The message came sealed in powdered ash.
No clan sigil.
No mana trace.
Only folded paper—silent and strange.
Ren turned it over three times before handing it to Hyunsu.
The prince read it once. Blinked. Then simply said "They're curious. That's dangerous."
Ren stood still. "Then we ignore them."
Hyunsu shook his head. "No. If they came this far, they already mean to interfere. Better to see them coming."
He turned toward the garden.
"Prepare the dining hall. Set five seats."
They arrived just before dusk.
No horns. No fanfare.
Just wind, curling unnaturally across the courtyard stones—twisting toward the door.
The figure that emerged from it was not terrifying.
She was calm.
Graceful.
Young, maybe—but marked by time in the way only magic could leave: unnatural stillness, ageless composure, and silver eyes without pupils.
Her robes were high-collared and flowing, dyed pale violet and stitched with glass thread. No crest marked her allegiance. Only a ribbon of bone worn loosely around one wrist.
"Greetings," she said softly. "I am Sael of the North Star Accord."
She bowed to Hyunsu.
Hyunsu bowed slightly in return.
"You requested audience," he said. "You've been granted it."
She turned to Ren, pausing.
"Summoner."
"Emissary."
They stared at each other—longer than polite.
Then Hyunsu gestured inside.
The prince's dining room was modest—spare wood, pale lanterns, no painted ceilings or carved dragons. It was not meant for spectacle. But tonight, the wind whispered what walls could not contain.
And so others came.
By twilight, three additional guests had arrived—each uninvited, but none turned away:
• Lady Cho Miwan, niece of the Third Prince. A serpent in silk.
• Lord Hae Ryujin, minor noble of the Flame Path, always chasing relevance.
• Magistrate Yun's youngest daughter, who never spoke unless paid in secrets.
They took their seats like lions stalking injured prey.
"This must be a historic evening," Miwan said sweetly. "The Fourth Prince hosting a foreign dignitary? Unthinkable. How rare. How—quaint."
Ren stood behind Hyunsu's chair, silent.
The emissary, Sael, smiled faintly. "I enjoy quaint things."
"And what brings you here, Emissary?" asked Ryujin, sipping wine. "I was under the impression the North Star Accord doesn't interfere with southern affairs."
"We do not," Sael replied, voice delicate. "But curiosity is rarely obedient. And your prince is… intriguing.
Dinner was served.
Simple dishes: barley rice, grilled fish, steamed lotus root. No rich glazes. No opulence.
Sael examined her plate with scholarly detachment.
"Charming," she murmured. "Not what I expected."
Ren didn't answer.
Miwan did. "I imagine you expected more drama, foreigner. Stories tend to stretch on the wind."
Sael tilted her head. "On the contrary. It's the quiet ones who tend to surprise."
She turned to Ren again.
"You're A-rank, yes?"
The room stilled.
Ren said nothing.
Sael's silver eyes gleamed. "I've heard stories. That you tamed two divine-class summons before twenty. Impressive."
"They weren't tamed," Ren said. "They chose."
"How poetic," she replied. "Would they choose again?"
His jaw clenched.
Lady Miwan's smile widened
Sael set down her cup.
"Let's not waste each other's time. I didn't travel across borders to dine with poets. I came to see what the Fourth Prince guards so closely."
Ren stepped forward. "You're testing me."
She stood.
"Only because you're in the way."
The nobles leaned in.
A duel now would be illegal.
But not in a subspace.
Not if the challenger made it unavoidable.
And Ren—tired, proud, cornered—didn't back down.
The tension thickened.
A candle flickered.
Hyunsu whispered: "Ren—"
Sael drew her hand across the air, and the room shattered
The world folded inward—like being pulled through a tunnel of mirrors.
When it settled, the walls were gone.
They stood on a frozen river beneath a violet sky. Ancient subspace. One no longer in common use—likely stolen and stored by Sael's Accord.
Ice cracked under their feet.
Ren summoned Aenor immediately.
The lightning-wolf burst forward, snarling, as Sael raised her hand—
And called forth her summon.
It was not a beast.
It was a shape.
A human form with no face. No mouth. Just arms too long and skin that flickered like wax over flame.
It screamed without sound and rushed Aenor.
Ren moved, trying to cast glyphs mid-step, but Sael was faster.
Her summon blurred—its body breaking and reforming—until it struck Aenor with a spine made of bone.
Ren felt the pain too. He staggered.
Baelgor emerged, but slowly, his connection dulled in this foreign subspace.
Ren's teeth clenched.
He was losing
Sael stepped closer.
"You're not bad," she said gently. "But you're not enough."
Her summon coiled to strike—
And the air changed.
The ice buckled.
A blade of wind screamed from the sky and drove into the ground between them.
Sael turned.
Hyunsu stood at the edge of the river.
No robe.
No crest.
Just silence.
The wind rose behind him—not gusting, not howling.
Carving.
Sael's face shifted.
"You break protocol, Prince."
"You drew first."
"I drew on your weapon."
Hyunsu stepped forward.
"You drew on mine."
Ren gasped for breath.
His summons flickered—Aenor retreating to his circle, Baelgor crumbling into stormdust.
Sael raised her hand.
Hyunsu didn't raise anything.
He vanished.
A rush of pressure. A crack of displaced air.
He reappeared behind her—blade of condensed wind slicing across her shoulder. Not deep. Deliberate.
She spun, casting a sphere of force—
He dissolved it with a glance.
His magic tore vertically now, splitting the subspace with such precision that the sky rippled.
Ren had never seen him fight
No one had.
Not like this.
Even Sael froze.
Then Hyunsu whispered, "Enough."
And the wind collapsed
They stood once more in the dining hall.
No damage.
No sound.
Just overturned tea.
Sael bowed low—deeper than before.
"You are more than rumor," she said.
"And you are not welcome," Hyunsu replied.
She left without another word.
The nobles did not.
Miwan rose slowly.
"That was…" she began.
"Not meant for you," Hyunsu said calmly.
Ryujin bowed—quickly, sloppily. "My apologies, my prince."
They left.
The room emptied.
Ren sat down hard.
His shoulder throbbed. His summons were quiet.
"You saved me," he said softly.
Hyunsu poured fresh tea.
"No," he said. "I showed them who we are."
———————
It began, as most things did in the palace, with a whisper.
By morning, the servants of the Jade Tower were already trading fragments like jade beads on silk thread.
"The Fourth Prince fought an S-rank emissary."
"No, he killed her."
"No, she vanished. Fled."
"She summoned a god made of mirrors. He tore it apart with a glance."
"He cut the air in half."
By midday, it was no longer rumor—it was weapon.
Miwan's retinue "accidentally" mentioned it to an archivist at the Flame Archives.
Ryujin spoke of it loudly while entering the East Gate.
By nightfall, the entire court knew
A meeting was called before the day ended.
Not formal—never formal. Just five nobles in a shaded garden, "sharing tea." Though one is not present.
• Taeyang, the First Prince's blade.
• Seorye, mistress of mirrors and mother to five dead duelists.
• Lord Han, always watching, never blinking.
• And the Silent One, who never wrote, never spoke—but always knew.
They were not impressed.
"So what if he's S-rank?" Taeyang said, sneering. "Half the inner palace is S-rank."
"But he hid it," Seorye whispered. "Even from us."
"Then punish him."
"For what? Winning?"
"For existing."
"Not yet."
There was a pause.
Then the Silent One wrote a single word in golden ink:
"Why?"
Seorye smiled coldly. "Because unpredictability is more dangerous than strength.
————————
The next morning, a letter arrived.
Sealed in white wax, stamped with the mark of the High Council.
Inside: only a single line.
"The Fourth Prince is invited to speak at the Mid-Spring Assembly."
Not summoned. Not commanded. Invited.
It was a test. An acknowledgement
Ren stood beside Hyunsu as he read it.
"They're watching," Ren murmured.
Hyunsu folded the letter. "Good. Let them."
Ren hesitated. "Do you want power?"
Hyunsu glanced at him. "No."
"Then why play this game?"
The prince looked back toward the tree.
And for once, his voice was harder.
"Because I'm tired of being called a piece when I've always been the board."
The Third Prince was the first to act.
Daehyun's soldiers began doubling drills. His minor clans were summoned to arms. Two small outposts near the western passes were "reclaimed"—border skirmishes disguised as training.
A message was sent to Hyunsu: no words, just the hilt of a broken wind-sword wrapped in red silk.
A reminder: strength attracts violence.
The Second Prince, Kyungho, was quieter.
He sent a courtesan to Hyunsu's estate—beautiful, well-trained, softly cursed. Ren turned her away before she entered the gates.
Later that night, all birds vanished from the trees for hours.
A warning.
Even the First Prince responded.
Jinsung did not move troops or send gifts. He simply added Hyunsu's name to the official palace registry—after ten years of omitting it.
A record.
A recognition
Days passed. The estate remained quiet.
But crows gathered more often now.
They circled the roof. Nested in the courtyard trees.
Watched
Listened.
Ren found Hyunsu writing at his desk one evening, alone as always.
"Your name's on the registry now," he said.
Hyunsu didn't look up. "So it is."
"What next?"
Hyunsu set down his brush.
Then, with quiet certainty, he said:
"We wait for the next move."
Ren tilted his head. "Whose?"
The prince looked up—eyes calm, deadly.
"Ours."