Alvin was already halfway across the sky, heading toward the Divine Island on a swirling arc of abyssal mana. The winds roared around him. Clouds parted beneath his boots. Each step he took through the air left faint ripples of magic behind.
He was focused, or at least trying very hard to be, given that his destination involved an overly affectionate goddess who delighted in tormenting him with dramatic hugs and perfume-heavy lectures on the meaning of passion.
But while Alvin flew with grim determination, back in the Abyss Tower…
Chaos had already begun.
It started small. A whisper. A question.
Then Natasha opened her mouth, and everything went downhill from there.
Lucian, the eldest apprentice, stood with arms crossed. He always held the look of someone who could calculate how many seconds it would take to destroy a country if given the proper spellbook.
