Dong.
The first bell toll hung in the air, heavy as wet wool.
Dong.
People paused in the streets of Arkhos, conversations trailing into silence.
Dong.
Three bells. The Imperial Announcement pattern.
Adom stood in the crowd forming near the Hall of Justice, his recently broken arm still stiff despite the academy's nurse, Miss Thornheart's treatment. Just an hour ago, he'd been half-drowned in the ocean, locked in combat with a homunculus. Now he was here, academy uniform hastily donned, watching as the city transformed around him.
I maintain this is inadvisable, came Zuni's voice in his mind. The quillick adjusted his position on Adom's shoulder, careful to maintain his balance. You should be resting.
And miss whatever this is? Adom replied quietly. Not a chance.
Your constitution may be exceptional, but even you have limits.
Noted.
A vegetable seller nearby hastily packed her cart. "Last time those bells rang like that," she muttered to no one in particular, "they raised the harbor tax to twenty percent."
"Doubt it's taxes this time," replied a man with a weather-beaten face. "Not with what happened at the trial."
The bells continued their monotonous call as Adom pushed deeper into the growing crowd. His right arm, though no longer bent at that sickening angle, still ached dully. The academy's nurse– Miss Thornheart –had set and treated it, her expression growing increasingly puzzled as the bone began knitting itself together faster than normal healing should allow.
"There you are!" Sam called, emerging from the shadow of a baker's awning. "Thought you might have drowned."
"Nearly did," Adom replied, accepting Sam's firm handshake with his good arm.
Sam's eyes flickered to Adom's injured arm, then to his face, searching. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him. A subtle nod, a slight relaxation of his shoulders. "Glad you made it back."
"I'm exceptionally durable," Adom said with a half-smile.
"So it seems." Sam replied. He glanced at Zuni, who returned an almost imperceptible squeak of greeting.
The crowd thickened as more citizens arrived, responding to the persistent bells. City guards in polished breastplates directed the flow of people, their expressions tense beneath their helmets. More guards appeared at the edges of the square, subtle but unmistakable in their vigilance.
"Something's happening," Sam said, nodding toward the Hall's grand entrance where imperial guards—distinguished from city guards by their crimson cloaks—had begun to form ranks on the steps.
"I'm guessing that's why we're all here," Adom replied dryly.
A merchant shuffled past, his arms laden with scrolls. "War with Farmus," he declared with absolute certainty. "My cousin's boy works in the harbor. Says they turned back a whole fleet this morning."
By 'turned back,' he likely means 'utterly destroyed,' Zuni observed privately to Adom. If what you told me was accurate.
Let's not spread that around, Adom replied.
Sam raised an eyebrow at Adom. "That true? About the fleet?"
Adom looked at Sam and nodded.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
The bells continued their relentless rhythm as the crowd grew denser. People pressed forward from all sides. The mood was mixed—tension in some faces, excitement in others, resignation in many.
A woman nearby clutched her shawl tighter. "It's bad luck, that's what it is. First that unnatural storm out at sea, now this. The gods are angry."
"The gods have nothing to do with it," her companion scoffed. "It's politics, plain and simple."
"The storm weren't politics. My brother saw it from the harbor wall. Said it was like the ocean itself was at war."
Adom shifted his weight, conscious of how his hair still smelled faintly of saltwater despite his hasty attempts to rinse it. The broken arm was already feeling better—another hour and he'd barely notice it. One of the benefits of his unique physiology.
The crowd's murmuring intensified as figures began to emerge from the Hall. First the military commanders in their dress uniforms, then the heads of the great merchant houses, followed by the representatives of allied nations in their traditional garb. They arranged themselves on the wide steps in a precise formation, each group in its designated place.
Your heart rate has increased, Zuni noted. Are you in pain?
Just curious, Adom replied mentally. Like everyone else.
I doubt everyone else was personally involved in today's events.
Fair point.
The bells grew louder, though whether they actually increased in volume or the crowd's hushed anticipation just made them seem that way, Adom couldn't tell. The square was packed now, citizens pressed shoulder to shoulder from the Hall's steps all the way back to the fountain at the district boundary.
"It's almost certainly about the prince," Sam murmured, keeping his voice low. "Given what happened at the trial."
"We'll know soon enough," Adom replied.
The crowd's murmuring intensified as the last council members took their positions. Only then did the mages appear, nine figures in elaborate robes representing the Magisterium. Gaius was among them, looking as composed as he had when he'd plucked Adom from the ocean. Their eyes met briefly across the distance, the old mage giving no sign of recognition.
The bells reached a crescendo, then held a single, sustained note that seemed to vibrate the very stones beneath their feet.
"Here it comes," Sam whispered.
The great doors of the Hall opened wider, and the crowd collectively held its breath. The Emperor emerged into the sunlight, his simple gold circlet gleaming against his gray-streaked hair. Though not physically imposing, his presence commanded attention, shoulders straight beneath robes of imperial purple.
The Emperor moved to the edge of the top step and raised his hand.
The bells stopped.
The sudden silence was deafening.
Indeed. But was there another path?
Adom considered the question as the Emperor raised his hands, calling again for the crowd's attention. The chanting subsided gradually, people wiping tears of emotion from their faces, gripping each other's arms in solidarity.
"This will not be a swift conflict," the Emperor cautioned, his tone somber now. "Farmus has been preparing for war while we have been maintaining peace. Their armies are ready. Their coffers are full. They believe us weak, divided, unprepared."
He smiled thinly.
"They are mistaken."
The crowd murmured its agreement.
"Beginning today, all citizens of age will be called upon to serve the empire in whatever capacity they are best suited. Some will take up arms. Others will forge those arms. Still others will ensure our people are fed, clothed, and cared for."
Heads nodded throughout the square. The practical reality of war was setting in.
"I promise you this," the Emperor said, his voice rising for the final time. "When this war is over, Farmus will never again threaten our shores, our trade routes, or our people. The threat they have posed for generations will be eliminated, once and for all."
He raised his fist high.
"For Sundar! For our future!"
"FOR SUNDAR!" the crowd roared back. "FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR OUR FUTURE!"
The Emperor turned and walked back into the Hall of Justice, his council following in precise order. The imperial guards remained on the steps, standing at attention as the crowd continued its chant.
Adom watched them go, his expression carefully neutral.
No, he thought in answer to Zuni's earlier question. There wasn't another path. Not after what Farmus had attempted. This response was the only one that made sense.
Still, he couldn't help but wonder what the cost would be. War wasn't fought with speeches and cheers, but with blood and magic and steel. He'd had a taste of it today, over the water. How many more would face similar battles in the months to come?
"So," Sam said quietly beside him as the crowd began to disperse, still buzzing with excitement. "War."
"War," Adom agreed.
"Think they have any idea what they're cheering for?"
Adom shook his head slightly. "Most of them have never seen real combat. They don't know what's coming."
Sam's eyes flicked to Adom's injured arm. "And you do?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
They stood together in silence as the bells began to ring again—a different pattern now, not a summons but a declaration. The war bells. He hadn't heard that in Arkhos since his past life.
The sound followed Adom as he and Sam finally turned to leave, Zuni still perched on his shoulder, watching everything with those too-perceptive eyes.
Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
*****
Adom walked along the shoreline, his boots sinking slightly into the wet sand with each step. Waves lapped gently at the shore, erasing the day's events one tide at a time.
He'd dropped Zuni off with Sam an hour ago.
Sam had accepted the temporary guardianship with surprising ease, offering Zuni a perch on his bookshelf and a small dish of roasted nuts. "I'll keep him out of trouble," Sam promised, though it wasn't clear which of them he was talking about.
Adom rounded a bend in the shoreline and spotted a solitary figure ahead, seated on a large, flat rock. Archmage Gaius, his gray robes fluttering slightly in the breeze, gazed out at the horizon where the sun hung low, bleeding orange and red across the water.
Adom slowed his pace.
Something about the scene—the old man, the setting sun, the gentle waves—struck him with uncomfortable familiarity. It reminded him of that day, when he'd met Death on a shore much like this one. Same golden light, same salt-tinged air, same sense of a world balanced on the edge of transformation.
Gaius didn't turn as Adom approached, though he must have heard the footsteps in the sand.
"You're late," the archmage said, eyes still fixed on the horizon.
Adom smiled despite himself. "A mage is never late, sir. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."
Gaius let out a startled laugh, deep and genuine. "You learn quickly, young man. Very quickly indeed."
"So I've heard," Adom replied, coming to stand beside the rock. The archmage held something in his right hand—a communication crystal. It caught the dying sunlight, splitting it into miniature rainbows across his fingers.
They remained in silence for a moment, watching as the sun continued its descent toward the water. Small waves rolled in, erasing Adom's footprints behind him.
"How's that arm?" Gaius asked, glancing at Adom's previously broken limb.
"I'm not even feeling the pain anymore," Adom replied, flexing his fingers to demonstrate.
Gaius nodded reflectively. "Miss Thornheart does excellent work."
Adom made a polite chuckle, as he was glancing at the crystal.
"You needn't worry," Gaius added after a moment. "No one is listening to our conversation. I've taken precautions."
"I didn't—" Adom began to protest.
Gaius turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in silent challenge. The look said everything: Really? We're going to play this game?
Adom's attempt at innocence collapsed. He smiled and shrugged. "Old habits."
The archmage nodded, then held up the comm crystal, allowing the sunlight to pass through it. The object was substantial, heavy with magic, clear except for a faint blue tinge at its core.
"Ingenious," Gaius said, turning the crystal to examine it from different angles. "Truly ingenious. The runes are microscopic, layered within the crystal structure itself rather than etched on the surface. I've never seen anything quite like it." He looked at Adom with curiosity. "Were you the one who created it?"
Adom didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the water.
"No matter," Gaius continued after a moment, seemingly unbothered by the silence. "I've always had an interest in magical artifacts. The advancement of runecraft, in particular, has fascinated me since my own academy days."
He returned his attention to the crystal, watching how it refracted the light. "I attended Xerkes myself, you know. Tried to become a runicologist in my third year. Failed my courses two years running before I had to accept that I was more brawn than brain."
Adom frowned, looking up at him. "What?"
"Oh yes," Gaius continued, his tone casual. "Switched to battle magic after that. Much more suited to my talents. Though it didn't stop the academy from expelling me eventually."
Adom's frown deepened. The archmage—the most powerful mage in the empire, head of the Magisterium, advisor to the Emperor himself—had been expelled from Xerkes Academy?