The Magic Tower's garden was a perverted miracle. Here, flowers did not grow from the soil; instead, they sprouted from mana crystals, shaped meticulously to resemble pale blue glowing rose petals. The air felt heavy, as if every breath had to be paid for with submission to the magic enveloping the area.
Anne walked along the marble path, her footsteps echoing softly. In the center of a glass pavilion floating above a pool of quicksilver stood a man in heavy, ornate imperial robes. Emperor Valerion.
"You look remarkably like her," Valerion said without turning. His voice was low and commanding, yet it held a tremor that was hard to decipher. "Your mother... she had that same rigidity in her shoulders. But she never brought the stench of machine oil and cheap metal into this sacred place."
Anne stopped exactly at the edge of the pavilion. She did not bow. "My mother chose to leave this place, Your Majesty. Perhaps because she realized that the 'sanctity' you speak of is nothing but dust polished by dying magic."
Valerion turned. His face was not as old as Anne had imagined, but his eyes reflected the exhaustion of a man trying to hold back the collapse of a mountain. "How bold of you to speak of death in front of the man who holds the lives of your husband and your brother in his hands."
"Life is a fluctuating variable, Emperor," Anne countered with a thin, cold smile. "You didn't call me here to reminisce about my mother. You called me because Aethelgard's mana supply is plummeting, and you need the energy from Isfellan's steam engines to keep this city from falling into darkness."
The Emperor's face tightened slightly. It was the confirmation Anne needed. The Catalyst was right; Aethelgard's energy crisis was worse than it appeared on the surface.
"I could seize Isfellan tomorrow," Valerion threatened, stepping closer until he was only inches from Anne. "I could erase the name Vaine from history."
"You could try," Anne did not back down an inch. "But the moment your soldiers touch the gates of Isfellan, every steam engine there will self-destruct. And here, in the capital, The Catalyst will ensure that what little mana you have left evaporates into the air. You will be the emperor of silent ruins."
A stifling silence enveloped the pavilion. Valerion stared into Anne's amber eyes, searching for a flicker of fear, but he found only the reflection of absolute stubbornness.
Suddenly, a small laugh echoed from the shadows of the pillars. An old man in pure white robes—The Head of the Tower Council, Archmage Silas—stepped into the light.
"A fascinating child," Silas said, his voice sounding like the rubbing of ancient parchment. "She truly doesn't know who she is, does she, Valerion? She threatens us with steam, while in her very blood flows a frequency that could bring this tower down if only she knew how to sing."
Anne frowned. "What do you mean?"
Silas approached, his half-blind eyes staring at Anne with a terrifying hunger. "You think your mother fled to build a business? No, Anne. She fled because she was the 'Key' we needed to open the Primeval Gate. And now, she is dead... but she left behind two new keys."
Anne felt a vibration on her wrist—a secret communication device from Caine was vibrating violently. It was an emergency code.
"Anne, Rainnes has disappeared from the room. Someone in the Tower took her."
Anne's blood boiled. She glared at Silas and the Emperor with a look that could scorch marble. "If anything happens to that girl... I won't wait until tomorrow to tear this place down."
"The girl is safe, for now," Valerion said, returning to his cold composure. "She will simply be our guest until you and your brother agree to 'cooperate' in the gate-opening ritual. Welcome home, Anne Marie Vaine."