Arthur returned from the Tower of Magic like a storm wrapped in composure—serene on the surface, but carrying the electric charge of something momentous in his wake. The partnership contract lay before us on the guild hall table. The entire room fell silent when he placed it down, the weight of what it represented settling over us like a heavy blanket.
Even Elias, who had spent decades cultivating an expression of perpetual mild interest, looked genuinely stunned. His weathered hands traced the Tower's official seal with something approaching awe.
But me? I felt no surprise at all.
This was Arthur. The same person who had once faced down a Bishop of the Order of the Fallen Flame to save me—not because it was strategically sound or tactically wise, but because he had decided I was worth protecting. Of course he had achieved this. To him, it was likely just another objective completed, another seemingly impossible goal made reality through sheer determination and brilliance.
