The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

Command center, Ragnarok Capital.

The beep of machinery echoed in the silence. The cold glow of holographic screens bathed the room in shifting shades of blue and green as war statistics updated in real time. There were dozens of them, each feeding live data from every battlefield, every city, and every sector still reeling from the war.

Supreme General Daystar stood at the center, his gaze sweeping across the screens with a hardened glare, runic eyes absorbing the details with practiced ease. "Eighty thousand people dead and double that amount in terms of property," he stated quietly, his voice cutting through the hum of machines.

"That is correct, Supreme," General Lucas Deaton responded, his own expression unreadable. "At least, as far as we know. I believe it would be best to round it all up to a hundred thousand."

Supreme Daystar grimaced. "That's disappointing. After this ceaseless war, one would think the citizens of Ragnarok had gained a bit of survivability, at least. Alas…"

General Deaton sighed. It was no secret that he detested this war, but the supreme was right. After nearly a century of constant war, it was disappointing to see the citizens of Ragnarok roll over and die like chickens.

Folding his arms behind his back, he stared at the ever-changing figures with a frown. They had won, but at what cost? Aside from the massive victory at the Steppin' Plains, their other engagement at the Rocky Shores had been a narrow win at best. If not for the honorary members of the military who had rushed to their aid, Sunstone might have gained the upper hand entirely. The retaliation had been far more coordinated than expected, and they had paid the price for underestimating them.

And then there was the Council of Lords—those spineless politicians in the central Kingdom who had tied their hands behind their backs with laws and restrictions that made war feel more like a game. A game they were perilously close to losing.

Another beep signaled an update. The oval screen displaying Sector 9 shifted, revealing a map of the agricultural zone. What should have been a lush tapestry of green and brown was marred by a golden line cutting through the land, stretching toward the sea. The ley line—a concentrated vein of unadulterated energy—was their current headache.

Supreme Daystar's scowl deepened. "How's the whole ley line project going? If information about it has escaped our grasp, then we need to act faster."

General Deaton nodded. "It is in progress, sir. We believe the outlier might be an aftereffect of the drastic topological alterations Sector 9 underwent after the Attilan incursion."

Daystar gave him a sharp look. "Sector 9 wasn't the only sector we had to put together."

"But it was the most damaged, Supreme." Deaton kept his tone even. Cautious, lest he overstep. "The geologists believe the ley lines are either changing direction or the earth is trying to heal itself."

Daystar exhaled through his nose, still frowning at the screen. "Whatever the case may be, that ley line needs to go back underground. I don't care what benefits the rise in natural energy has done for our agriculture. The risks far outweigh the rewards."

"I'll make sure to hurry them up," Deaton assured him.

Silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic pulses of the machines. Then, another update flashed across the screen—another five thousand dead.

Daystar shook his head in disappointment, his fingers twitching at his side before stilling. For a rare moment, he spoke with something bordering on empathy. "Do you think Ragnarok is ready, Deaton? Do you think we can even fight Attilan if a hundred thousand people up and die from a simple incursion from Sunstone?"

Deaton hesitated before shaking his head. "Not for a while yet, Supreme. We haven't even regained our previous strength."

"I agree. These wars with Sunstone have sharpened us greatly, but if we can't even successfully defend against them, then what hope do we have against Attilan?"

Deaton exhaled slowly. "A poor one, Supreme. But just like before, we won't be alone. This isn't Ragnarok's battle, but Lutia's."

Daystar snorted, the sound bitter. "Tell that to those pacifistic lords making decisions in the central kingdom, or the proud clans of Calodan, and see if this isn't Ragnarok's war."

"Unoros might join us. Despite their predominant affinity, they aren't quite as detached as they want us to believe."

"Maybe," Daystar conceded with a slight tilt of his head. "But we can't count on them or base our plans on the mere possibility of their involvement. It's a shame, really—because the only other kingdom that despises Attilan as much as we do is Sunstone. And heavens forbid we ever work with those lying bastards again, lest they betray us once more."

Deaton said nothing. There was no point arguing the truth. Instead, he asked, "How does His Majesty feel about all this?"

Daystar's expression flickered, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "He's struggling to care anymore. Far more than I am. You know how it is with calamities."

A beat passed before he continued, his voice regaining its usual cold detachment. "He has left nearly all the decisions concerning the kingdom to the first prince, Hadrian. I believe he's close to an ascension."

Deaton raised a brow. "That's good news."

"It is." Daystar nodded slightly and then gave him a sharp glare. "You did not hear that from me."

"Naturally," Deaton smiled. A part of him wanted to feel proud that the Supreme trusted him enough to share such a secret, but the more logical part of him knew it was as much a test as it was a measure of trust. Vowing to keep his mouth sealed on the matter, he asked, "What does His Royal Highness think, then?"

A smirk, barely there, tugged at Daystar's lips. "Oh, he's not too keen on the war with Sunstone. He believes we have bigger problems in our future."

Deaton let out a dry chuckle. "He's not wrong."

"No, he isn't," Daystar agreed, his gaze growing distant.

For a moment—just a fleeting moment—Deaton thought he saw the Supreme General's shoulders sag in relief. But that was impossible. Supreme Daystar enjoyed war. It was his duty to see Sunstone punished for their betrayal.

And yet…

"I daresay Ragnarok might even enjoy a moment of peace for a while when he becomes king," Daystar murmured, more to himself than to Deaton. His voice dropped even lower. "That is, until the war with Attilan begins, however far in the future that is."

Deaton's jaw tightened. "Hopefully, it'll be long enough for Lutia to grow stronger and eliminate the limit curse. We'll be the ones attacking this time?"

Daystar shrugged noncommittally, and Deaton wondered—not for the first time—if years of bloodshed had begun to wear on the supreme's once-unshakable resolve. The war with Sunstone had been Ragnarok's way of punishing them for their betrayal, but it had also been a means to sharpen their people. To prepare them for the true war that would one day come.

A war they were looking vastly underprepared for. And now, a different war was brewing in the shadows.

Daystar's eyes flicked to another set of screens, the ones showing reports from the ongoing purge of cultist outposts scattered across Lutia. The past few months had seen a resurgence in cult activity all across Lutia. The children were stirring which was worrying, because such actions never meant anything good.

Last month, they had sent out several groups of champions and elites to eliminate and root out any signs of the children all over Lutia, and the reports of their mission painted an unsettling picture: the cultists were no longer operating in secrecy. They were growing bold.

They had built outposts, hidden sanctuaries, underground tunnels, and fortified temples disguised as ordinary buildings. Some of their infrastructures even included secretive training grounds, smuggling routes, and shrines embedded within major cities. It was alarming, but for every den they crushed, two more seemed to rise elsewhere. It was a sickness, festering in the underbelly of the continent, and it had been allowed to spread for far too long.

They had to act quickly, but with Sunstone breathing down their neck, they couldn't afford to spread themselves too thin, nor could they do it alone. Glaring at the blinking screen, he sighed. "The children are another problem we cannot deal with alone. We need everyone to pitch in and wipe them out all at once."

Supreme Daystar sighed. "We'll need to discuss the matter in our next meeting."

Another silence descended on the room until Daystar said suddenly. "Ryntharion seems to have made progress with the boy. Such potential."

One of the screens switched to a view of the Steppin' plains, and even Deaton couldn't help but smile. A great victory. They hadn't had one in a while. "It was amazing to watch, Supreme. I've ordered Lunarshard to grant him an honorary rank before the excitement fades. If we can have his 'assistance' at every battle, it would be monumental."

Supreme Daystar nodded and glanced at another screen. "It's not just about winning the battle, though. The number of soldiers who have reported an increase in spiritual and physical cultivation is astounding. We can build up our strength this way."

"Yes." Deaton smiled, getting caught up in the excitement until a thought crossed his mind. "What about Ascendant candidate Lightus? Does he mind that we are using his…project this way?"

Daystar's lips twitched. "As long as we keep the big alive, I doubt Lightus would have an issue. Besides, better us than the council."

"True." Deaton nodded. They had no nefarious plans for the boy aside from using his abilities to the fullest. He couldn't confidently say the same about the council. Returning his attention to the main screen, he asked. "What shall we do in the meantime?"

Supreme Daystar grimaced. "Oh, we must retaliate. We'll come up with a good plan soon. But for now, how are those new wraiths coming along?"

Deaton frowned slightly. "I don't know much. General Moonlake should be able to provide a better report, but from what I hear, things are progressing smoothly. The ban on using Calamity Mordok's essence to fuel the wraiths forced our scientists to seek an alternative. I hear they've found something useful."

Daystar nodded approvingly. "Good. You may go, Deaton. We'll discuss our retaliation in two days, when the chaos dies down."

Deaton inclined his head and turned to leave—but just as he reached the door, Daystar's voice cut through the air once more.

"Deaton, I have said some sensitive things today. Keep them to yourself."

Deaton paused before nodding. "I will, sir."

And with that, he left.

Supreme Daystar turned back to the screens, his gaze locking onto the footage of the Battle of the Steppin' Plains. His runic eyes pierced through the roiling clouds above the plain, and his lips twitched.

Perhaps—just perhaps—there was hope after all.

***

While the rest of Ragnarok mourned the devastation and death Sunstone had brought upon them, the Sigma 15-25 camp of Conquestia was alight with joy and excitement. Cheers and songs of victory filled the air as Aodhán was practically carried around the camp.

The soldiers were feverish with excitement, so drunk off their overwhelming victory at the Steppin' Plains that they couldn't possibly care about order or rank at the moment. They raised Aodhán into the air, chanting his name over and over without rest.

The entire camp buzzed with energy—music blasted out from a distant corner, and before long the heady scent of spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the scent of searing meat as freshly slaughtered animals were skewered and mounted on spits, their juices sizzling over the open fire.

The thrill of it all left Aodhán feeling almost dizzy. Strangely enough, he was just as shocked as the soldiers around him, never having anticipated such extreme results. He had tested the skill plenty of times during his mission with Geneva, using it on small groups of cultists moments before she killed them. But he had never poured as much power into it as he had just now. Even so, he hadn't expected the rain to have such a staggering effect. He had anticipated a temporary enhancement in perception, quicker reflexes, and heightened clarity—but clearly, even he had underestimated the true extent of his own power.

Their amazing victory at the Steppin' Plains wasn't the only thing they were celebrating, though. There was something more—a side effect of the infused rain that he hadn't accounted for. The burst of clarity and heightened perception the rain had granted, combined with the intensity and brutality of the battle, had granted more than a few soldiers a step forward in their advancement.

Some had gained inspiration, thereby advancing their tiers, while many others had made progress in their spiritual cultivation—gaining seals, glimpses, grasps, and even creating openings. Aodhán couldn't take full credit for all that, though; the infused rain had merely granted the soldiers the clarity of mind to coalesce their understanding into something tangible. Sooner or later, they would have achieved the same breakthroughs on their own. However, judging by the way some of the soldiers who hadn't gained anything kept staring at him—equal parts hopeful and expectant—Aodhán suspected he was about to be in high demand very soon. And that was something Principal Zatya most definitely would not like.

The cheering soldiers finally let him down when they reached the center of camp, and Aodhán shook his head in amazement, exhaling as he took in the sight of their exuberance. "I feel so fulfilled."

"As you should." Tyrus smiled before pulling Aodhán into a tight hug. "We cannot thank you enough for what you did."

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"No, we can't." Captain Griffid added, stepping forward with a rare grin before clapping Aodhán on the shoulder. "You prevented the deaths of so many soldiers today, and I know karma will definitely repay you."

The thought that his actions had earned him a wealth of good karma was certainly reassuring. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't walk into as much trouble anymore with fortune paving his way.

"Thank you," Aodhán replied sincerely, grateful that, for the first time in a long while, he had taken a major step in a vastly different direction from the one Az'marthon had trod. He hadn't been the agent of destruction this time—not a harbinger of ruin—but a bringer of victory and excitement.

He and the captains talked and laughed for a while, the tension of battle melting into the background, before they eventually led him to the commander's tent. Tyrus stopped at the entrance and turned to him with a small smile. "Go in. We'll wait for you here."

Aodhán nodded and stepped inside, greeted by the sight of Commander Lunarshard rising from behind his desk. Raising a hand to his head, he saluted, and although the appropriate greeting words eluded him, Commander Lunarshard didn't seem to mind at all.

"At ease, Sir Brystion." The commander smiled. "You're not a soldier yet, but I'm sure we can rectify that very quickly."

Aodhán grinned and shook his head in amusement. "Five months ago, the thought of joining the military would have sent me running for the hills, but now… I find myself looking forward to it."

"I'm glad to hear that," Commander Lunarshard said, though his expression turned more serious as he shifted in his seat. "Because I have a proposal for you. Of course, it's not entirely ideal, but after what you displayed on the battlefield today, we can't possibly let you go without at least trying."

"You want to recruit me," Aodhán surmised.

"Yes." Lunarshard inclined his head. "What you did out there today was beyond outstanding. If our soldiers could have access to that kind of boost in every battle, our victories would be certain."

Aodhán nodded. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"Military integration as a reservist," the commander replied immediately. "You'll receive an honorary rank that allows you to contribute to the war effort without fully surrendering your civilian or academic rights. This way, Major Willowood won't have to sneak you onto the battlefield again. You'd have the right to be there."

Aodhán leaned back slightly, considering the offer. He couldn't deny that he was tempted. Gaining an honorary rank now would grant him a head start when he finally joined the war. Perhaps, with enough merit points, he could enlist at a higher rank—captain, maybe even colonel. That would put him that much closer to uncovering the truth about the Attilan incursion, or at the very least, gaining access to the information the higher-ranking officers were privy to.

After a brief pause, Aodhán replied. "I think I like your proposal, Commander, but I can't make a decision like this on my own. I have to speak to Principal Zatya first."

"Naturally." Lunarshard nodded in understanding. "I respect that. However, let me know your decision quickly. Making you an honorary member of the military would discard any issues that might arise from your participation in the battle, but—no pressure."

Aodhán nodded, though he certainly felt the pressure. He might not have stepped onto the battlefield directly, but his actions could no longer be deemed passive participation—not with the drastic effects they'd had.

Saluting once more, he said. "I will discuss with Principal Zatya and give you an answer before the day runs out."

"Thank you, Sir Brystion. I sincerely hope your answer will be positive."

Aodhán chuckled. "I hope so too. Thank you, Commander."

He stepped out of the tent after that and was surprised to see that the merriment within the camp had not diminished in the slightest. Cheers still rang out from every corner, and the infectious sound of raucous laughter filled the air.

""We should stop them," Tyrus said beside him, though there was no conviction in his voice. "But I don't have the heart to. This is our first major victory in years, and it's all thanks to you."

Aodhán snorted. "I wouldn't exactly say that. I mean, I wasn't the pyre of soul flames cleaving through the Sunstonian army like a knife through butter."

"Humility doesn't suit you." Tyrus laughed, shaking his head. "I'm actually surprised you haven't puked your guts out yet."

Aodhán's grin soured. "I've changed, I guess. I'm no longer the innocent boy I was when we caught the changeling… if I could even be called innocent then."

Tyrus nodded knowingly. "Your mission with Champion Ryntharion changed you."

"It has." Aodhán sighed. "Those cultists, the things they do… it's just evil."

"And insane," Tyrus agreed. In a softer voice, he asked, "Did you stain your hands with blood?"

Aodhán hesitated, then nodded. "I wish I could say I regretted it."

Tyrus smiled and clasped his shoulders. "I'm glad you don't. Those sniveling pests deserve all that comes to them, and I couldn't be prouder of the boy who nearly puked out his innards only a month or two ago."

Aodhán laughed and nudged Tyrus to the side. "I'm never living that down, am I?"

"No, you aren't." Tyrus laughed. "You should be glad I don't share it with the other captains. That's when you'll truly never live it down."

They shared another laugh, but when it faded, Tyrus turned to him with a knowing look. "I'm guessing the commander tried to recruit you."

"He did."

"And?"

Aodhán grinned. "I'm not against the idea, but I have to speak to Principal Zatya first."

"That's fair." Tyrus nodded, then smirked. "I would be very glad if you did accept the offer. You never know; we could be brothers in arms."

Aodhán wrinkled his nose and teased, "I'm not sure Boyd will like that very much."

"I think he'll manage quite alright." Tyrus replied, barely able to hold back his laughter.

Aodhán shook his head in amusement as they began making their way out of the camp. Soldiers still in bloodstained armor cheered and waved when they walked by, and Aodhán couldn't help but grin, feeling the rush of excitement settle in his chest.

The thought of joining the military had never been something he was keen on. But his mission with Geneva had really changed his perspective on a lot of things, and with everything that had happened ever since then—the battles, the people he had helped—he wondered if he could actually turn down Commander Lunarshard's offer.

If he could make a difference in every battle like this, then he definitely had to take it.

Exiting the inner sections of the camp, Aodhán and Tyrus made their way straight for the gate. Aodhán wanted to stop by the fort to check on Geneva before leaving the sector, but as they neared the main gates, a sudden sensation of familiarity tickled his senses.

It was an energy signature, one he was familiar with which meant there was someone he knew currently within the camp. The signature was bright—not as bright as his own, but stable, steady. Not in any danger of the limit, at least not yet. Wondering if it was someone he knew from the Warren, Aodhán frowned and turned towards its direction.

"Is there a problem?" Tyrus asked.

"No… It's just—I sense someone familiar. Someone I know well."

Weaving through the tents, Aodhán followed the core's signature until he reached the barracks. He hesitated. "Am I allowed to go in there?"

"Normally, no. But I'm here, so you're good."

Nodding, Aodhán stepped past the barricade, earning himself a few stares from the new recruits who were stationed closer to the barricade. He walked for a minute or two, following the familiar signature, which was getting brighter and brighter the closer he drew until his eyes landed on a small gray tent surrounded by blue Salinger flowers.

Tyrus noticed his destination and raised a brow. "You know Corporal Tyla?"

The name clicked in Aodhán's memory. The horde battle at the Warren. Before he could respond, the tent flaps pushed open, and Tyla stepped out.

She looked almost exactly the same—sharp-eyed, brown hair streaked with hints of gold, and a gentle expression. But her reaction was anything but gentle. The moment she saw him, her eyes widened, and she rushed into his arms, nearly causing him to tumble over from the force of her excitement.

"Oh Raol, it's you! Aldric's cousin."

Aodhán didn't bother correcting her. He simply nodded. "It's me. I'm happy to see you."

"Me too! I read about you in the paper, and…wow. How's Daruk?"

"He's fine. I…I'm so glad to bump into someone from home."

It was true. So many things had changed in his life. But in that moment, standing there in the middle of the camp, Aodhán felt something rare—a connection to a simpler time, even if only for a moment.

Tyla let out a sad smile and shook her head. "Me too…uhm…thank you for the rain. I gained an inspiration and a seal. My first seal.

Aodhán inclined his head. "I'm glad I could facilitate the process, but you would have gained your seal with or without me. It's not all my doing."

"I'll keep that in mind." She chuckled, but then her gaze strayed to where Tyrus was standing, and her eyes widened again. "Captain Tyrus. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you."

"It's no problem." Tyrus smiled. "I'll give you guys time to catch up."

"Yes, sir." She saluted, and when Tyrus stepped away, she asked. "Does he know you're the one who got away?"

"I think he should have put two and two together by now." Aodhán cringed. "If he hasn't, then I certainly won't be the one to tell him."

Tyla chuckled, but then her expression soured and she shook her head sadly. "After you and Daruk ran away, the village wasn't too kind to your parents."

"I'm aware. But I don't hold it against them. Daruk and I did what we thought was best for us at the time."

"And now, your contributions are enough to turn the direction of a battle." Tyla finished with a smile. "I'm glad you're doing better, and that your parents are doing better too. I guess it's a good thing that someone from the Warren got to be famous."

Aodhán laughed. "I guess it is. For the record, Aldric is still single as far as I know."

"Oh, that brat," Tyla snorted. "He could never get his orientation straight, and I still believe he had something going with councilor Elora. I mean, I couldn't be the only one who thought their interactions were suspicious."

"Trust me, you're not the only one." Aodhán chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. "I could give you his contact if you want, you know, if you want to rekindle something passionate."

"No, no rekindling." Tyla blushed and shook her head. "I wouldn't mind his contact, but I would like to have yours too."

"Of course."

They spent a few more minutes laughing and reminiscing. They hadn't been the closest of friends back in the Warren, but here, far from everything they had known, it felt like they had always been close.

About half an hour later, Aodhán finally said his goodbyes. It wasn't teary or emotional or anything like that, but it was bittersweet, with both of them promising to keep in contact as frequently as they could. Making a mental note to keep tabs on her progress, Aodhán rejoined Tyrus, and together they continued their journey to the fort.

When they arrived at the fort this time, Aodhán was pleased to see that it was once again bustling with activity. Well, it wasn't exactly bustling, but it wasn't quite as dead silent as it was earlier.

A hymnal echoed out of the main lobby, and as they walked towards the entrance, Aodhán asked Tyrus. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I'm afraid not. I haven't had the chance to study any of the reports yet. Hopefully, it's not too bad."

"Hopefully." Aodhán agreed.

However as they grew closer to the entrance and the hymnal grew clearer, Tyrus frowned. "That's not a victory hymn."

"No, it isn't." Aodhán's gaze narrowed in worry, and the next instant, he felt a spatial scan wash over them. He identified Artemis's skill immediately and scowled, but the expression was wiped off his face the moment he walked into the fort.

Within the golden gallery, General Deaton stood at the helm, surrounded by two dozen champions along with a group of priests and high ranking military officers, each one of them silent and somber as they stared at the body laid at the center of the hall. Aodhán followed their gazes and felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he identified the body of Champion Cyridian Lightweaver.

The hymn died down a moment later, and General Deaton let the silence drag on for an extra moment before speaking. "Her body will be transported to her family as soon as this ceremony is over. This is a chance for us all to say our goodbyes. I wish I had a much better speech prepared, but I don't. Does anyone have anything to say?"

Nearly a minute passed in silence before Thalia Lightus stepped forward. She walked towards Cyridian's body and bent down to caress her face before speaking. "I watched a memory of her battle against Luminus on my way here, and she was marvelous. At one point I thought she stood a chance. Alas…" She let a tear drop to the marble floor before proceeding. "We will not forget you, Champion Lightweaver, for your death was not in vain. You have shown us the true meaning of a champion—a hero and a guardian. We will not forget it. May the ascendants bless you."

"May the ascendants bless you." Everyone chorused, and Aodhán did the same, not quite able to process the fact that a champion had just died. Of course, champions weren't gods, but deep down, Aodhán had thought them invincible. He had seen them fight and come out of impossible situations unharmed. He had seen them defy the naturals laws and then some, he had seen them stand against hundreds of elites and soldiers and win.

The fact that they could die wasn't a thought that had been well anchored in his mind, and that realization made Aodhán see some things differently about himself. Recently, he had begun thinking of himself as a champion in the making, and a part of him had begun feeling invincible.

He was under no delusions that he couldn't get hurt, but all his problems had been within the bounds of his power recently, and he had let himself be deceived. His extraordinary feats and accomplishments had only reinforced that delusion. The praises and the adorations of his peers had gone to his head, but in that moment, Aodhán realized just how mortal he still was. How killable.

He might be the strongest evolved awakened in the 5th academy, but what about the 1st and 2nd academies? How would he rank against the monsters of the inner sectors? Or the geniuses of the capital?

The thought lit a fire of determination in his mind, and Aodhán made up his mind to do better. He hadn't really had much time to actually train over the break, but he still had about a week left. He could still use it for something productive.

The ceremony ended a few minutes later, and a group of sergeants came forward to carry the body. Everyone waited until the officers left before moving, and Aodhán quickly made his way to where Geneva was standing.

She was injured and bruised, just like many other champions, but she seemed well enough to walk at least.

"I'm so glad you're alright." He said when he reached her, and she smiled.

"I'm glad too. It's unfortunate that Cyridian didn't make it. She was such a light."

"I'm sorry about that." Aodhán responded genuinely.

"It's alright. Cyridian wouldn't want us to mourn her. She died a hero. She will be celebrated." She smiled and nudged him playfully, changing the topic. "I heard about your exploits at the Steppin' Plains. I'm very proud."

"I'm just glad I could help."

"I'm sure you are." Artemis interjected, teleporting to stand beside Geneva. He was even more injured compared to Geneva. Several fresh injuries ran across his face, a side of which was swollen and red. "And I'm sure my half-brother is wallowing in a river of self-pity and depression because of it."

Aodhán scowled. "Life of a privileged heir sure must be tough."

"Tougher than you think, that's for sure." Artemis shrugged, his expression holding a hint of vulnerability. The emotion disappeared as fast as it came, and Artemis smiled again. "So, do you plan to continue your hunt with Geneva here, or are you finally ready to part ways?"

"The hunt will have to be put on hold while I recover." Geneva shook her head. "Unless Aodhán wants to hang around here for the next few days, he'll have to go home."

"I actually want to go home. The academy would be resuming soon, and I've got a lot to do. I should have gone already; I just wanted to check up on you before leaving."

Artemis tsked. "Look who has formed an attachment to my own girlfriend."

Aodhán blanched. "That's not—

"Don't mind him." Geneva smiled at him and turned to glare at Artemis. "He won't be my boyfriend for much longer."

"That's not even funny." Artemis scowled, but she ignored him and said,. "Also, don't worry about your payment. I will send your portion of any money we gather from the items to the academy. I suspect it will be a decent amount."

"I hope so." Aodhán chuckled. "I can feel the weight of my fine like a yoke around my neck."

"Well, it's not heavy enough if you're still here talking to my girlfriend." Artemis scowled, shifting ever so slightly towards Geneva, until she slapped his arm and said,. "Surely, you can't possibly be jealous of Aodhán. He's just a boy."

"I'm not jealous." Artemis hissed, his gaze darting back and forth to make sure no one was listening. "I'm not jealous." He hissed again and proceeded to teleport away, but Geneva dragged him back and asked. "Well, since you're not jealous, you won't mind giving Aodhán a ride back home, will you?"

"Actually, I would like to get to the academy first; I need to see Principal Zatya about an important matter." Aodhán replied, barely suppressing a smile, and this time, it was Artemis who blanched.

"What? I'm not a chauffeur."

"You won't be anything to me if you don't take this young man to the academy. You don't even have to go with his; just open a portal."

"Across two sectors?" Artemis's scowl deepened. "My willpower is only still recovering."

"Surely, you don't expect him to trek?"

"What I expect him to do is much worse." Artemis hissed. "The boy doesn't even respect me."

Aodhán wisely stayed out of the argument until Artemis finally agreed, looking as if he'd swallowed an entire bowl of sour grapes. With a scowl, he opened a portal right in the center of the hall and said. "There you go. I'm sure you'll have a splendid landing."

Aodhán hesitated, a thread of fear curling in his gut as he turned to stare at this so called 'splendid landing.'

Taking a step backwards, he stuttered. "Uh… you know what, never mind. I'm sure I'll find someone else to take me."

Artemis smiled. "Oh. But I've already created the portal and burned so much willpower to do so. Did I mention that I'm only still recovering? Surely, you won't let all that hard work go to waste. Will you?"

Aodhán glanced at Geneva, expecting her to speak up on his behalf; instead, he found her suppressing a fit of laughter. When her eyes met his, she burst into laughter and said. "I'm so sorry, Aodhán, but I'm sure it'll be fine. After all, Artemis would dearly hate to explain any injuries on your person to Zatya Malakov, not to mention ascendant candidate Lightus himself."

Artemis scowled, and with a wave of his wrist, he adjusted the portal. Aodhán couldn't exactly see any changes, but he suspected he would be falling from a much lesser height than before. He said his goodbyes to Tyrus and Geneva before walking towards the portal.

However, the moment he stepped into the portal, he found Thalia Lightus's gaze fixed on him, and that was when he realized he had completely forgotten to speak to her as he had planned.

The portal pulled him away before he could say anything about it, but just as it was closing, Thalia smiled at him, her expression knowing, making him question whether he'd forgotten at all or she had somehow been made to forget.

Whatever would the latter accomplish anyway?