"You’re sure you got the time right?"

  Yuuhi didn’t look up from the kitchen table, where she was wrestling a cravat like it had personally offended her. "Prel standard time. Third chime after sunset on the fifth moonrise. I triple-checked."

  "And you converted that to our realm?"

  "Yes, Nojin. I even laminated a chart."

  "...Why?"

  She grinned. "Because I knew you'd ask. Also because I haven't seen you wear anything remotely formal in a hundred years."

  I adjusted the collar of the sleek, high-collared coat she’d foisted on me. It shimmered faintly, laced with thread that pulsed like starlight. Too flashy. Far too fancy. But she insisted.

  "You sure this isn't cursed?"

  "Only if you try to skip the ball."

  I groaned. "I'm still not convinced this isn't some elaborate trap."

  Yuuhi finally looked up, giving me a very slow once-over. "You clean up well. Still demon mayor chic—just with 30% more brooding flair."

  "I don't brood."

  She raised a brow. "You wrote a two-page speech to the town council last week about the sanctity of your alone time."

  "That's called effective governance."

  Roku padded in from the porch, now nearly knee-height and dragging what used to be one of Barley's nicer shoes. He dropped it at my feet with a huff and sat.

  "Still not bringing you," I told him.

  He tilted his head and looked personally offended.

  Yuuhi snorted. "He thinks he's your plus one."

  "He'll have to settle for terrifying the village in my absence."

  Barley, naturally, appeared at the door right then. "Hey, Mayor! I polished Roku's horns! You should take him!"

  "Go polish the town square."

  Barley frowned. "But it doesn’t need—"

  "Exactly. Preventative maintenance."

  Yuuhi raised a brow. "Don't pick on him so much. He really does try."

  I sighed. "Fine. Barley, wait up."

  He turned hopefully.

  I pointed at him. "New task. Guard Roku. Make sure he doesn’t eat anything important or cause too much havoc. Report back if he starts levitating livestock. Got it?"

  Barley saluted. "You can count on me!"

  Yuuhi handed me the cravat. "Alright. Deep breath. Big charming smile. Try not to threaten any dukes."

  "No promises."

  The glyphs flared to life at my feet.

  And with a flash of crimson light, I was gone.

  ***

  I reappeared in a blindingly polished marble corridor, beneath a chandelier so ornate it looked like it had been plucked from a celestial auction house and enchanted to sparkle judgmentally. The air smelled like roses, old money, and the kind of magical incense that gave you a headache and a vague sense of regret.

  I can't believe I'm doing this.

  Kira was already waiting, leaned against a pillar in an elegant formal uniform that somehow managed to look both practical and stunning. Her coat was trimmed in silver, a matching blade sheathed at her hip, and her expression was that same cocky grin I was starting to suspect she practiced in the mirror.

  She gave a slow, appreciative look. “Well, well. You clean up.”

  I dusted off the shoulder of my coat. “Just trying to avoid being mistaken for a barbarian.”

  Kira stepped closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “So, how’s my favorite summoned companion?”

  I adjusted my cravat and gave her a flat look. “Suspicious. Last time you smiled like that, I ended up saddled with a psychic menace who reorganized my pantry by color."

  She laughed. “I prefer 'strategic delegation.'”

  I shook my head. “You’re lucky I didn’t try to sever the contract.”

  Kira raised a brow. “Would’ve been a shame. Besides, you’d miss me.”

  I didn’t dignify that with an answer. Mostly because she wasn’t entirely wrong. The way she looked in her outfit didn't help.

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  Was it magic? The bond? Maybe. Or maybe it was something else entirely. The way she stood too close, always smirking like she knew exactly how aggravating she was—like she enjoyed it. Maybe that was the part I couldn’t walk away from. Against my better judgment. Against every quiet vow to stay out of things like this.

  One day, I’d test the boundaries of the summoning bond—just enough to earn a week of uninterrupted peace.

  …Too risky. Might kill her.

  Still tempting.

  Kira spun on her heel, motioning me toward the grand ballroom. “Come on. Time to show Prel’s finest how to throw a proper entrance.”

  I muttered, “Do proper entrances involve boots that try to assassinate your ankles?”

  She grinned over her shoulder. “Only if you’re doing it right.”

  I followed, the ridiculous boots creaking in a way that felt both regal and criminal. The corridor stretched ahead like it had been designed specifically to make people like me feel out of place.

  "Alright," I said under my breath, "start talking. Who exactly are we about to meet, and how many of them am I allowed to glare at?"

  Kira gave me a sidelong look. “Officially? The high nobles of Prel. Unofficially? A bunch of prissy magic barons, ornamental dukes, and political ladder-climbers who think saving a realm is easier than picking out cufflinks.”

  “So... a nightmare.”

  “With really good appetizers,” she added brightly.

  We reached a set of massive arched doors engraved with constellations and forged from some kind of polished starlight-hued alloy. They shimmered faintly as we approached.

  Kira stopped just before them, giving me a quick once-over. “You look fine. Just… maybe try not to scowl too hard at anyone with a tiara. That’s like, half the room.”

  “No promises,” I muttered. “But I’ll do my best not to incinerate anyone wearing too much perfume.”

  “I’ll take it,” she said, and reached out to push the doors open.

  What greeted us was an explosion of sound, color, and motion—dozens of people in robes and gowns spun across a glittering floor, chandeliers of light magic spiraling lazily above them. Enchanted orchestras played from floating platforms. Servers wove between guests with trays of crystal flutes and glowing finger foods. Somewhere, something burst into delicate fireworks shaped like geese.

  I blinked. “Alright. I admit it. This is a bit more impressive than I expected.”

  “Prel doesn’t do subtle,” Kira said. “Try to enjoy it. Smile at someone. Eat something you can’t pronounce.”

  I stared at a hors d'oeuvre that was gently floating on a cushion of air. “What is this?”

  “Probably a skyfruit reduction pip over puffed kelstar,” she said.

  I frowned. “That sounds made up.”

  “Most of high cuisine is,” she replied.

  A trio of robed officials noticed Kira and began to make their way toward us, all polite smiles and calculating eyes.

  I leaned over. “How late is too late to fake my own spontaneous combustion?”

  Kira smiled sweetly at the approaching delegation and whispered back, “Way too late. Besides, you wouldn’t want to miss the dessert griffins.”

  I sighed, bracing myself.

  Time to dance with politics. And possibly actual dancing. Gods help me.

  We stepped further into the opulence of it all, and I could feel the weight of too many eyes tracking us—Kira with curiosity, me with varying degrees of suspicion. She didn’t slow down, gracefully navigating between swirling gowns and chattering nobles like she belonged here. I followed, resisting the urge to hex anyone who sniffed disdainfully in my direction.

  It didn’t take long before we were intercepted. Nobles, minor council members, and the occasional curious adventurer—each wanting a word with Kira, and by extension, me. I shook hands, bowed, nodded, made vaguely threatening smiles. Kira introduced me as her "trusted associate," which was as close to a diplomatic title as I was ever going to get.

  Still, the strangest part? I didn’t hate it.

  The drinks were decent. The floating music was oddly pleasant. And Kira kept drifting close when she didn’t have to, brushing her hand against my arm as she laughed too loud at some Duke’s joke, then retreating just far enough to leave me wondering if it had been on purpose.

  We found ourselves on the edge of the ballroom eventually, tucked near a sweeping arch of flowering vines that definitely hadn’t been grown with natural sunlight. Kira had a drink in hand and a mischievous glint in her eye.

  "You’re not bad at this," she said. "I was expecting more glaring."

  "Still getting warmed up," I replied, then looked at her sidelong. "Why me? For tonight. You could’ve asked anyone."

  She shrugged, smiling into her glass. "Because you don’t care who’s impressed. And because you wouldn’t let me walk in here alone. Even if you’d pretend to complain the whole time."

  I grunted. "You’re very confident in my sense of reluctant chivalry."

  "It’s one of my favorite things about you," she said lightly.

  I didn’t have a reply to that. Not one I was willing to say out loud.

  So instead, I glanced back at the crowd. The glittering, ridiculous, unknowable crowd.

  And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t entirely in a hurry to leave.

  Just as Kira leaned in to say something else, I felt it—an unnatural shift in the air. Cold. Pressurized. Wrong.

  My gaze snapped upward.

  Above us, near the highest chandelier, a ripple of shadow peeled itself from the ceiling. It spread like ink in water, coalescing into a humanoid figure cloaked in tattered smoke and voidsteel.

  Kira saw it too. Her eyes narrowed.

  None of the guests had noticed yet.

  I stepped forward instinctively, fingers twitching with gathering magic.

  The figure dropped.

  Screams started before it even hit the floor.

  He landed in a crouch that cracked the marble beneath him, rising with a slow, predatory grace. His armor bore the jagged mark of Zerec—stylized flame devouring a circle of stars.

  He raised a hand.

  Guests began to stumble backward. A swirl of force gathered around his palm.

  I moved.

  One sigil. Two. I snapped my hand forward, throwing up a dome of protective light just before the force could detonate. The guests behind me shrieked as the blast rolled harmlessly off the barrier.

  Kira was already beside me, sword half-drawn.

  “You,” the figure rasped, voice like rust and ash. “Kennojin?”

  My breath caught.

  That name—my real name—fell from his lips like a challenge and a curse.

  I didn’t answer.

  His eyes flared. Then dimmed. A flicker of something like fear.

  “You’re alive.”

  Memories surged. Broken skies. Endless battle. That name—Zerec—I'd heard it before. Azzerec, we used to call him.

  Guess I wasn’t the only one who went through a name change.

  And this one—this was Wehyr. The Butcher of the Shattered Ring.

  He took a step forward.

  I didn’t wait.

  I lunged.

  Steel clashed with magic. His conjured blade met mine in a flurry of sparks. I deflected. Redirected. Slammed a knee into his side and threw him back into a pillar with a burst of kinetic force. Marble cracked. He stumbled.

  I raised a hand. Glyphs flared. I could end it.

  He stared at me, blood trailing from his mouth. But there was fear now. Real fear.

  “Zerec will—”

  “I know what he wants,” I snapped.

  The magic pulsed in my hand.

  I stopped.

  He was defeated. For now. And I wasn’t about to let go of the life I’d carved out for myself. Graybarrow still felt like something worth holding onto—quiet, safe, and mine. And no one was going to take that away from me.

  “Go,” I said, voice low. “Tell your master the dead don’t stay buried. And not all of them stay quiet.”

  He vanished into smoke.

  The ballroom was in chaos. Guards poured in. Kira moved to my side.

  “You knew him.”

  “Long time ago.”

  “You just saved a room full of nobles.”

  “I’m not involved,” I muttered.

  Kira didn’t press. But the way she looked at me said everything.

  Dammit.

  Everything had just shifted. And I couldn’t unshift it.