Everything? Finn’s mind reeled. After all the secrecy, after the Preceptor had been willing to battle the Queen herself to keep their silence, now he wanted them to spill everything?
But before Finn could even properly assess why the Preceptor had given the order, he felt sothing shift in the air — a subtle lifting of pressure he hadn’t even realized was there.
His enhanced Ferropteryx senses caught it imdiately. It was like a faint distortion in the soundwaves, like an invisible sound barrier dissolving. The ambient noise of the city far below suddenly beca very slightly clearer, and even the wind’s howl through the broken glass beca a tinge sharper in his ears.
A seal, Finn realized, keeping his expression schooled like he hadn’t noticed a thing. The Preceptor had sealed our voices and every sound from leaving this room the entire ti.
The old man had employed his Restriction abstract magic the mont he’d arrived, ensuring that everything discussed here — Althea’s Order fragnt, the Lost Age, the Transcendents, Finn’s new title as "Vested" — remained contained within these walls.
And now he was lifting it.
"You may descend now, Cassius," the Preceptor called calmly toward the open sky, but his voice still projected effortlessly over the high winds.
A figure materialized from above almost imdiately, as if he’d been hovering just outside the broken windows the entire ti, which he probably had been.
The man rode a modest flying bison. It was small and not particularly remarkable. The kind of mount a fairly wealthy traveling rchant might use rather than a representative of a continental monarch.
Finn observed every detail with a placid face on the outside, but on the inside, he analyzed and profiled the man warily.
The man himself was equally understated. He had white hair that caught the moonlight, falling just past his shoulders in a casual, unkempt style. Blue eyes that seed calm, and even almost bored, as he guided his mount through the shattered observation window panel. Even his clothes were plain — a simple fitted shirt and dark trousers that wouldn’t look out of place in a lecture hall.
He looks like a young professor, Finn thought. The man gave Finn the sa vibe as young prodigious professors from his alternate life on earth.
Needless to say, the man looked nothing like an emissary sent by a Queen.
And that was exactly what made Finn’s vigilance rise.
There was no haughtiness, no extravagance, no deliberate display of power or authority about the man when he had every liberty to do so.
He looked no older than twenty-five or twenty-six at most, and from the presence Finn had felt of him earlier, he was also very powerful. And an emissary. Good-looking too...
Yet he was this... simple?
The bison touched down on the blood-caked floor softly, carefully avoiding Nathaniel’s pulverized remains. The man dismounted with a light step and scanned the room with his blue eyes.
In a single glance he took in the carnage, the shattered walls, the blood stains coating nearly every surface, before settling on Finn’s monstrous form.
The gaze lingered for exactly two seconds.
One eyebrow rose fractionally at the sight of the massive tal wings folded against Finn’s back, the predatory slitted pupils, the tufts of steel-gray feather-like fur sprouting from his forearms and neck. But that was all. Despite not being an Ossuarist himself, he regarded Finn with the sa casual air the Preceptor had, as if Finn’s appearance was sothing to be seen on any other day, before his gaze moved to Althea with the sa detached curiosity.
This guy’s the real deal. Finn steadied his mind, rembering the Preceptor’s words from a few monts ago. The mind ga had already begun.
"Preceptor," the white-haired man said, inclining his head in a gesture that was polite but carried no deference to the Preceptor’s title whatsoever. His voice was calm and asured. "Thank you for allowing entry. I trust your matter has been... resolved?"
His eyes flicked aningfully to Nathaniel’s corpse as if trying to decipher what might’ve happened in here.
"It has," the Preceptor replied curtly, drawing the man’s attention back to him. "This is Cassius Reinhart, Third Seat of the Queen’s Inner Council, a Grade 3 Master Arcanist," he introduced for Finn and Althea’s benefit.
Third Seat, Finn noted. And a Grade 3 Master Rank Arcanist too... and he’s still in his twenties...?
Finn didn’t even know what to think of that. Most Arcanists, if they actually had the talent, didn’t reach Master Rank until their late forties, many even in their fifties. And that was considered talented. To achieve Grade 3 of that rank in his twenties went to show how incredibly and abnormally talented Cassius was.
The man in question observed Finn and Althea for a mont again, before turning his gaze to the Preceptor.
"Then perhaps we should relocate? I imagine this venue has seen enough excitent for one evening."
"The Erald Villa has a secured chamber," the Preceptor said. "We’ll convene there."
"Then by all ans, lead the way," Cassius gestured.
Together, they all took to the sky — Preceptor Elias on his floating sword, Finn flapping his tal-like wings, Althea on the wyvern the Preceptor had summoned again, and the Emissary on his simple flying bison.
As they flew, Finn glanced towards the ground a hundred floors below. With his eyesight he could see that it was a different picture compared to what he’d seen earlier when he’d battled Nathaniel.
He couldn’t help but feel a slight shiver at the depth of the disguise magic. He hadn’t noticed a thing at all.
And neither had the people below either, as if they had existed in two separate realities.
With his Ferropteryx-enhanced vision, Finn could see the signature crest of the Feugeur family on a coordinated group of Arcanists and guards in general. They guided the tourists and city folk within the vicinity in an orderly manner to evacuate the area. To them all it must have seed like the tower was whole at one mont, only to look up and see the cracked windows and traces of Finn’s battle the next mont.
Finn could see now, the double layer to the Preceptor’s earlier action of releasing his pressure ruthlessly.
No one but the three of them — the three Ossuarists — knew what had happened within the building.
A select few like the Emissary, may know he arrived here to attend to his wards who seed to have been in a battle. But no one would dare to ask about the specifics. Even the Emissary had waited patiently outside despite following the Preceptor here.
But regardless of what might’ve happened, even if no one else knew, the fact remained that there had been real damage to the building — A tourist site of Xanth.
With the Preceptor’s earlier display, he had given the city a false reason for the carnage that occurred on the top floor.
As these thoughts went through Finn’s mind, through his sharp vision, he caught movent far below. A discreet group of guards in Feuguer crimson and gold were carefully loading two unconscious figures onto an ornate aerial transport.
Maeve... and that manager guy, Finn realized with quiet relief. They’re actually safe.
He wondered what had happened to them and where they had been led by the disguise veil. Had they seen anything?
He kept that observation to himself, storing it away as they made their way back to the villa.
The feather-like fur along his arms had started to itch slightly again. Slowly, he could feel the tendrils of the Ferropteryx’s ntal debts beginning to seep back into his psyche again. It was very faint now, but it grew stronger with each passing minute.
It seed Althea’s Order spell was slowly beginning to lose its effects.
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