Outside Vinya's wardroom, Riven leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed, staring at the faint pulse of runes above the doorframe.
"Is he always like this?" he asked.
Davor shrugged. "Define 'like this.'"
"Suicidally polite with a hint of reckless optimism."
"Then yes."
Inside, the tension had mellowed into cautious curiosity. Vinya watched Alex the way one might watch a semi-intelligent bird trying to solve a puzzle.
"You do realize you walked into a security ward meant to knock out trained infiltrators, right?" she asked, setting her tea aside finally.
"I had backup plans."
"And yet you didn't announce yourself. Or request access. Or even wear anything that says, 'not a threat, please don't electrify.'"
"Would it have mattered?"
She hesitated. "...Maybe."
Alex smiled. "Good to know. I'll design my next uniform with friendlier embroidery."
Vinya sighed and stood, stepping out of her nested circle with a kind of practiced care that suggested it wasn't just artistic—it was holding something together.
"What do you want, Alex? You didn't come all this way to test my wards."
"Nope. I came to invite you to dinner."
She blinked. "That's... worse."
He tilted his head. "It's food. Conversation. Optional company. Low expectations."
"And yet you've dragged royal resources, personal shields, and what I assume is a magically immune haircut into my personal workspace. That doesn't scream low expectations."
Alex grinned. "It's just dinner, Vinya. But the kind where we talk about the things people usually avoid. No tower agendas. No departmental pledges. Just curiosity and options."
She was quiet for a moment, eyes flicking to the door.
"I don't do well with groups."
"You won't be the only one who doesn't."
Another pause.
Then, finally, she muttered, "If there's pudding, I'm considering it."
"There will absolutely be pudding."
Alex stepped forward and extended his hand.
Vinya hesitated. Then, carefully—like testing for hidden enchantments—she shook it. Quick, firm, done.
He gave a satisfied nod and stepped out of the wardroom.
Riven straightened as he returned. "So? Survived? Converted the hermit to the cause?"
Alex shrugged, nonchalant. "Dinner invite accepted with a pudding clause."
Davor snorted. "That counts as a victory."
Riven muttered, "I'm starting to wonder if I said yes too fast."
"Too late now," Alex said cheerfully, already halfway down the stairs. "Time to select our last vegetable."
—✦—
The Vandro household was modest by Arcane City standards—stone-brick walls, runic shutters, and a second-floor lounge window that overlooked nothing important but still made the family proud.
Inside, Brix Vandro sat at the end of the lunch table, shoulders slightly hunched as various relatives surrounded him like well-dressed birds with opinions.
"The Ironflow Guild is practical," one aunt insisted. "You'd have support, connections, maybe even get noticed by one of the elite circles."
"Or the Emerald Hand. They specialize in spirit-aligned crafts. That matches his resonance!"
"There's that cousin of yours who could get you into House Volwin's extern program. You must consider it."
Brix nodded mechanically through the barrage, stabbing his spoon into his bowl of chilled root stew like it had personally offended him.
He didn't dislike his family. They were proud, hopeful, and just eager enough to be exhausting. Their dreams were simple: get him into the Academy, land a position in an upper circle, elevate the family name. Stability. Clout.
But Brix didn't want to be part of someone else's ladder. His affinity didn't fit their mold, and every lecture about potential futures just made the air in the room feel thinner.
His fingers toyed with the cloth napkin. He wasn't ungrateful. Just... unaligned.
He was mid-sulk when the doorbell rang.
"That's odd," his father said. "Everyone's here already."
The entire table turned toward the front door.
The bell rang again—slightly louder this time, not magically enhanced, but carrying a sort of unshakable confidence.
Brix stood slowly. The door creaked open.
And there stood Alex, flanked by Riven and Davor, all looking far too comfortable for a doorstep visit. Alex offered a small wave and a crooked smile.
"Hi. We heard there's a bright kid here who talks to spirit circuits and hates being told what to do. That still accurate?"
Behind Brix, half the family dropped their spoons.
There was a moment of absolute, stunned silence—then the aunts pounced.
"You're the royal one!"
"Wait, are those actual enchantments on your collar?"
"Is this about a sponsorship?"
"Does this mean Brix already got in?"
Alex held up his hands like a peaceful intruder. "Whoa, easy. I'm not here to start a bidding war or hand out scholarships in gold-embossed envelopes."
"Then why are you here?" Brix's uncle asked, clearly suspicious and just a little too close to squinting at Riven like he might explode.
"Curiosity. And lunch envy," Alex replied without missing a beat. "This stew smells like it has character. Unlike half the meal halls I've been dragged through."
"You're saying this isn't official?"
"Not even remotely," Alex said, flashing a smile so practiced it almost felt casual. "If it were official, I'd have arrived with a team of handlers and a folder full of expectation charts. Instead, you got me, Davor, and Riven here, who may or may not be judging the wallpaper."
Riven nodded slightly. "I absolutely am."
"So... this is just a visit?" one of the cousins said slowly.
"More like an invitation to a dinner with no agendas, no test scores, and definitely no required dress code."
"That's a terrible recruitment pitch," Brix's grandfather grumbled.
"Good," Alex said, pivoting back toward Brix at last. "Because I'm not pitching to you."
All heads turned as Alex took one step forward and locked eyes with Brix.
"I came to talk to you. Everyone else was just the pre-boss level."
Brix stared. For a moment, he couldn't find words. His brain tried to assemble something clever, or polite, or at least coherent, but all it managed was a slight noise and a deeply confused frown.
Alex didn't press. He simply waited, hands in his pockets, the corner of his mouth tugged up just enough to suggest he was used to breaking rooms like this.
"You, uh... want to talk. To me," Brix finally managed.
"That's right. And no, not to sign a contract or pledge allegiance or shake hands in front of some golden backdrop. Just dinner. One table. A few other people like you."
Brix glanced back at his family—who were all now silently staring at him like he'd become a rare magical artifact overnight.
"This is a lot," he muttered.
"It usually is," Alex said. "But just because it's loud doesn't mean it's wrong."
That line stopped Brix in his tracks. His shoulders, tight for days, finally dropped an inch. The air suddenly felt a little less dense.
Alex took a half-step forward, his voice calm. "You don't have to say yes. You don't have to impress anyone. I'm not offering you a throne. Just a seat at a table where you might actually be heard."
Brix let out a slow breath. "You're really not normal, you know that?"
"In three different languages," Alex replied.
There was a pause. Then Brix gave a single, short nod.
"Okay. I'll come."
Alex grinned. "Great. I'll make sure they don't serve anything too intelligent."
"I'd appreciate that."
Alex turned back toward the room, expression shifting just slightly—still polite, but now cut with an unmistakable edge of authority. The kind that didn't yell, but expected silence anyway.
"As for the rest of you," he said, tone light but lined with unmistakable pride, "I understand you all care. Truly. But if your plan is to shove Brix onto some social ladder just because it looks shiny—don't. He's already capable of climbing whatever path he picks. No one needs to sell him."
A hush followed. Even the aunts held their breath.
Alex didn't wait for applause, outrage, or rebuttal. He turned toward the door, giving only the briefest, respectful nod to Brix's parents.
"Thank you for lunch-smells and seating arrangements. We'll see him tomorrow."
He stepped outside.
Davor fell in beside him with a snort. "Selena's going to be livid."
"She'll live," Alex replied.
Riven raised a brow. "So when do I get my invitation to this dinner of mildly sentient food and socially anxious prodigies?"
Alex grinned over his shoulder. "You're the centerpiece, poster boy. Everyone else is just bonus vegetables."