The sun was slowly rising above the horizon, painting the snow-covered rooftops of Lasthold in soft golden hues. Rays slid across the towers, along the narrow streets, over frost-rimmed balconies, gradually reaching the western slopes. There, beyond the city walls, the mountains rose—stern and majestic, their snowy peaks shining so brightly they seemed like small suns themselves.

  From a bird’s-eye view, Lasthold appeared calm. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, a few pedestrians moved along the streets, merchants arranged their goods. The city went on—steady, familiar, almost peaceful.

  But that was only an illusion.

  In truth, the streets were buzzing.

  Gossip and rumors spread faster than the winter wind, leaping from shop to shop, from quarter to quarter. Everywhere people spoke of the trial, of Zeiran, of Duran’s breakthrough to the Jade Mage stage, of what had transpired at the Council of Elders.

  In one shop, thick with the scent of dried herbs and alchemical brews, a merchant carefully tied off a tightly packed pouch of ingredients without breaking the conversation.

  “Have you heard?” he said quietly. “Another member of the Vengeful Thunder Family has been sentenced to prison.”

  The customer—a tall woman with white hair neatly arranged down her back—nodded calmly.

  “I have,” she replied, accepting the pouch. “It’s already been three weeks since Magister Priscilla’s trial… and the uproar still hasn’t died down.”

  From the neighboring counter came a raspy yet confident voice:

  “How could it settle…” said a woman of about sixty, sorting bundles of dried roots. “One of the main families and pillars of Lasthold turned out to be guilty of such grave crimes. That’s not going to be forgotten in a year.”

  She shook her head, clicking her tongue, and added more quietly:

  “We looked up to them for decades.”

  The tall woman nodded, taking the words in without visible emotion.

  “I hope the Sacred Flame Family and the Ancient Roots Family are more virtuous,” she said calmly. “Lasthold won’t endure it if something similar comes to light there as well.”

  The merchant handed her the neatly wrapped alchemical ingredients and allowed himself a faint smile.

  “Thankfully, a Jade Mage has emerged from the common folk,” he said, lowering his voice but with clear approval. “They say Elder Duran no longer holds his tongue. At every Council gathering, he raises issues that were once simply ignored.”

  The neighbor snorted.

  “Raising them is good. The important thing is seeing them through.”

  “They are,” the merchant replied confidently. “They’re already auditing resource allocations and revisiting old decisions. It never went that far before.”

  The white-haired woman narrowed her eyes slightly.

  “So fear really is the best teacher?”

  The merchant shrugged.

  “Maybe fear. Or maybe shame. When one of the Three Elders falls so low, the others can’t help but look at themselves more closely.”

  Two young mages passed by, animatedly discussing something about an upcoming emergency assembly. Farther down, at a crossroads, people were arguing about the Forsaken Brotherhood.

  But there was another figure, almost unnoticed in the morning bustle of the market.

  A young woman with long violet hair, concealed beneath the hood of a winter robe marked with the insignia of the Hall of Ancient Research, walked past the stalls at an unhurried pace.

  It was Master Violet.

  She heard the conversation clearly—about the fall of the Vengeful Thunder Family, about the Jade Mage from the common folk, about the changes within the Council. Yet she did not stop or intervene. Only for a moment did the corners of her lips twitch in the faintest smile.

  As she walked through the market, she lifted her gaze toward the center of Lasthold, where beyond the houses rose the towers of the Council and the mansions of the Three Families.

  “The common folk do not feel it yet,” she thought calmly, “but Lasthold will soon change beyond recognition.”

  The wind stirred the edge of her robe.

  “Especially once the Hall begins to share with Lasthold the knowledge it has withheld for decades.”

  These were not empty words. For decades, the Hall had deliberately left many translations of ancient texts unfinished at their final stage, simply to keep them out of the hands of the Three Families. Now, all promising lines of research had been resumed.

  “Now,” she continued inwardly, “there is no longer any need to fear that knowledge will end up solely in the hands of a chosen few.”

  Her gaze hardened slightly.

  “It will become common knowledge.”

  With those thoughts, Violet turned at the intersection and almost immediately found herself before a neat building with wide windows and a hand-painted sign. On the ground floor was a cozy little restaurant, and on the second floor lived the family who ran the place.

  It was Kael’s family restaurant.

  Violet stopped before the door. In her hands she held a small box tied with a lilac ribbon. She lowered her eyes to the cake and frowned faintly.

  “Perhaps I should have bought something else?” the thought flickered. “Though… there is hardly anything that could truly repay him.”

  Her fingers brushed her chest, where deep within her body the Mana Core pulsed. It had become denser, purer, more stable—she felt it clearly.

  “The Canon of Holy Lavender… is simply incredible,” she admitted to herself. “I’ve trained for only two weeks, yet the results are far beyond anything I achieved with my previous canon.”

  The difference was not limited to the speed of mana accumulation. Her control had grown subtler, her circulation smoother—even her contracted spirit responded differently. It was an entirely new level of understanding of magical growth.

  Violet shook her head softly, as though she still could not quite believe what was happening, then gently knocked on the door and stepped inside the restaurant.

  The bell above the door chimed quietly.

  At that very moment, from several points along the street, a few mages were calmly watching her. They stood apart—one by the shop across the way, another at the corner, a third pretending to examine goods at a stall. Not one of them made a move to stop her.

  They merely exchanged glances and almost imperceptibly nodded to one another. There was no reason to stop Violet—she was an ally.

  ? ? ?

  At that moment, Violet had already stepped inside.

  The dining room was quiet and bright, and the restaurant was still empty. The tables had been pushed aside, rags and buckets of water rested on the windowsills. After several weeks of being closed, dust still lingered in the air, and there was plenty of work left to do.

  Mira was wiping down the tabletop by the window, and Kris, standing on a stool, was carefully removing cobwebs from the corner beneath the ceiling. Hearing the chime of the bell, Kris turned—and her face immediately lit up.

  “Sister Violet!” she exclaimed joyfully, jumping down to the floor. “It’s been so long!”

  Violet couldn’t help but smile in return and lifted the cake box slightly.

  “Congratulations on reopening,” she said gently. “At last you can return to something like a normal life.”

  Mira turned as well, smiling warmly as she dusted off her apron.

  At that moment, a cheerful voice came from the kitchen:

  “Relatively calm, at least!”

  Kael and Girren appeared in the doorway, each carrying a stack of plates that, judging by the dust on them, also needed to be washed again.

  “Mages from the Forsaken Brotherhood and the city guard have been tailing us everywhere,” Kael continued with a faint smirk. “So we can’t fully relax just yet.”

  Noticing Violet, Girren immediately straightened and bowed respectfully, though with a trace of nervousness.

  “Greetings, Master Violet.”

  His voice was restrained. The habit of addressing senior mages with deference was deeply ingrained in him, and even in a calmer setting he remained wary.

  Violet raised an eyebrow slightly as she looked him over.

  “And what are you doing here, Girren?” she asked with genuine curiosity. “Still afraid to return home?”

  Girren hesitated, but didn’t get the chance to answer.

  From behind the counter came Kael’s calm voice, as he set the plates down in a neat stack:

  “He’s not going back to those bastards.”

  As he said it, Kael didn’t even turn around, simply going on with what he was doing.

  “This is Girren’s home now.”

  Mira nodded softly, and Kris smiled broadly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Girren flushed slightly but nodded in confirmation.

  “Kael offered to let me stay here and share his room…” he glanced aside awkwardly. “Or rather, he insisted.”

  Kael only laughed slyly and teased him:

  “Better cramped with me than living in luxury with Aiden.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Violet smiled faintly, watching Girren’s embarrassment and his struggle to find a response.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best…” she said gently, as though agreeing not only with their decision but with how everything had unfolded.

  Then she seemed to remember something and lifted the small box tied with the lilac ribbon.

  “Right. I brought a small gift to celebrate your return.”

  Kris immediately brightened and hurried closer.

  “What is it?”

  Smiling, Violet glanced at Kael and replied with a hint of mystery, “Lavender cake.”

  Without a second thought, Kris exclaimed happily, “Oh, you like lavender too, Sister?”

  Violet laughed softly, shaking her head.

  “Not exactly. It’s just that this cake… carries a certain meaning. Once, your brother gave me one just like it.”

  Kael merely smirked in response.

  “The most ironic part,” he said lightly, “is that now lavender isn’t just about cake—it’s tied to your magic canon as well. Who would have thought, right?”

  Mira smiled warmly as she listened to their conversation, then turned to Girren with a soft, almost maternal tone:

  “Dear, put the kettle on.”

  And then, glancing at Kael, she added in the same tone:

  “Son, wash the cups and plates, will you? We’ll take a short break from the cleaning.”

  Both nodded without hesitation. Kael picked up a stack of freshly washed dishes, Girren took the kettle, and together they disappeared into the kitchen. Their footsteps and muted voices soon blended with the sound of running water.

  Meanwhile, Mira quickly seated Violet at the nearest table, brushing off the last of the dust, and Kris settled beside her, propping her chin on her hands and studying the guest with interest.

  Violet carefully set the cake box on the table and asked gently, “You’ve been through a lot lately. How are you feeling?”

  Mira smiled calmly and replied, “My son is alive and well. Nothing else matters to me.”

  There was no pathos in her voice. Only sincerity. But Kris snorted, clearly unwilling to let her mother appear too unruffled.

  “Yeah. Except you and Dad keep whispering at night,” she shot back with a sly grin.

  Mira shot her a stern look, though without real displeasure.

  Kris had already turned back to Violet and added more quietly, but with a lively gleam in her eyes:

  “They still can’t quite believe Kael has become so… important.”

  From the kitchen came the clatter of a dropped spoon and a muffled, “I can hear everything!”

  Mira lightly tapped Kris on the head and said sternly, “You shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s bad manners.”

  Kris gave an exaggerated little yelp, then immediately smiled again.

  Mira looked back at Violet and added honestly now, without trying to smooth things over:

  “It really is hard to believe all of this. At one point I even thought… that Kael had been replaced.”

  She fell silent for a moment, as if surprised by her own words. Then she raised her eyes and added with firm certainty:

  “But a mother’s heart can’t be fooled. He’s my Kael.”

  And a little more quietly, almost in a whisper, with a faint double meaning, she added:

  “It’s just… this Kael is different. Much more grown.”

  Violet caught the phrase at once, as though it resonated somewhere deep within her. As though she herself had been thinking something similar. Yet she tactfully kept silent.

  In that moment, dozens of conversations they had held in the Brotherhood’s lair flashed through Mira’s mind. How calmly Kael had explained what had happened to Zeiran. How he had spoken of the Council, of Duran, of power, of the hidden currents within Lasthold.

  She remembered how confidently he spoke of risks, allies, whom one could trust and whom one could not.

  And together with those memories, a quiet, stubborn thought passed through her mind:

  “Let Kassias think I’m imagining it all… but I know I’m right. My son carries a weight and a wisdom no young man should bear.”

  She had seen it in his gaze. In the pauses before his answers. In the way he sometimes looked out the window, as though calculating something beyond anyone else’s reach.

  “And he’s strong enough not to lay that burden on us.”

  At that thought, pain and pride flared in her chest at once.

  “If he ever decides to tell us what happened to him—I will listen,” she resolved calmly. “And if not… then I must respect his choice.”

  From the kitchen came the sound of running water and Girren’s quiet laughter, to which Kael replied something under his breath.

  A moment later Kael’s voice called out from the kitchen, “The water’s almost ready! We can brew the tea!”

  Mira smiled softly, as if that voice finally brushed away her heavy thoughts.

  “Kris, come help,” she said, rising to her feet.

  At that moment Kael himself came out of the kitchen, passing his mother and sister and calmly approaching the table.

  He began carefully arranging the cups and plates, setting them down with habitual precision. For a brief moment the room fell quiet—they were alone, he and Violet.

  She lifted her gaze to him. For several seconds she remained silent, as though gathering her courage.

  “Kael… thank you for—”

  But Kael gently raised his palm, interrupting her with a faint smile.

  “Master Violet, I already told you that you don’t need to thank me. It’s in my interest that the mages of Lasthold grow stronger. Especially those who truly deserve it.”

  He set a cup before her, as though they were discussing something entirely ordinary.

  Violet wanted to object, but instead took a deep breath and suddenly muttered with feigned irritation:

  “You know… lately I’ve found myself getting more and more irritated whenever I think of you.”

  Kael raised a brow.

  “How so?” he asked calmly, adjusting the cutlery.

  Violet narrowed her eyes and looked at him without a smile.

  “Because I’ve begun to realize that from our very first meeting, you were leading me by the nose,” she said reproachfully. “Playing with me as if I were a foolish child.”

  For a moment, silence hung between them.

  Then Kael laughed lightly, as though he genuinely had no idea what she meant.

  “I would never dare deceive you,” he said with an innocent expression. “Elders must be respected.”

  Violet’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she thought, “Elders must be respected? But am I truly older than you, Kael?”

  But at that moment she seemed to remember something. Her gaze turned serious.

  “Right. Have you heard about Zeiran’s sentence?” she asked, lowering her voice. “I truly believed Duran would push for his execution.”

  Kael shrugged, as though the matter had been predictable.

  “It was naive to believe that,” he replied calmly. “For now, a Jade Mage is too important for Lasthold. In the event of a large-scale spiritual beast incursion, he may be needed. And Jade Mages are still rare in Lasthold.”

  Violet nodded in understanding. She knew that herself, yet still said aloud:

  “But to simply let him live—even if it’s in a prison cell…”

  Her voice wavered faintly with inner distaste.

  At that moment, however, a cold, almost predatory smile appeared on Kael’s face.

  He looked her straight in the eyes and said quietly:

  “Let him live? I’m not that merciful.”

  A chilling, dangerous glint flashed in his gaze.

  “As soon as the Black Rat reaches the Jade Mage stage,” he continued in the same calm tone, “she and I will pay Zeiran a quiet visit.”

  At such bluntness, Violet involuntarily tensed. Her fingers tightened slightly around the rim of her cup.

  “Do you really intend to kill—” she began, but did not finish.

  Kael tilted his head slightly and, in a sly, almost mocking tone, said:

  “Master Violet, surely you don’t mean that. The honorable Elder Zeiran simply won’t endure the shame and will choose to take his own life.”

  He paused briefly, then added in the same even voice, “It will be an amusing coincidence when he dies of blood loss.”

  A chill ran through Violet’s heart. She looked at him for several seconds, trying to understand whether he was joking.

  “What’s amusing about that?” she asked quietly, almost bewildered.

  Kael did not look away, and answered coldly:

  “What’s amusing is that not long ago Zeiran bled me. And I promised I’d repay him in kind.”

  He straightened his back, as if drawing a line beneath it all, and added, “And I try to keep my promises.”

  For a moment, a tense silence settled between them.

  But then Kael suddenly flinched and quickly shook his head. He gave a slight smile, as though realizing how unhinged he must have sounded.

  “My apologies. I suppose I frightened you.”

  He turned his gaze toward the window, where soft winter light was falling.

  “It’s just that whenever I think about that old bastard… I lose my composure. I become a little mad.”

  Violet let out a heavy sigh. In her eyes there was not condemnation, but understanding.

  “That’s understandable,” she said quietly.

  She looked at him for a few seconds, then deliberately shifted her tone and offered a gentle smile.

  “Let’s talk about something pleasant instead. How is your training going?”

  Kael changed the subject so quickly it was as if he hadn’t been speaking of dark things only moments before.

  He smiled easily, leaning back in his chair.

  “The Forsaken Brotherhood is preparing to supply its enhanced elixirs to the markets,” he said, almost with enthusiasm now. “And now I can get as much as I want.”

  He jokingly puffed out his chest, feigning pride.

  “So I’m planning to throw myself into training.”

  Then he winked at Violet and added with a mischievous grin:

  “I need to catch up to you, so you can’t threaten me anymore.”

  Violet couldn’t help but snort.

  “I threatened you?”

  “Of course,” Kael replied innocently. “Any one of my jokes might be my last. You can be quite hot-tempered.”

  At that moment, the others finally came out of the kitchen. Mira carried two clay teapots, thin wisps of steam rising from them, Girren carefully held a tray of cookies, and Kris carried another small teapot and saucers.

  Seeing that the cake was still whole, Kris stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes.

  “Hey, brother!” she called out. “What have you been doing here? Why haven’t you cut the cake yet?”

  Kael immediately spread his hands theatrically.

  “Master Violet stole all my attention. Blame her.”

  “Oh, really?” Kris narrowed her eyes at Violet this time, but couldn’t hold back and burst into laughter.

  Without further excuses, Kael picked up a knife and began carefully slicing the cake into even pieces. The lavender aroma gently spread through the room, mingling with the scent of freshly brewed tea.

  Meanwhile, the sun had risen higher, and its light poured over the table with soft warmth. The small restaurant felt warm and homey—as if the world beyond its walls, with all its intrigues, trials, and Jade Mage breakthroughs, seemed to exist somewhere far away.

  ? ? ?

  At that very moment, Lasthold was slowly recovering, adjusting to its new leadership and the harsh purges of corrupt elders. Meanwhile, Kael was preparing to train with his new spirit, already mapping out his next moves. Far to the west, something else was unfolding.

  There, where snowy peaks vanished into the clouds and the depths of the gorges were swallowed by darkness, a column of two dozen mages was making its way through the mountain passes.

  All of them wore red robes and heavy crimson armor adorned with faint symbols resembling coiling serpents. Their movements were precise and coordinated. They marched in silence, conserving their strength, as if long accustomed to harsh conditions.

  At the head of the column walked a bald, broad-shouldered man. A vivid tattoo marked his face—a serpent’s head stretching from temple to chin. It seemed as though the snake bared its fangs whenever he clenched his jaw.

  Beside him, though slightly behind, walked an old man in a scarlet robe. His steps were unhurried but steady. His red eyes, their vertical reptilian pupils sweeping calmly across the horizon, seemed as if he saw far more than any ordinary person could.

  The bald man halted on a rocky outcrop, surveying the narrow mountain pass ahead.

  “It seems we chose the correct trail this time, Elder Cornelius,” he said without turning.

  The old man gave a slight nod.

  “It seems we will make better time than expected,” he replied in a low, dry voice. “The ancient maps proved more accurate than I anticipated.”

  The wind caught the hem of his robe, but he did not so much as flinch.

  The bald man allowed himself a brief smirk.

  “By our calculations, we have nearly crossed the Central Dragon Mountains. A few more weeks—and we will reach the eastern part of the continent.”

  At those words, the old man’s eyes gleamed, and he lifted his chin proudly.

  “These mountains have not been crossed in several hundred years. That alone is an achievement.”

  Then, narrowing his eyes slightly, he added—and a strange tone crept into his voice:

  “And if we discover human mages there as well… His Highness will be exceedingly pleased.”

  At that moment, the old man did not yet realize how close he was to seeing his fantasies made real.

  Their column pressed steadily eastward—straight toward Lasthold, which continued to live its life.

  In the streets, people discussed the Council’s reforms. In workshops, alchemists argued about new elixir supplies. Within the Forsaken Brotherhood, plans were being laid to expand influence. Young mages trained, dreaming of breakthroughs. Elders tried to restore their shaken authority.

  None of them suspected that beyond the Central Dragon Mountains, another civilization of mages had been thriving all this time.

  But the reality was different.

  Two worlds, unaware of one another, were moving toward collision.

  One—cautiously reforming itself from within.

  The other—expanding its borders and influence under a single banner and a single creed.

  Their meeting would become either a blessing or a catastrophe.

  But one thing was clear—the mountains were no longer a barrier.

  The clash of two civilizations was already inevitable.

  ? Author’s Note ?

  Quick note: if you enjoyed Volume 1 of ITG, a rating or short review would mean a lot. Thank you for reading!

  P.S. Kael would also appreciate ratings.