Lenor, head of the Guild, stood by the window of his office, his arms folded tightly behind his back, watching as guild artisans began repairs on the coliseum below. His face was a mask of barely restrained irritation.
A knock at the door.
"Enter," he said curtly, not even bothering to turn around.
Elgot and Lenore said angrily, 'You're going to my office with Naira.' stepped inside. The mage wore his usual calm expression, though the tension in his eyes betrayed him. Naira, on the other hand, looked like she was one wrong word away from exploding.
"Sit," Lenor snapped. The command landed like a slap, making both of them flinch slightly as they obeyed.
He slowly turned toward them, his piercing green gaze shifting from one face to the other.
"Well?" he said, his palms pressing into the surface of the massive wooden desk. "Care to explain what happened? An explosion in the coliseum, cracks across the arena floor, the ceiling nearly collapsing... The entire hall thought the end of the world had arrived."
Elgot cleared his throat, stalling for time.
"Ahem... That was just a little training session," he said, trying to keep his tone as light and breezy as possible.
"Training?" Lenor repeated, his voice steeped in disbelief. "You call that chaos 'training'?"
"Well, when you're dealing with a kid who has that much potential," the mage said with an awkward smile, "you need to get a little... creative."
Lenor stepped forward. Elgot felt the temperature in the room drop.
"Creative?" Lenor echoed, voice low and sharp. "I'll show you 'creative' when I hand you the repair bill."
The mage instinctively took a step back.
"Look, I'm willing to cover part of the costs... let's say, a small percentage? But considering my, uh, existing debts, perhaps we could— negotiate?" Lenor cut in, leaning forward slightly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. "There will be no negotiations. You're paying the full amount."
"But"— Lenor raised a hand. That was enough.
"It's final."
Elgot licked his lips, eyes darting as his mind scrambled for a way out.
"You know, Lenor, I've always admired your refined leadership style. There's a certain... charisma to the way you run things— one more word," Lenor said with deadly calm, "and I'll double your debt."
The mage shut his mouth. Instantly.
Lenor's gaze slid to Naira, who had been trying to blend into the background. His eyes narrowed.
"And you?" His voice dropped in temperature. "Would you care to explain why I've received complaints saying the coliseum felt more like a brothel than a training ground?"
Naira blinked, stunned. Had she heard that right?
Lenor stepped closer, eyes locked on hers.
"I can reassign you elsewhere," he said quietly, "with a snap of my fingers."
That got her. She jumped to her feet.
"It wasn't me! It was him! All him!" she cried, stabbing a finger toward Elgot. "He was the one running all these lunatic experiments! I was just there! A victim, really!"
Lenor raised a brow, then slowly turned to the mage.
"Is that true?"
Elgot, ever the master of deflection, shrugged.
"Well, you know... sometimes sacrifices must be made in the name of science. A few minor... inconveniences for the sake of a greater cause. And to be fair—it did help the boy."
Lenor studied him in silence for a moment, then turned back to Naira.
"I see," he said. "You may go."
Naira exhaled with visible relief. But as she exited, she couldn't resist a final jab:
"I hope your debt swallows you whole, Elgot."
And with that, the door shut behind her.
The mage merely sighed, watching her leave. One more debt, one less — what's the difference? he mused, eyes trailing after Naira. Lenor turned back to him, expression hard as granite.
"Now you," he said, voice low but firm. "Your debt will be paid in full. No tricks. No 'scientific experiments.' And no training in the coliseum without my explicit permission. Understood?"
"Crystal clear," Elgot muttered, knowing he'd run out of clever excuses.
Lenor seated himself behind the massive oak desk, its surface polished to a mirror shine. In his hand, he held a delicate bottle of elven wine, its glass etched with golden vines. The label read: Tears of the Autumn Forest — a rare vintage, whispered among connoisseurs as one of the finest works of elven craftsmanship.
"You remember the taste, don't you?" Lenor asked, removing the cork and pouring the shimmering liquid into two crystal glasses.
Elgot watched the process with a flicker of curiosity, his brows slowly knitting as realization dawned.
"Still as sly as ever," the mage grumbled, accepting the glass. "What do you want to know?"
Lenor leaned back in his chair with the faintest smile.
"Oh, I think you already know. You saw something, didn't you? Don't play dumb. You've never been reckless enough to let an explosion of that scale happen by accident."
Elgot took a slow sip, buying time. Inside, his thoughts churned.
Of course he's trying to break me. That's his game — soften with a smile, then close the trap. But not this time.
"And how exactly were you planning to get me to talk?" he said aloud, lifting his glass with a smirk. "Ply me with wine? Your tactics are getting a bit too predictable, my friend."
Lenor acted as if he hadn't heard the sarcasm, topping off both glasses with a casual flick of the wrist.
"Do you remember the fights during the Great War?" he asked suddenly, voice dipped in nostalgia. "How many times did we stand on the edge of death? Like that time you accidentally struck our general with lightning?"
Elgot snorted, nearly choking on the wine.
"That wasn't my fault! He stepped right into my spell's path. And he did survive."
"Survive, yes," Lenor said with a crooked grin. "But bald for the rest of his life."
The two of them laughed, though a bitter undertone lingered beneath the mirth. After a pause, Lenor's voice dropped again.
"And what about you? You nearly fell to that succubus. If I hadn't intervened, she would've drained you dry."
Elgot raised an eyebrow, eyeing his wine.
"You did save me. Though I recall your exact words were, 'If anyone's going to kill you, it'll be me.'"
Lenor shrugged, smiling faintly.
"Loyalty to the team. Isn't that what we called it?"
Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken names. Memories drifted — faces lost, laughter silenced. It was Elgot who finally broke it.
"We lost so many… Kenor, Liart…" His voice dimmed. "Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it."
Lenor nodded, his features turning grave once more.
"That's why I need the truth, Elgot. What did you see?"
The mage paused, holding Lenor's gaze. Then, in one swift motion, he downed the rest of his wine and gave a slow, knowing smile.
"If you must know… the boy — Kano," he said, savoring the dramatic pause, "he's a prince. Of the human race."
Lenor arched a brow.
"A prince? Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Elgot said, as if it were the most ordinary revelation. "His parents disowned him — couldn't handle the fact he didn't live up to their grand expectations. I stumbled across him and decided to give him a chance. That's why he's here."
Lenor's eyes narrowed with suspicion, but his mind was already tracing the logic.
"If that's true, why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Because you hate surprises. And I figured if you knew right away, you'd throw him out before he even got a chance to prove himself." The mage sighed. "Now, whether you like it or not, he's part of your guild too. That makes him your responsibility."
Lenor stared at him a moment longer, then gave a short, sharp nod.
"Fine," he said, though his voice was edged like a blade. "But if you brought him in, you answer for him. Everything he does — you own it. Understood?"
"As you command," Elgot said, raising his glass in mock salute.
Lenor stood and tossed the mage the wine bottle.
"Take it. May it ease your burden — a little. Now get out."
Elgot caught the bottle with one hand, gave a slight bow, and with a familiar smirk, turned to leave.
"As generous as ever," Elgot muttered, the usual sarcasm lacing his tone like a well-worn cloak.
Lenor said nothing, his gaze following the mage as he made his way to the door. Only once it had clicked shut behind him did the guildmaster allow himself the faintest hint of a smile — a fleeting curve of the lips, gone almost as soon as it appeared.