered above the stone pathways, and the sea beyond the walls breathed a distant salt haze into the afternoon.

  Leroy and Starmist crossed the courtyard toward a small pavilion prepared for their return. Cold drinks rested on a wooden table beside neatly arranged meals, condensation forming along crystal glasses. Letters and reports awaited them in tidy stacks, each bearing seals from Unus Bank and Sevenstar.

  Leroy broke one open, scanning the contents with steady focus.

  “All financial matters to Cogworks have been completed. They should begin their work now.”

  Starmist leaned closer, her eyes tracing the figures on the page. “That is an immense sum for them to receive.”

  “You know their condition,” Leroy replied. “And I want the faction to experience fairness for once. Perhaps this program will grant them that chance.”

  He folded the document, the faint rustle of paper echoing in the quiet pavilion.

  “My estimate is five years. Implementation and research included.”

  Starmist exhaled softly. “Then they should not resist anymore, should they?”

  “I hope so.” Leroy’s voice carried neither optimism nor doubt, only restraint. “I am uncertain whether finances alone can resolve their conflicts. Still, the attempt is necessary, especially with Unus Bank performing well these past years.”

  Their conversation halted as they stepped inside.

  Elysius sat comfortably at the table, plucking grapes from a small bowl as though he had always belonged there.

  “I thought you would arrive tomorrow,” Starmist said.

  “That was the plan,” the boy answered, unbothered. “But Professor Bjorn contacted me through the transmitter. He said everything was stable and Cogworks’ report remained unfinished.” A faint shrug followed. “As usual.”

  Leroy and Starmist took their seats, quenching their thirst while Elysius slid a sealed document from Morsalem across the table. Yet none of them opened it immediately. Hours passed in gentle conversation, drifting away from the weight of the cloning program. Advice mingled with playful teasing, the elder council members offering guidance to their youngest companion, whose laughter filled the pavilion with a rare lightness.

  Gradually, the sun descended.

  Warm gold replaced the harsh brilliance of noon, brushing their faces with softer light. Beyond the citadel, the sea darkened toward evening, its surface turning into a mirror of slow-moving fire.

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  “Elysius,” Leroy said at last, his voice thoughtful, “I will appoint D’Hertz as my temporary successor.”

  “So Vanguard claims the seat in the end,” the boy laughed.

  “Yes. My future wife believes that if his appearance can be altered, the weapon masters themselves will accept him.”

  Starmist’s quiet laugh followed, a blush touching her expression.

  “I must admit,” Elysius said, peeling an orange, “it still feels strange hearing you call Starmist your future wife. But I suppose I will adjust.”

  “I trust you, Bjorn, and Shogun to stand beside her while you await my return,” Leroy replied.

  “Do not worry, First Brother. You can focus entirely on Unus Bank when the time comes.”

  Leroy nodded and reached for the sealed report from Morsalem.

  "I will tell the truth of my faction," said Elysius, nervously.

  "Tell in council meeting next week, let all of us hear and understand about this." Starmist replied.

  The boy nodded.

  The wax broke with a soft crack.

  At first, his reading seemed routine. Then his posture shifted. Shoulders straightened. Eyes moved rapidly across the lines, darting left and right as if chasing meaning that refused to settle. A quiet tension gathered in his jaw.

  Starmist felt it before she saw it.

  Her hand closed around his, searching for reassurance that something had not fractured beneath the surface.

  Leroy lifted his gaze toward Elysius, who remained reclined, staring at the sky while placing another slice of orange into his mouth.

  “Elysius,” Leroy said, voice low but sharpened by unease, “why have all sorcerer experimental subjects failed until now?”

  The boy’s casual posture vanished. He sat upright, facing them fully as confusion flickered across his expression.

  “I do not know,” he replied. “I assumed that with the additional time you granted, everything had stabilized. Is Master Spellbane’s report still unfavorable?”

  Starmist gently removed the document from Leroy’s grasp, her eyes moving quickly through the conclusion.

  “The subjects we tested were different,” she murmured. “Yet the disparity is extreme compared to us… the Extraterrestrials.”

  The report detailed the results with cold precision.

  Sorcerer experiments required each cloned subject to endure extreme environments and active warfare. Every trial had failed. The clones collapsed under uncertainty, unable to improvise, unable to divide attention between combat and protection. They could fight, but not decide. They could act, but not adapt.

  At the bottom of the page, a final note appeared in Cygnus’s handwriting.

  In this age of superhumans, consequences will emerge that have never been imagined. This will cause imbalance.

  Leroy rose at once.

  “I am going to see Cygnus. Now.”

  “You just returned,” Starmist said, catching his arm before he could move past her. “This can wait until I finish Sevenstar matters.”

  “Read this again,” Leroy replied, his voice steady yet pressed by urgency. “There is a problem. I want everything aligned before I step down from the council.”

  He paused, the weight of responsibility settling visibly across his posture.

  “I will not burden the others with a program I proposed.”

  “At least rest,” Starmist insisted, her voice softer, not commanding but pleading.

  Elysius remained silent. He watched from the table, absentmindedly turning a fork between his fingers while thoughts gathered behind his calm expression.

  Leroy stepped out of the pavilion regardless.

  Starmist followed.

  Even Elysius stood, though he stopped at the doorway, observing the couple as they drifted into the garden where evening light filtered through quiet trees.

  “Darling,” Starmist said, her voice almost lost beneath the rustling leaves, “you do not need to leave immediately.”

  “My time in the council is ending,” Leroy answered. “I must hear Cygnus and his faction directly. Their obstacles and commitment. All of it.”

  “We can go together,” she said. “Four days from now.”

  Leroy met her gaze.

  Azure eyes stared back at him, tired yet unwavering, carrying concern she tried to hide beneath composure. For a moment, the urgency within him faltered.

  He stepped closer and pulled her into an embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

  “You have walked beside me this far,” he murmured. “But you carry responsibilities of your own. This one is mine.”

  A quiet breath followed.

  “I will make certain everything remains intact.”

  The Green Wraith released her slowly, his hand slipping from her pale fingers as if resisting gravity itself. A soft green radiance ignited across his body, the light gathering beneath his skin like a restrained storm.

  He took several steps forward, then turned back with a small, reassuring smile.

  Starmist stood motionless, Elysius behind her at the pavilion’s edge. The Child of Light met Leroy’s gaze and offered a silent nod.

  Understanding passed between them without words.

  The air stirred.

  In a single motion, Leroy ascended into the twilight sky, emerald light tearing through the deepening dusk as he sped toward Morsalem, where Cygnus awaited amid plans that stretched far beyond the horizon of certainty.

  Hours passed beneath a darkening sky before Leroy descended.

  He arrived over a vast stretch of green steppe where short grass rippled like a living sea beneath the wind. The air had turned cool, carrying a quiet that felt almost deliberate. In the distance stood Morsalem, its fortress rising against the horizon, yet Cygnus was nowhere near its walls.

  Instead, he stood alone in the open field.

  No temple. No chamber filled with runes. No ink-stained desk where spells were etched into eternity. Only the Sorcerer Supreme beneath an endless sky, turning a ring slowly between his fingers.

  Leroy landed several steps behind him and walked forward.

  “Not every answer must be pursued immediately, Leroy,” Cygnus said softly, still facing the horizon.

  Leroy stopped. “You knew I would come.”

  Cygnus turned, meeting the Green Wraith’s gaze with quiet expectation. “I anticipated it.”

  Leroy wasted no time. Words came measured but urgent as he explained the obstacles faced by the sorcerer faction within the cloning program. They remained in the open field, untouched by walls or witnesses. Morsalem behind them felt abandoned, its silence almost unnatural.

  Cygnus listened.

  He neither interrupted nor objected. His attention remained fixed, absorbing every detail until Leroy emptied his thoughts entirely.

  Only then did he speak.

  “Before the council fractured, I once asked whether this was the only solution you could offer.” Cygnus’s gaze sharpened as it drifted forward again. “You and Starmist convinced us otherwise. Perhaps not the only solution, but one worth pursuing.”

  “You know our position,” Leroy replied. “If there are complications, I will address them while I remain within the council.”

  “The issue,” Cygnus said quickly, “is that cloning itself is not the problem.”

  Leroy froze.

  Confusion surfaced before words could form. He recalled the conclusion delivered through Elysius, the warning etched in Cygnus’s own hand.

  “You said your faction required time to test its methods,” Leroy answered, voice tightening. “Your conclusion is the reason I came here and now you claim cloning is not the issue.”

  A brief silence followed.

  “I do not understand you, Cygnus.”

  “Cloning has never been the problem,” Cygnus replied calmly. “But, refinement demands time. Perfection will not arrive swiftly—”

  Leroy cut in. “That is something we all agreed to improve over time.”

  Cygnus’s voice rose, sharper now as he pointed toward Leroy.

  “The problem is far greater than gradual refinement. You are attempting to create a form of life unqualified to replace the executioners among superhumans.”

  “This is new territory,” Leroy countered. “Even you, who have stood from the first council to my generation, know we have never fully aligned our understanding.”

  He paused, studying Cygnus carefully.

  “So what is your real concern?”

  “The concern has never been the clones,” Cygnus said. “It is those who force the program forward before its foundation is ready.”

  His gaze locked onto Leroy.

  “And among them… is you.”

  Silence fell across the steppe.

  Wind brushed the grass, whispering through the space between them. Leroy’s breath deepened, his jaw tightening as he stood motionless, absorbing the accusation without immediate reply. Cygnus, meanwhile, returned to his usual composure, his expression settling into quiet restraint.

  “So,” Leroy said at last, voice low, “after months of this, you intend to tell me I am mistaken.”

  “You are bring this program because you wish to leave the council,” Cygnus answered. “Yet you refuse to consider the consequences if its flaws remain unresolved.”

  “I have calculated all,” Leroy replied. “Cogworks can sustain experimentation for five years. When I depart, I will lead Unus Bank.”

  A pause lingered, heavy with personal conviction.

  “I must complete what I initiated while I still hold a council seat.”

  Cygnus studied him for a moment before speaking again.

  “What if I ask you to remain in the council until the program becomes truly viable?”

  Leroy shook his head slightly.

  “I will be engaged to Starmist soon. Partners cannot sit together within the council. D’Hertz will succeed me.” His voice softened, though determination remained. “I must also devote time to preparing him. There are responsibilities only a council member can teach.”

  “That is precisely your problem,” Cygnus said. “You have entangled policy and this program with your feelings and with the debt you carry toward her family.”

  “I made that promise long ago,” Leroy replied. “I will not break it.”

  “The program is not ready,” Cygnus continued, stepping closer while Leroy kept his gaze lowered. “You may have given your word, but as council leader you cannot allow personal matters to interfere with the welfare of the All Realm.”

  Wind moved between them, bending the grass in slow waves.

  Within Leroy, thought and feeling collided without resolution. This obstacle had never crossed his mind. He was forced to admit a quiet truth: he was not yet a master of this program. It was the largest and most perilous initiative ever conceived in an age of peace.

  Reason sided with Cygnus. The risks were immeasurable, and responsibility belonged to him alone.

  Yet another voice resisted.

  He had promised Starmist. He had asked her to wait too long already. The distance between them had once carved wounds neither wished to reopen. To delay again felt like betrayal disguised as caution.

  And she was not here.

  Leroy drew a long breath and released it slowly before meeting Cygnus’s eyes.

  “All transition agendas have been written,” he said. “I will not change my decision. As council leader, I decree the program will proceed with phased evaluation.”

  A brief pause followed.

  “Your concerns will be recorded as guidance for my successor and the remaining council members.”

  Cygnus nodded once, calm yet resolute. “Your explanation is clear and you are not thinking clearly right now.”

  Leroy ignored the remark. Exhaustion had replaced any desire for further debate. Words felt hollow now, stripped of their ability to move what had already hardened.

  He bowed his head slightly in farewell.

  “I will reflect on this,” he said quietly. “And return in a few days.”

  The Green Wraith turned and walked away, leaving the Sorcerer Supreme standing alone beneath the widening dusk.

  Magic ignited behind him.

  Cygnus raised a hand, and light gathered in his palm before tearing open the air itself. A portal unfolded several steps ahead of Leroy, its edges burning with silent arcane force. Beyond it lay darkness, thick and depthless, as if it opened not into a place but into absence.

  Heavy metallic footsteps echoed from within.

  Leroy stopped.

  The sound grew louder, deliberate, each step striking like distant thunder wrapped in steel. A figure emerged from the void, armored in black from head to toe, the surface of his plate absorbing the fading light. In his grasp rested the Dark Adamsword, a blade whose presence alone seemed to distort the air around it.

  Recognition struck before disbelief could intervene.

  Leroy’s eyes widened.

  “Lucretius,” he whispered.