The obsidian dining table seemed to vibrate as Duke Alaric Blackwood set his heavy crystal chalice down. The sound was like a hammer hitting an anvil. His icy gaze moved from the mangled piece of Krak-Bull on Julian's plate to the silver-haired woman standing like a silent reaper in the corner of the hall.
"A Master Magician, you say?" Alaric's voice was a low rumble that made the soup in Julian's bowl ripple. "A weaver of laws who doesn't need to lift a sword? It's a pretty theory, Julian. But in the Blackwood line, theories that can't withstand a storm are simply delusions."
'Oh no. Here it comes,' Julian thought, his heart performing a frantic tap-dance against his fragile ribs. 'The "test." Every time he says "storm," someone ends up in a body bag. I only have 130 days left on my clock—I don't have time for a funeral rehearsal!'
"If this 'Calamity' is truly your tool," Alaric continued, his eyes narrowing, "then show me. The Northern Border is plagued by Frost-Drakes because our mages are too slow. If she is the 'precision' you claim, let her snuff out the hearth fire in this room—without touching the wick, and without letting the temperature drop by a single degree."
It was an impossible task. To extinguish a magical hearth fire fueled by lava-stones required a vacuum of mana so precise it would usually collapse the lungs of everyone in the room.
Julian turned to Lyra, his face a mask of calculated calm while his insides were screaming. 'Please don't blow up the manor, Lyra. The insurance premium for an "Act of Goddess" is astronomical.'
"Lyra, dear," Julian wheezed, leaning back into his cushions with a flourish that cost him a sharp pang in his shoulder. "My father requires a demonstration of... surgical silence. Show him why a true Master Magician doesn't need a sword when he owns the hand that wields the Divine Magic."
Lyra didn't move. For a second, Julian feared she'd just let Alaric execute him for the sheer irony of it. Then, she raised a single, slender finger.
The world didn't shake. There was no flash of light. Instead, the roaring fire in the hearth simply ceased to exist. One moment it was a blazing inferno; the next, the lava-stones were dark and cold, yet the room remained perfectly warm. It was as if the concept of 'burning' had been deleted from that specific coordinate in space.
Alaric stared at the dead hearth. For the first time in Julian's memory, the Duke looked genuinely stunned.
"High-tier Void Manipulation," Alaric whispered. He looked at Julian, his gaze shifting from contempt to a terrifying kind of curiosity. "Perhaps you aren't as useless as your bones suggest. A man who can leash a star is a man worth keeping on the board."
[System Notification: Quest 'Survive the Lion's Audit' - SUCCESS!] [Rewards: 500 System Points, +1.0 Authority, +0.5 Body Constitution (Applied)] [Bonus Reward: +10 Days Added to Lifetime!] [Current Lifetime: 140 Days]
"Wine!" Alaric roared, the tension snapping. "Bring the Vintage Dragon-Blood Red!"
The night became a blur of expensive crimson liquid and Julian's rapidly disappearing inhibitions. After the Duke finally retired to his quarters, Julian and Lyra were left in the dimly lit dining hall, surrounded by empty bottles that cost more than a merchant's ship.
Julian slumped against the table, his face flushed. He turned to Lyra, his eyes bright with a rare, genuine spark that wasn't just about gold.
"Lyra..." he slurred, leaning toward her. "That thing... with the fire? The finger-snap-deletion-thing?" He let out a breathless, drunken laugh. "That was so cool. Like, actually, terrifyingly cool. You just went poof and the laws of thermodynamics filed for bankruptcy."
Lyra, who was nursing her own glass with a stoic expression, paused. Her silver hair shimmered in the moonlight. "It was a simple vacuum manifestation, Julian. Don't be—"
"No, no, shut up for a second," Julian interrupted, waving a hand wildly. "I'm a Master Magician, right? I know the math. What you did wasn't just magic; it was art. You looked like a goddess just bored with reality. If I had a spine that didn't feel like wet pasta, I'd have given you a standing ovation."
He reached out, clumsily patting her hand.
"You're a... a great friend, Lyra. Really. And you're just... really cool. Don't tell my father I said that. He thinks 'cool' is a sign of a weak vocabulary, but he's just old."
'Wait, did I just call a Calamity a friend?' Julian's drunken brain momentarily misfired. 'Is there a tax for that? Can I write off friendship as a business expense?'
Lyra stared at his hand on hers, her purple eyes widening. A slow, deep flush began to creep up her neck. "You're drunk, Julian. You're talking nonsense."
"Nonsense is my primary export," Julian whispered, before his head finally hit the table with a soft thud.
The Next Morning
The next morning, the sunlight felt like physical needles stabbing Julian's brain. He groaned and was surprised to find his wrist didn't immediately shatter.
Then, he felt a weight on the edge of his bed. He bolted upright—wincing as his head throbbed—and saw Lyra. She was sitting right there, her face a deep, frantic flush.
"You're awake," she snapped.
"Lyra? What... why are you redder than a cooked lobster? Did I...?"
"You—you idiot!" Lyra hissed. "Last night... you grabbed my hand and spent forty minutes explaining the 'compound interest' of my soul! And then..." She looked away, her voice dropping to a mortified whisper. "And then you kept calling me a 'friend' and saying how 'cool' I was! You fell asleep on my lap because you said the floor was 'taxing your joints'!"
Julian froze. 'Oh god. Drunk me is a sentimental nightmare. I called the strongest woman in existence a friend? That's a high-risk investment!'
"Don't ever mention it again!" she yelled, vanishing in a blur of silver.
[System Notification: Daily Quest Triggered!] * Swing Sword: 0/30 * Push-ups: 0/20 * Sit-ups: 0/20 [Penalty: Sudden Cardiac Arrest]
Julian rolled out of bed, his legs shaking. He grabbed his wooden sword. "One..." he wheezed. "Two... if I die... tell my 'friend' Lyra... she's still cool..."