The silence that followed Kael's muttered words was no longer confusion.
It was recognition.
Ragnar's pupils shrank as he replayed the scene in his mind—the structure of the circle, the deviations, the way Kael's mana had threaded through patterns that took archmages years to stabilize.
Rovan's throat went dry.
"That circle…" he said quietly. "That human had probably spent years refining it, yet he copied it."
Rina's jaw tightened. "And modified it." Her eyes flicked to Kael. "In minutes."
The realization settled differently on each side.
For the demihumans, it hardened into resolve.
This wasn't a talent to be ignored.
This was a variable that could tilt the balance of continents.
'He has to be recruited,' Ragnar thought grimly. 'No matter the cost.'
For Seraphina, the realization crystallized into something colder.
'He must be killed.'
Even if it costs her life.
Even if it meant open conflict with Grandins.
