The days flowed by in a steady rhythm.
Sofie continued to thrive as the Voice of the Academy, her twice-daily announcements now a beloved routine. Clara and Sigil completed the infusion of her Guayanar seed, while Lorna put the final touches on the silk glove that would serve as the foundation for Clara's focal.
In the tailor shop's front window, the Glacial Dress Cane had imbued shimmered with silent power. It became something of a local legend—drawing curious visitors from nearby villages just to witness its pageantry.
Then, at last, the first day of the two-day Summer Festival arrived.
Cane dressed with care. He chose a white cotton shirt and brown canvas trousers, then infused them with his signature silver-cobalt alloy—Salt—before layering in his mythic frost rune. The shirt took on a soft glacial hue, while the pants deepened to a sleek navy blue.
As he adjusted his cuffs, he remembered something—Meya Rowe's note.
Loose stone, small stash, left from her academy days...
"I've been so busy," Cane muttered, "I completely forgot."
He crossed the room and located the loose stone near the baseboard. Using a sliver of metal from his satchel, he pried the edge upward until he could grip it with his fingers. A low grinding noise sent a shiver down his spine—it hadn't been opened in years.
Beneath the stone sat a small wooden box.
Inside: a leather-bound journal and a plain copper ring.
Cane lifted the journal first, a smile tugging at his lips. On the inside cover was a hand-drawn image of four figures—two men, two women—with "The Best Team Ever" scribbled above them in fading ink.
He flipped through the pages slowly, whistling under his breath. The journal detailed dozens of missions, complete with insights, tactics, and personal notes.
"I thought Meya said this was a stash," he said aloud. "It's literally just a journal and a—"
He paused, lifting the copper ring. A brief surge of power rippled across his senses, and his jaw dropped.
"…a spatial storage ring."
He delved inside with his focus—and found everything: tools, rare ores, sheafs of paper, tents, and cold-weather gear for four.
"How did she even get one of these?"
A knock at the door pulled him from the moment.
Cane hastily replaced the stone, slid the ring onto his finger, and left the journal on his bed.
"It's open," he called.
The door creaked as Fergis stepped in, dressed in understated finery—elegant without being flashy.
"Ready to go?"
"Just about." Cane picked up the journal and handed it over. "Check this out. Meya Rowe's personal mission journal."
Fergis took it like it was a chest of jewels. He flipped through the first few pages with reverence. "Strong group. Rowe was healer-melee. Sahmi—psi telekinetic. Rholo was an archer. Yavina... beast master. Damn, this documents everything."
"And this—" Cane held up his hand, showing the unremarkable copper ring. "—isn't what it looks like."
Fergis squinted. "A cheap copper ring?"
Cane shook his head. "Spatial storage ring."
He handed it over. Fergis slipped it on, his eyebrows shooting up as he sensed the contents.
"These are awarded to teams that hit a thousand mission points," he said, wide-eyed. "This is huge."
He thumbed through the contents mentally, then removed the ring and handed it back. "We won't need packs, but we should definitely inventory the gear before we head out. Make sure nothing's too worn to use."
"Agreed," Cane said, slipping the ring back on. He added his satchel, Blue and Starstrike to the inventory, sealing them safely inside.
As they walked, Cane and Fergis discussed what the storage ring changed for their mission prep.
"More fresh water, dried food packs, wood for fires… even cast iron pots for proper campfire cooking," Fergis said, grinning from ear to ear. "This gives us a huge step up—especially early on, when we're still figuring out what we actually need."
"We'll just bring everything," Cane suggested.
"I'm completely fine with that." Fergis glanced at the copper ring. "Meya Rowe was smart. I bet most teams go for the flashy engraved versions when they hit a thousand points."
"She strikes me as low-key," Cane said. "A plain copper ring's less likely to draw attention."
Fergis patted him on the back. "See? We think alike. Where are we meeting the girls?"
"The Brenner residence," Cane replied. "Sofie and Mira usually attend the festival together."
They passed through the Academy gates, and music met them immediately—lively, rhythmic, and bright. The streets were alive with color, lit by runic paper lanterns that glowed and shifted hue every few seconds. Laughter rang out from every corner.
Vendors lined both sides of Main Street—selling everything from savory grilled skewers to spun sugar towers. Most had made the trip from the Capital, their spots paid for by the Magi Academy to encourage community turnout.
Fergis pointed toward a pen near the edge of the square. "They're selling bonding beasts."
Cane inhaled deeply. The air was thick with spice pork, sweet roasted nuts, and the unmistakable tang of festival barbecue. His stomach growled. "Let's grab the girls and get food immediately."
They found Sofie and Mira on the wraparound porch of the Brenner home, sipping what looked like lemonade.
"Sofie, Mira," Cane called with a wave. "Fergis—meet Mira, one of Sofie's oldest friends."
Fergis gave a slight bow. "Pleasure."
Cane leaned down to kiss Sofie's cheek. "Loved the announcements today."
She smiled, a little blush coloring her face. She genuinely loved her new job—gathering news from across the realm, shaping it into something that informed and inspired. It made her feel like she was helping.
"Thanks, Cane," she said, squeezing his hand. "Let's eat first, please? They always have those hot apple turnovers. I swear, they taste like heaven."
Cane bit into a skewer loaded with pork and apple, savoring the smoky-sweet blend. Beside him, Fergis tore into a massive drumstick—far too large to have ever belonged to a chicken.
"I should get a falcon," Cane said between bites, his eyes drifting toward the bonding pens.
"Falcons are great for scouting," Fergis said, licking sauce from his fingers. "Most teams don't get them because of the price."
Cane shrugged. "I sold the Saltfang swords for three thousand plats. Spending a hundred on a falcon doesn't seem unreasonable."
He gestured toward the skies. "I read that once bonded, they give you a psi-rune that lets you see through their eyes. Real-time reconnaissance. Totally worth it."
Fergis nodded. "If we get one, you're naming it. I'm terrible at names."
The girls returned just then, both carrying cone-shaped pastries dripping with glaze and sugar.
Sofie grinned and pointed to the raised platform at the center of the square. "Do you dance, Cane?"
Cane raised a brow. "Of course. I learned when I was a kid."
"Same here," Fergis chimed in. "My mom made me take lessons. I may have been the youngest one in the class, but I had flair."
"My dance training was very rigorous," Cane added seriously, offering Sofie his hand.
He led her toward the platform, followed by Mira and Fergis. Music filled the air—brisk and full of energy. Within seconds, Cane was spinning Sofie around, trying his best to lead with confidence, if not competence.
It became painfully clear that neither he nor Fergis could dance.
And yet—somehow—it didn't matter.
Their sheer enthusiasm, wild improvisation, and total lack of shame created a ripple of laughter and joy that spread through the crowd. Other self-conscious dancers soon joined in, grateful for the excuse to be clumsy without judgment.
Sofie giggled as she kept up, her natural agility letting her follow even Cane's most questionable footwork.
"Where did you learn to dance like this?" she asked, eyes twinkling.
"Chasing chickens," Cane said earnestly. "When I was a kid. My dad always claimed it was great practice for dancing."
"And now you believe him?"
Cane spun her again. "I think the man was a genius."
From across the floor, Mira's laughter rang out.
Fergis was doing his best impression of a ballroom prodigy—dipping, twirling, and dramatically bowing after every step. The fact that he was absolutely terrible only made it better.
The group paused near a cider stand, enjoying a moment's rest. Cane took a long sip from his cup—crisp, cool, spiced just enough to tingle his tongue.
Then he felt it.
That familiar ripple—Glacial Ice.
He turned just as a tall young woman approached. Slim build, confident posture, and unmistakable power. Her robe shimmered faintly in the torchlight—an Interwoven Adamantium Frost robe, just like the ones Cane had crafted for the deploying seniors.
She extended a hand with calm authority. "I'm Labyrinth. Part of Gryphon Company."
Cane returned the shake with a smile. "Glad to finally meet you. I'm Cane."
Behind her, more figures in pale blue robes were making their way through the crowd. He nodded toward them. "Is the whole company here?"
Labyrinth nodded. "We've been given a few days of leave before heading back to the front."
"Perfect timing, then." Cane slipped the copper ring from his finger and summoned Blue. The rune tool glinted as he held it up.
"Since you deployed, I've upgraded my Glacial Ice rune to mythic level. I'd like to redo the robes—it'll only take a few minutes."
Labyrinth raised a brow. "How much stronger?"
Cane glanced at Fergis. "Can you find us a table?"
"Give me a minute," Fergis said, already scanning the plaza.
Sofie beamed. "We'll track down some chairs."
Her voice held more than casual interest. Gryphon Company had become a staple of her daily broadcasts—their battlefield reports often inspiring cadets all across the Academy. Seeing them in person felt surreal.
Labyrinth activated the psi-rune embedded at her neck. "Put the word out. I'm near the dance stage… No, we're not dancing."
Elsewhere in the town, a cloaked figure stood before the tailor shop, unmoving.
Her eyes, hidden beneath her hood, were the deep green of untouched forest canopies. Pale gold hair—like strands of cornsilk—was woven into tight braids and tucked neatly beneath her cloak. She was beauty wrapped in silence, grace shadowed in dusk.
Moriwynn of the Sunset Forest.
A few short months ago, she had taken command of a human unit—elven and human mages working side by side. A first in known history, despite their alliance. And though many questioned it, none dared deny their effectiveness.
Now she stood before the shop window, staring not at the runes or stitching, but the soul of the dress itself.
There—woven into its very being—was the signature she recognized. That cold clarity. That precise shimmer of glacial ice.
He had touched it. The same craftsman who had shaped the robes. The scent of mythic frost lingered like an echo, and it stirred something she hadn't felt in years.
"Do you like it?"
Lorna Sweetwater had just locked up the shop and was heading toward the dance stage when she noticed the cloaked woman.
Moriwynn didn't turn. "Yes."
She had known beauty her entire life—elfen craftsmanship unrivaled in its elegance. But this piece held something different. A story. A purpose. It didn't just impress—it called.
The psi-rune on her command bracelet flared. She raised her wrist, listened silently, then vanished in a blur of motion.
Lorna blinked. One moment, the woman was there.
And then she wasn't.