NOVEL NEXT B3 - Lesson 21: “Meanwhile."
Garrelt stood stiff as a board, shoulders squared and boots planted just so, but his fingers flexed against the seams of his trousers as if he couldn't quite decide what to do with his hands. The polished surface of Yon Stonewall's desk reflected the glow of the morning spirit-lamps, casting a long, warped shadow behind Garrelt — one he tried, and failed, not to fidget in. Across from him, the Guildmaster himself was a study in composed disarray: hulking arms folded tight across his suit jacket, which sat on him like borrowed armor, the collar slightly askew and the top button open despite the formality of the meeting.
Yon Stonewall had a face carved from old granite, sun-browned and crosshatched with lines that spoke of wind, rain, and the violence of too many battlefields. But it was his eyes — ice-bright, clear, unflinching — that held Garrelt in place as surely as any binding spell. The handlebar mustache, waxed to perfection, did little to soften the Guildmaster's presence; if anything, it seemed to lend extra gravity to his rare, considered expressions.
For a long moment, the office was silent but for the distant call of gulls through the window and the scratch of Yon's thumbnail along his jaw. Garrelt's account — the entire bloody mess of the Deep, the expedition's betrayal, Bert's fall, Alpha's intercession, and Robert's flight — still hung in the air, thick as the incense that smoldered by the wall. Garrelt swallowed, feeling the weight of every word replaying in his head, second-guessing if he'd made the right choices, said the right things.
At last, Yon exhaled, a rumbling sound that seemed to deflate the room. "Bert…" he muttered, gaze dropping to the desk. "Tougher than a reinforced ogre's hide, but even he couldn't walk off a poison like that." He shook his head, mouth pinched, voice gone soft. "Still. Could've been worse, I suppose. You did right, bringing this back yourself. I'd rather you'd had more backup, but I know why you didn't risk it."
Garrelt shifted his weight. "Thank you, sir. If Bert were awake, he'd have done the same. I… just wish—"
Yon cut him off with a small wave, his manner turning brisk again. "You can save the regrets, lad. We don't have time for 'em." His eyes narrowed. "What I need from you now is your judgment. This… Alpha. You really think we can trust it? I don't need the official line. Just the truth, plain and ugly."
Garrelt hesitated. The practiced answers he'd rehearsed during the sleepless trip from the Deep suddenly felt too thin, too easy. He let out a slow breath, knuckles whitening at his side. "Sir… I won't pretend to know everything about Alpha. Nobody does, not really. But I've seen how it treats its people — the goblins, the ants, even outsiders like us. So long as you're straight with it, so long as you don't try to cross any lines or force its hand, Alpha is…" He searched for the right word. "Dependable. Protective. It wants safety and order… even if that order is unlike any I've seen before. If we work with it, I think it could be the biggest asset Halirosa's had in a generation."
Yon's gaze sharpened, picking over Garrelt's words as if he might find an extra meaning hidden in the pauses. "And if we don't?" he asked softly.
Garrelt met his eyes, the line of his jaw hardening. "Then I wouldn't want to be the one to test its patience, sir. Alpha isn't like other dungeons, and it isn't just another local power to strong-arm. I get the feeling — no, I know — that it'd fight back in ways none of us could predict. There are things in those tunnels…" He trailed off, shivering despite the stuffy warmth of the office. "Things I wouldn't wish on anyone."
"Is that a warning, or a threat?" Yon mused, voice mild.
Garrelt forced a tight smile. "Maybe a bit of both, sir. I'm just saying: we have more to gain by making a friend than an enemy."
The Guildmaster nodded, slow and thoughtful. Then, leaning back, he fixed Garrelt with a piercing look. "And you're telling me everything, are you? Are you holding anything back from your old Guildmaster, Garrelt?"
Garrelt's silence stretched a beat too long. He looked away first, jaw working.
Yon grunted. "Thought as much. You're a better liar than most, but not good enough for me." His smile — thin, sly — was not unkind, but it made Garrelt's spine prickle. "Let's see… You're not just cautious about Alpha. You're afraid. Not just for yourself, either. You're afraid it's watching you even now, somehow. That it knows what you say, even outside the dungeon's walls." He tapped a finger to his temple. "For a dungeon to project that kind of reach, to inspire that kind of fear… that's not normal, not even by the Deep's standards."
Garrelt said nothing, only wiped his palms down the sides of his pants, pulse pounding in his ears. Sweat tickled down his back.
Yon took in the sight, and nodded again, as if he'd found confirmation in Garrelt's silence. He rocked back in his chair, arms folded, handlebar mustache twitching with what might've been amusement, or wariness.
"Change is coming," Yon said quietly, almost to himself. "Halirosa's been coasting too long on old rules. If this 'Alpha' is half what you seem to think, we're in for a shake-up — and soon."
He steepled his hands, studying the battered old map pinned to the office wall behind Garrelt. "You did well, Garrelt. Now, go get yourself something to eat, and get some rest. I'll call you when I've made up my mind how to move forward."
Relief and dread mingled in Garrelt's chest as he bowed out, already feeling the weight of the Guildmaster's words like a second pack slung over his shoulders. Outside the office, the noise of the Guild's main hall washed over him — a tumult of boots, voices, and clattering arms. For a moment, he let himself lean against the cool stone wall, breathing in the bracing scent of steel and chalk, before pushing off toward the kitchens. Change was coming. All he could do was hope he'd be ready when it arrived.
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Maggy's boots clicked across the flagstones, echoing through streets that should have been filled with life. She felt like she'd stepped into a waking dream: the familiar avenue leading up to Archmage Leonardo's tower, usually abuzz with gossiping apprentices, squabbling merchants, and the bright chatter of children, now lay silent. Shop windows stood empty, glass clouded by dust. Cart tracks rutted the mud at awkward angles, evidence of hurried departures. Her favorite bakery, a place that had always smelled of sweetmeat and warm cinnamon, was shuttered, the sign askew, a rough "For Lease" notice painted over the old, hand-carved logo.
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Maggy frowned, slowing as she passed a group of men in patchwork vests hauling crates out of an abandoned apothecary. They moved with the brisk, uncertain purpose of newcomers laying claim to another's territory — shoulders hunched, eyes darting at the echo of her footfalls. She hesitated, then called out, "Excuse me! What's happened to everyone here? Where did they all go?"
A stocky woman with a red scarf paused, shifting her crate. She regarded Maggy warily, then shrugged. "You new? This whole district emptied out a couple of weeks back, right after the moon turned. Most of the archmage's people just… vanished. Packed up in the night, far as anyone can tell."
A young man beside her snorted. "Left in a hurry, too. No one saw a damn thing, and there's usually someone always watching the street. One day the shops were open, next—" He snapped his fingers. "—gone. The council sent their people, and said no sign of foul play. Place was just picked clean. Most figured the archmage got a better offer somewhere else and took his flock."
Maggy's heart twisted. "Did anyone see Mr. Leonardo? Or hear why he left?"
The woman shook her head. "Not a peep. His tower's been locked up tight ever since. Council's been telling folks to stay clear." She eyed Maggy's staff, then softened a little. "If you were one of his, sorry for your trouble, miss."
Maggy managed a stiff nod of thanks, her mind racing. She strode on, feeling the eyes of the new tenants on her back. The closer she came to the tower, the more obvious the abandonment became: lanterns unlit, garden patches overgrown, little piles of trash in doorways where no one bothered to sweep. By the time she reached the foot of the tower itself — once a proud anchor in the district, now looming and forlorn — she felt as if she were intruding on a mausoleum.
The front door, usually open and guarded by two cheery apprentices, was sealed behind a shimmering runic barrier. Silver sigils flickered and danced over the surface, reflecting Maggy's face back at her: thin, travel-worn, worry pinched around her eyes.
She pressed a hand against the wall, feeling nothing but cool energy. "Teacher?" she whispered, voice tiny against the vastness of the ward. No answer.
Just as she turned to leave, a pulse of warmth flickered in her storage ring. Maggy blinked in confusion, fishing inside until her hand closed around the smooth, familiar shaft of the staff the archmage had gifted her before the expedition. As she drew it free, the runes carved along its length ignited, casting golden light over the threshold. The runic wall rippled, then thinned, swirling around the staff before splitting open just wide enough for her to pass.
Maggy's throat tightened. She stepped through, the magic closing behind her with a quiet, final sigh.
Inside, the tower was eerily silent. Her footsteps rang through empty halls, the echoing loneliness pressing in on her from all sides. The familiar tapestries were gone, shelves stripped bare, cupboards empty save for a few odds and ends. She passed the dining hall, recalling the dozens of lively debates and late-night snacks she'd shared there, now nothing but dust motes in the pale sunlight that filtered through high windows. A few battered chairs and tables lingered as ghosts of former gatherings.
She wandered, lost in memory and confusion, climbing the spiral staircase with growing dread. Had her teacher meant for her to return to this? Why send her away on the expedition, only to vanish without a trace? Surely he would have known she'd come back. Surely…
Maggy's hand shook as she reached the topmost floor and paused before her teacher's study. The door was unlatched. She pushed it open, half-afraid of what she might find.
The room was stripped of nearly everything that made it Leonardo's. Gone were the shelves of battered journals, the enchanted globe that used to float near the hearth, the whimsical collection of tea mugs from a hundred countries. All that remained was a single high-backed chair in the center of the room and, atop it, a pale envelope bearing her name in the flowing script she'd once traced with childish awe.
She approached, each step loud in the emptiness, and picked up the letter with trembling fingers. The seal was unbroken, but she could sense no ward or trap. Tearing it open, she drew out the note, breath catching as she recognized her teacher's hand:
Keep the Artifact safe. Bring it to Avalon, - Cedar.
That was all. Two lines, written with the same calm precision he used for spells and reminders. If she had any other doubts that the message was from her teacher, it had been signed with his mage name, which only a select few even knew.
Maggy stared, heart stuttering. Avalon. She knew the name well enough. The legendary floating island, seat of the Espers. Stories painted it as unreachable — a drifting sanctuary, hidden behind veils of storm and secrecy. But why would her teacher go there? What business had he, a master of magic, with the Esper folk who walked neither the Path of Cultivation nor Magic?
Why leave her a note at all, after sending her to join the expedition? Did he expect her not to return? Was he protecting her from something? Or was there a threat so grave he dared not put it to paper?
Panic flickered through her. Maggy's fingers dug into the soul-sealed pouch at her hip, fishing out the silver orb — Alpha's artifact, cool and weighty in her palm. Not the original, but the copy. For a breath, she faltered, voice barely more than a sigh. "I've already failed, haven't I…" But the old self-doubt refused to stick. Not after everything she'd seen and experienced in the Deep. She squeezed the orb until her knuckles blanched and straightened her spine, bracing herself as if for one of Leonardo's relentless lectures.
"No. I won't accept that. Not yet." Her voice gained strength, stubborn as ever.
She didn't know why her teacher wanted the artifact, nor what it meant for him to go to Avalon. But she trusted him. The original had been lost, but Alpha's version was superior in every way she could sense, its arrays cleaner, its circuits singing with hidden power. It would have to be enough.
Memories tumbled through her mind — Leonardo's exacting standards, the pride hidden beneath his criticisms, the steely glint in his eyes when faced with the unknown. Maggy drew herself taller, chin lifted with resolve.
"If he's gone to Avalon, then that's where I'll go," she whispered, determination burning in her chest. "No matter what it takes."
With a decisive flick of her wrist, Maggy conjured a spark of flame and set the note alight, watching the script curl and vanish. Ashes drifted to the empty floor. She turned and descended the tower, every step louder than the last, determination and steel burning in her eyes.
If she were to find Avalon — and her teacher — she would need help. And she would not fail him again.
Maggy stepped out into the wan afternoon, boots crunching over stray petals and blown leaves at the foot of the tower. The last flickers of magic from the portal's seal faded behind her, and the district's hush pressed close once more. She drew a deep breath, letting the chill bite into her lungs, and forced herself not to look back.
Across the empty square, in the alcove of a defunct glassblower's shop, a figure stood perfectly still. The hem of a hooded cloak brushed the cracked flagstones, folds blending into the patchwork of shadow and dying light. Beneath the cowl, the watcher's face was lost in darkness, save for a glint of blue that might have been an eye or a reflection.
The figure's posture was patient, unhurried — a predator biding its time. When Maggy passed within twenty paces, the figure shifted, just enough for the cloak's edge to flutter against the stone. One hand, gloved and motionless, rested on a walking stick carved with runes that pulsed faintly as she drew near.
Maggy didn't notice, her mind still spinning with questions and the ache of absence. But the watcher tracked every movement, head tilting ever so slightly as she strode away from the tower. As Maggy disappeared into the narrow lanes toward the city's heart, the shadow lingered, gaze never wavering, then melted away into the deepening dusk — leaving behind only the faintest ripple of something, quickly swallowed by the gathering night.