Scene 1 — Baldur Brings the Bill
Baldur / Uranus POV
"Hah, Oceanus, I wish I could say this was a meeting of old pantheon members," I said. "But your grandson is causing issues again."
I didn't wait to be announced.
I walked straight through the outer ring of attendants with my aura wide open, letting the pressure shove minor gods and clerks back against the walls. Steel rattled in their hands as they instinctively reached for weapons they weren't brave enough to draw.
I dropped into the chair in front of his desk like it was mine.
Astral energy shaped into light and snapped into place, a wall between us and the rest of the room. The blue-haired bastard finally moved, flicking his fingers as a barrier sealed the hall off from our voices.
His two kings were missing from their usual spots. Knowing Erebus, he was aware this was coming. No doubt that monkey had kept him "informed" in his own way.
No more monkey playing around now.
I let the silence stretch, turning my head away from the report he'd clearly just finished reading from Athena.
"Uranus, it's been some time, hasn't it?" Oceanus said at last, raising an eyebrow.
I felt his pressure climb in answer to mine—a depthless ocean pushing back against the sky—before he released it again. Testing lines, reasserting that we were equals, not master and subordinate.
"Feels shorter from where I'm standing," I said. "Especially when my side can't calm down after Grim released those rules. A-rank travelers moving with the True Sages again from this side? You know how long it's been since we had that combination?"
We both restrained our laws as the environment stopped groaning around us, the barrier taking the brunt while we held eye contact.
"Athena has made me aware," Oceanus said. "That monkey only spoke of the key, so I didn't think it would reach this level."
"Zeus never thinks it'll reach this level," I answered. "But here we are."
He didn't argue.
"Regardless," he said, voice flattening, "strip him of the name. I'll personally handle his punishment."
His jaw clenched. Mine almost did. I remembered the last time a choice like that was made—and the friend we'd buried afterward.
"He should be sentenced to worse fate," I said quietly, "but until more of the second generation catches up, he can pay his slice of meat."
Oceanus' eyes narrowed.
"He can be cannon fodder for when the astrals come," I finished.
He didn't deny it.
For a moment I saw not the lazy sea-god in his chair, but the man who had made the final choice once before. The one who'd chosen which of us walked away.
That was enough.
I stood, aura still pushing the pantheon back as I turned toward the barrier.
"Your grandson wanted to play in our waters," I said over my shoulder. "Now he pays his portion."
The barrier parted for me and sealed behind my back.
Kid gloves were gone.
This time, the gods were done pretending Zeus' grandson was a harmless anomaly.
Scene 2 — Library Lesson
Crow POV
"So, Crow, umm…"
"Don't."
I didn't look up from the page yet, just raised a hand to stop the stuttering.
"You passed the dungeon test," I said. "So by that alone, I'll at least hear you out."
Only then did I close the book.
The girl from that hero group—the only one who survived—stood in the doorway of the restricted library.
The last time I saw her, she'd been all loud colors and bad decisions: dyed hair, flashy gear, the kind of walking target government schools liked to parade as 'hope.' Now the dye was gone, her hair its natural color, tied back. No flamboyant jacket, no screaming palette. Just regular academy clothes, plain and clean.
Stripped down. Like reality finally caught up.
She swallowed. "Can you… teach me? How you and your group actually use astral energy. Not the government-school version."
At least she knew what the problem was.
"If I let you ask questions while I explain," I said, "you'll just waste time and hit from ten angles at once. So I'll explain the basics once and you'll write them down. After that, if you have a better idea, we can talk."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
"Good. Sit."
Instead of taking the chair across from me, she dragged it around and dropped into the seat at my side. I let it slide. If she ran, it wouldn't be because of the distance.
I slid the book aside, reached into my bag, and pulled out a sheet of paper.
"Since I know you came from the government schools," I said, "I have to rewire your understanding first."
That made her wince harder than the dungeon had.
The astral lamps hummed above us as I put pen to paper and drew three overlapping circles.
"These three," I said, tapping each one in turn. "On this edge, Alexis. On this edge, Thomas. In the middle, me."
"You put yourself in the middle?" she blurted, then clamped her mouth shut.
"Yes," I said. "Because I'm the one who knows how their mess fits together. Ask again later. For now, focus."
She leaned in, eyes on the page.
"Astral energy isn't hard to understand," I went on. "If you made it into the academy at all, you've got at least B-rank astral energy to play with. That's enough. The problem is the way they taught you to think."
I circled Thomas' name.
"Thomas is the easiest to understand. He's a novel version of a magic swordsman whose instinct lets him force mana into 'spells'—what we call kid tricks. Point, swing, something happens."
I circled Alexis next.
"Alexis is more technical than both of us. She forces her elemental affinity into arrows. With her talent for shifting elements, she can serve as a magic archer, artillery, and support if she stops trying to die for style points."
Her gaze flicked between the circles, tracking faster now.
"And you?" she asked quietly. "What does the middle actually do?"
"I'm the middle because I can handle close combat and weave mana into natural things," I said. "The issue with the civilian way of thinking is that they treat astral energy like it's black or white."
I tapped the overlap.
"It's grey. As long as we can think it—at least for the second generation—then the only real restriction is how much astral energy we can hold."
She stared at the drawn circles, then at my hand.
"So you're saying…"
"I'm saying you stop asking what's 'allowed' and start asking what you can afford," I cut in. "Thomas shows me instinct. Alexis shows me structure. I stand in the middle and turn that into something the rest of you can use without dying."
I glanced sideways. I'd seen her face plenty of times—report files, dungeon footage, the hallway—but never bothered to glue the name to it.
"Are you keeping up, umm…?"
"Amber!!"
The word came out louder than the library deserved.
The name felt like a clock that reminded me of old memories. Shaking my head to refocus.
"Amber," I said.