After the serious talk, Adam relaxed with Mimir for an hour before a maid burst through the dean's office door.
The poor red-faced girl bent over, clutched her knees, and panted as if she had run for her life. But even as he and Mimir raised their brows, she only took a second to wipe her sweat and arrange her hair in a vain attempt to look presentable before she talked, each word coming out choppy and ragged.
"Tiamat... calls... you."
"Seems like our pleasant conversation came to an end." Mimir nodded. "War is calling, but I'm sure you'll find time to see an old brother before the final siege." He gave Adam a meaningful smile. "Right?"
Unlike Mimi, he didn't see Adam's narrow focus as a fundamental problem—at least not how she did. Defying well-established gods required more than words and effort. He had seen generations of brave fools collapse against their divine wall and under their mocking laughs. Adam's mindset was, albeit a little extreme, correct.
