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“Hmmm…” The Tower Master stood on the rooftop, silent and still as a statue, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. His gaze was unwavering, piercing through clouds and sunlight toward a place beyond sight, the holy land of Ferderica.
He had been up here a while, unmoving, his robes fluttering in the faint breeze that curled around the spires and domes of the Mage Tower. The sky was impossibly wide. Far away, just beyond the curve of the earth, was the stronghold of a god.
“You’re still worried about them?” The voice came from behind him, a crisp, young man’s voice, familiar and edged with dry amusement. “If you’re that anxious, why not go yourself instead of just sending messages of regret?”
It was Elian, his best disciple, the one he trusted most. The Tower Master gave a weary smile and answered with a ripple of thought, “You know I would, if it were possible.”
Elian nodded, acknowledging the truth. After all, there were rules, binding even for the greatest mage on the continent. The Tower Master’s true self was here, anchored to the Mage Tower. However, across the continent, hundreds of his avatars moved ceaselessly, righting wrongs, putting out fires, keeping chaos at bay wherever they could. If not for his intervention, the land would be twice as wild, twice as broken. He might have seemed idle now, but his hands, through magic, were everywhere.
“So why not stop watching and just let it go?” Elian said with a sigh. “Didn’t you already decide there wouldn’t be a problem? You’re starting to sound like an anxious old man who can’t leave his grandchild alone at the riverside.”
“Watch your tongue, young one. But…” The Tower Master laughed a little, but there...
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