Two days after the dungeon was sealed, Caelan was summoned to his father's private chambers,not formally, not through a council, not with witnesses. It was the quiet, family sort of summons Arven Halven reserved for things that actually mattered,when it wasn't about spectacle, but assessment and correction.
Arven sat at a table without the house cloak, dressed in plain indoor clothes he only wore when he didn't intend to intimidate anyone by presence alone. He studied his son for a moment before speaking at all.
"You've rested enough?" he asked evenly, without a trace of irony or pressure.
Caelan nodded.
"I didn't take any serious injuries," he said. "Mostly mana exhaustion. I slept through most of the first day, but it's stable now."
Arven nodded slowly, as if that was exactly the answer he'd expected.
"Good," he said. "Congratulations. Killing a Beast-rank dungeon boss on the first raid was a strong move. The city will remember it. The other houses already have."
He lifted a hand as if counting.
"In two days, I've received three letters of congratulations and one invitation to trade talks that would've been impossible a week ago. A house's reputation doesn't grow by itself. You provided it."
Caelan raised his chin slightly, but didn't speak. He knew the conversation wasn't over.
"Now," Arven continued, "tell me what you learned."
It wasn't polite conversation. It was a test, and Caelan knew it, so he answered without dressing it up.
"My magic is sufficient to fight a dungeon of that rank," he said. "But all three of us had trouble controlling energy dispersion."
His brow tightened as the fight resurfaced in his mind.
"In the early clashes, our attacks were too open. The dungeon absorbed the mana that didn't strike the target directly, and the boss adapted faster than we expected. It wasn't just resistance,it was learning patterns."
Arven listened closely.
"So?" he prompted.
"We had to change spell types mid-fight," Caelan said. "When we used the same energy structures, adaptation accelerated. Only new forms,different compression, different flow paths,started working."
Arven nodded, clearly pleased, but with a shadow of critique behind it.
"That's natural at your stage," he said. "You have power. You have speed. But control isn't something you win with talent."
He rose and walked to the window, looking out over the city.
"From now on, don't train strength,train precision. Learn to close your spells. Reduce losses. Guide mana so the world around you can't 'drink' it. The higher the dungeon's rank, the more the environment fights you,not just the monsters."
He turned back to his son.
"If you want to go further, you need to learn to strike so your enemy doesn't even know where the blow came from until it's too late."
Caelan nodded, serious, committing every word to memory.
"There's one more thing," Arven added as if in passing. "We'll be attending a ball soon."
Caelan looked up sharply.
"A ball?" he repeated. "Now?"
"Early next month," Arven said calmly. "Hosted by House Wervyn."
For a fraction of a second Caelan couldn't hide his surprise. The Wervyns weren't just another noble house,they were one of the four great families under the king's direct patronage. And the Halvens, for all their power and ambition, still operated within that gravity.
"Wervyn…" Caelan echoed, slower.
Arven nodded.
"This invitation isn't random," he said. "Your actions in the dungeon were noticed. Now you'll need to function not only as a mage, but as a representative of the house."
He paused, then added more quietly,
"Fighting in a dungeon builds a reputation. What you do at the ball determines how long it lasts."
The weight of that settled on Caelan's shoulders. Killing the boss had only been the first move. The rest of the game was only beginning.
Caelan left the chamber at a brisk pace, visibly energized, his thoughts already several steps ahead. A Wervyn ball,an opportunity to be seen in a light other than a battlefield,and the fact his father had spoken of him like someone who was starting to matter… it hit harder than Caelan wanted to admit.
Arven remained alone.
The door closed softly, and the room returned to that particular silence that only existed when there was no one left to instruct and no one to show approval to. Only then did his expression harden; the controlled ease vanished, replaced by furrowed brows and the focus of a man who'd learned long ago that every invitation from a stronger player came with a price.
He reached for the letter on the table and scanned it again,not the contents, which he already knew by heart, but the way it was written. Courteous. Impeccable. Elegant, even. Which only made it more suspicious.
"Three young mages. A Beast-rank boss," he murmured. "A fine achievement… for the city. For smaller houses."
He leaned back slightly in his chair.
"For the Wervyns, it shouldn't mean anything," he added after a moment, quieter. "They've seen things that make that dungeon look like practice."
He'd known that family too long, too well, to believe in pure gestures. The Wervyns didn't invite you because they were impressed. They invited you because they were evaluating something, comparing something… or because they needed something. And every invitation like this was a prelude to a conversation, not a reward.
Arven exhaled softly and folded the letter, setting it down with care.
"If it's a ball, it's not for dancing," he said to the empty room. "And if it's courtesy, it isn't without hooks."
He sat in silence for a while, assembling possible scenarios,questions that might come, suggestions that would never be spoken outright, the small political tricks the Wervyns excelled at,then nodded slowly, as if confirming to himself that what was coming wouldn't be simple.
"We'll have to be alert," he muttered. "More than in any dungeon."
And while his son had left the room buzzing with excitement, Arven knew the real fight was only starting,only this time there would be no fire, no blood, no beasts, and mistakes would be far harder to undo.
***
Caelan left the residential wing with a light step, that tight energy still under his skin,not the exhaustion of the dungeon anymore, but something closer to excitement. His father's words, the ball, the Wervyn name, the sense that he was finally being treated as more than just a "talented son"… it all fit together too cleanly to ignore.
As always, a maid trailed a few steps behind him,quiet, unobtrusive, more a piece of order than a person. Caelan had barely crossed a dozen paces through the inner courtyard when he heard a familiar voice.
"Caelan!"
He turned and saw Corvin,nearly jogging toward him,with the same attendant as always behind him. Corvin's face was bright with a younger, uncomplicated excitement, the kind the house's duties and expectations hadn't crushed yet.
"I heard!" Corvin blurted as he stopped right in front of him. "Everyone's talking about it. You, Dorian, and Lysand. A Beast-rank boss. One raid. They say you didn't even need a second attempt!"
Caelan smiled and nodded, accepting the praise the way his father had taught him to,no denial, no excess.
"That's how it turned out," he said. "It was harder than they're saying, but the boss went down."
Corvin's eyes went wide.
"That's incredible," he said honestly. "Do you know House Caldrien in Harthen has never pulled something like that off,and their mages are a decade older than you? And you… at your age…"
He waved a hand, like he couldn't find words big enough.
Caelan looked at him, amused, and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Enough," he said. "Tell me how your training's going."
Corvin sighed theatrically.
"Energy control," he grumbled. "That's all the instructor does lately. Hours of it. Stabilization, guiding, closing the flow. And Lysela…" He grimaced. "Lysela's better again. I've been losing most drills to her."
Caelan's smile widened. That kind of rivalry was painfully familiar.
"That's good," he said. "Seriously."
Corvin stared at him.
"How is that good?"
"Because it's exactly what you need," Caelan said, and there was a note of seriousness in his voice that hadn't been there a moment ago. "In a dungeon, control is half the fight. If you can't close a spell, the dungeon will intercept it. And then you lose to the boss before the fight even starts,even if you have more raw power than it does."
Corvin sobered instantly and nodded.
"I get it."
Caelan ruffled his hair without thinking, the way he'd done for years.
"Work at it," he added. "It'll pay off."
Corvin smiled,then that familiar spark lit in his eyes, the one that meant he'd just had another idea.
"Since we're on important topics…" he began cautiously. "Maybe you could convince Father I don't have to go to the ball next month?"
Caelan laughed.
"You still hate them?" he asked.
"They're awful," Corvin groaned. "Hours of standing around, talking about nothing, people watching whether you hold your glass wrong. It's worse than exams."
"Go ask Father yourself," Caelan said, grinning. "Convince him."
Corvin's expression changed instantly.
"…Actually, I'll pass," he said quickly. "Maybe it's not that bad. "
Caelan shook his head, still smiling.
"Being a mage matters," he said more quietly. "But balls and meetings with other houses matter just as much to the Halvens,if not more. You need to learn that too."
Corvin sighed, but nodded. He knew his brother was right.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll try."
That was when the attendant finally spoke.
"Lord Corvin," she said politely, but firmly. "Your mathematics lesson begins in a few minutes."
Corvin froze, then his eyes bulged.
"I forgot," he blurted. "My tutor's going to kill me."
"He doesn't do that," Caelan said.
"Yet," Corvin shot back, and bolted,breaking about half the rules of proper court behavior on the way.
"See you!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Caelan watched him for a moment until his brother's figure disappeared around the corridor corner.
***
The dragon sliced through the clouds, and suddenly the world beneath them opened wide,an endless stretch of water, dark and calm, reaching all the way to the horizon, as if the world ended right there at the seam between sea and sky.
Aurelian didn't speak at first.
He stood motionless on the beast's back, as if flight and height meant nothing to him, then turned his head and cast a brief glance behind him,where four women smiled at one another, chatting easily, enjoying each other's company after years apart.
A faint smile touched his face as he watched them.
"We're here," he said at last, calm, looking back at the women.