The relative peace lasted approximately two hours.
Evan had just settled into a book he'd found in the manor's library—a history of the Carter family that was surprisingly engaging, probably because it was full of dramatic deaths and questionable decisions—when Chamberlain Finch arrived with the expression of a man who has just been told his house is on fire and also his taxes are due and also his favorite cat is missing.
"Lord Carter," Finch said, his voice strained to the breaking point. "You have a... visitor."
Evan, who had been reading about Great-Great-Uncle Barnaby who'd tried to befriend a dragon and ended up as a very dramatic cautionary tale, looked up. "If it's another mage with another spinny crystal thing, tell them I'm contagious. I've developed magical cooties. Very dangerous."
"It's not a mage." Finch's eye twitched. Several times. "It's... a noble."
Emma, who had been dozing in a sunbeam like a cat, perked up immediately. "Which one?"
"Lord Cedric of House Valerius."
Emma groaned. The sound was heartfelt and prolonged. "Oh, wonderful. The human equivalent of a peacock with insecurity issues and a very expensive tailor."
Evan closed his book, which sighed in disappointment—actual disappointment, like it had been enjoying the attention. "And why is Lord Peacock visiting me?"
"He heard about your... awakening. He wishes to... assess you himself."
"Assess me." Evan stood. The chair he'd been sitting in let out a relieved creak. "Like I'm a horse he's thinking of buying? Or a painting he's considering for his collection?"
"More like a rival he's thinking of challenging," Emma said, stretching elaborately. "Cedric's family has been trying to out-magic the Carters for generations. They're not very good at it—their idea of powerful magic is making their clothes slightly fancier—but they're persistent. Like fungus."
"Great. So he's here to measure magical dicks."
Finch made a sound like a teakettle realizing it's been left on the stove too long. "Lord Carter! Such language—"
"Is accurate," Emma finished. "Come on, Evan. Might as well get this over with. Cedric's annoying, but he's usually good for a laugh. He takes himself so seriously it's practically performance art."
The "visitor" was waiting in the main hall, striking a pose that suggested he'd been practicing in front of a mirror for at least an hour. He was handsome in a sharp, angular way—the kind of handsome that looked like it required maintenance. His hair was so perfectly styled it probably had its own staff and budget. His clothes were ridiculously elaborate, covered in embroidery that seemed to move when you weren't looking directly at it, gold thread catching the light from every angle.
"Lord Carter," Cedric said, his voice smooth as oiled silk and about as genuine. "I heard you had... awakened. After all these years of slumber."
"Word travels fast," Evan said. "And yes, I'm awake. Currently wishing I wasn't, but here we are. How can I help you? I have a very busy schedule of not knowing what I'm doing."
Cedric's smile didn't reach his eyes. They were cold, calculating, the eyes of someone who'd learned to smile on command and never quite mastered the genuine version. "The Carter line has produced many... interesting mages. Unpredictable. Volatile. Prone to dramatic exits."
"Thanks. We try. It's a family tradition."
"I thought I would come see for myself." Cedric's gaze swept over Evan, assessing, cataloging, filing away information for later use. "The rumors are... intriguing. They say you break things just by looking at them. That you destroyed a dragon-proof bed by sitting up."
"They exaggerate. Sometimes I have to breathe on things too. The bed was a team effort—me and gravity and the bed's own existential crisis."
Cedric's smile tightened. "A sense of humor. How quaint. The Carters were always more known for their power than their wit."
"We're expanding our brand."
He produced a small, glowing crystal from his pocket—different from Lina's, more ornate, and somehow smugger. This one was cut into multiple facets, each one glowing with a different color, and it pulsed with an arrogance that was almost tangible. "Perhaps a demonstration? To separate fact from... exaggeration."
Evan looked at the crystal. The crystal looked back, glowing with what could only be described as aristocratic condescension. It clearly thought very highly of itself.
"I don't do demonstrations," Evan said. "They tend to end with broken things and confused scientists and worms that hold grudges."
"Surely you're not afraid?" Cedric's tone was carefully calculated to provoke—the kind of insult designed to make someone do something stupid just to prove they weren't afraid of doing something stupid.
Emma, leaning against a pillar, snorted. "He's not afraid, Cedric. He's polite. Unlike some people I could name who show up uninvited to test people like they're buying livestock."
Cedric ignored her completely, focusing on Evan with the intensity of a cat watching a mouse. "Just a small test. To gauge the... extent of your awakening. Surely a Carter isn't afraid of a simple assessment?"
Evan sighed. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew it would end poorly. He knew he was being manipulated. But he was also tired, confused, and starting to develop a headache from trying not to break things for an entire afternoon.
"Fine," he said. "What do you want me to do?"
"Simply hold the crystal." Cedric offered it, holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger like it was the most precious thing in the world. "It's attuned to magical potential. Family heirloom, passed down for generations. It will... react."
Evan took the crystal. It was warm in his hand, pulsing gently with its own heartbeat. For a moment, nothing happened. The crystal glowed its usual smug blue, cycling through its colors with practiced elegance.
Then it began to change.
First the color—shifting from blue to white to silver to something that wasn't quite a color, a shimmering iridescence that seemed to contain all colors at once. Then the shape—the smooth facets rearranging themselves, becoming more complex, more intricate, growing new faces that caught the light in impossible ways. Then the size—growing, not much, just enough to be noticeable, swelling like it was taking a deep breath.
The crystal was... improving itself. Becoming a better version of a crystal. The best version. The version it had always wanted to be.
Cedric stared, his carefully composed expression cracking like old paint. "That's... not possible."
"You said it would react," Evan pointed out. "It's reacting. Very enthusiastically, actually. I think it likes me."
"But it's not MEASURING! It's... EVOLVING! Transcending! Becoming something else entirely!"
The crystal, now roughly twice its original size and glowing with inner light that hurt to look at directly, let out a soft chime—a beautiful, pure note that resonated in the chest. Then it rose from Evan's hand, floating gently upward until it reached the ceiling. There it embedded itself in the plaster with a soft thunk, hanging like a bizarre, overly-enthusiastic chandelier.
It began to pulse, emitting a soft, pleasant light that illuminated the entire hall with warm, golden radiance.
Cedric stared at his now-ceiling-mounted family heirloom. His mouth opened and closed several times. No sound came out.
"And now it's a lighting fixture," Evan said. "Congratulations. You've contributed to home improvement. Very generous of you to donate your family treasure to the manor's decor."
From her pillar, Emma burst out laughing. She didn't even try to hide it—just let the laughter roll out, loud and unashamed, echoing off the walls.
Cedric's face went through several interesting colors—white, red, purple, back to white—before settling on a splotchy combination that suggested he was approximately three seconds from an aneurysm. "This is... unprecedented. Unheard of. Completely—"
"You keep using that word," Evan said. "I'm starting to think it's the only one you people know. 'Unprecedented.' 'Fascinating.' You need a thesaurus. Expand your vocabulary."
Cedric collected himself with visible effort. It was like watching someone try to stuff an explosion back into a box. "Interesting. Most interesting." He gave Evan a look that was equal parts anger, fascination, and the dawning realization that he was out of his depth. "We will speak again, Lord Carter. When you have... better control of your... gifts."
He bowed—stiffly, mechanically, the bare minimum required by etiquette—and left without another word. The door closed behind him with a definitive click that somehow sounded like victory.
Evan looked at the crystal chandelier. It pulsed cheerfully, casting warm light across the hall.
"Well," he said. "That went well."
Emma wiped tears from her eyes. "Oh, that was beautiful. I haven't seen Cedric that flustered since he tried to court Lady Beatrice and she turned his carriage into a pumpkin. Right in front of the palace. With witnesses."
"Will he be back?"
"Almost certainly. Now that he knows you're both powerful and annoying, he'll be obsessed." She grinned. "Welcome to noble society, Evan. Where the grudges are centuries old and the drama is always fresh and the furniture is never safe."
Evan looked at the crystal chandelier again. It had started emitting a gentle, pleasant warmth, like sunlight. It also seemed to be humming a soft tune—something that sounded vaguely like a lullaby.
At least one thing had improved today.
***