Chapter One: Reunion

On the very first day of her new job, Ganya was already late.

The good news: she was everyone’s superior.

The bad news: by a rough estimate, more than half her subordinates were not convinced by her authority.

And the one least impressed was her so-called deputy, Arlo, Vice Captain of the Thirteenth Tower Guard.

At this moment, Ganya held a letter signed by Arlo Shaya:

“Dear Miss Osini,

Due to the malfunctioning of the teleportation array, you were unable to arrive in Thousand Towers City on time. I deeply regret this unfortunate incident.

You need not worry—according to the original plan, the Thirteenth Tower Guard’s investiture ceremony was successfully held yesterday. As vice captain, I attended on your behalf and took care of all related matters.

As I write this letter, I am on my way to the Guard’s first mission: retrieving a drift item from another world. I have just learned that the teleportation array at Black Reef has finally resumed operation. Therefore, this letter should reach you as soon as you return to your residence in Thousand Towers City.

There is no array near the mission site. Even if you trouble yourself to come from the city, the matter is likely to be resolved before your arrival. Besides, the journey must have been exhausting—please rest well and do not force yourself to rush. I will report the details of the recovery to you another day.

I look forward to meeting you, and wish us a pleasant cooperation.

Your loyal deputy,
Arlo S.”

Ganya stared at the signature, inhaling and exhaling in cycles, struggling to calm herself. Arlo’s handwriting was elegant, but the vivid green ink made every stroke look like a provocation, clawing at her nerves.

“‘Your loyal deputy,’” she intoned with exaggerated formality, then sneered. “Ha! Wonderful. Just perfect.”

A deep, low cry sounded at her side. Ganya turned to see her snow-white gryphawk tilt its head in puzzlement, clearly not understanding why its mistress was suddenly so agitated.

Damn Arlo! Ganya crumpled the letter into a wrinkled ball and tossed it to the gryphawk.

The eagle-headed, horse-bodied winged beast opened its enormous beak, hesitated a moment, then snatched the paper. Clearly, even a greedy gryphawk didn’t find such rubbish worthy of devouring—so she thought, until she saw the gryphawk gulp down the wad in one bite.

Not only that, the creature even let out a satisfied cry and leaned in, trying to snatch the envelope from her hand as well.

Ganya’s face darkened. Clearly, Arlo had used magic to write his letter; both paper and envelope still held traces of power. For magical creatures, anything imbued with pure magic was considered edible.

“Don’t you dare!” she snapped, teeth clenched. Under the gryphawk’s bewildered and disappointed gaze, she snapped her fingers: the envelope burst into flames and, in the blink of an eye, was reduced to black ash.

With its snack vanishing in smoke, the gryphawk—named Little Snow—beat its wings in annoyance, jostling the saddle on its back and urging Ganya to mount and set off.

She had become so absorbed in the letter that she nearly forgot why she’d come to the aviary.

As soon as the teleportation array was fixed, Ganya had returned to Thousand Towers City. The moment she set foot in the continent’s seat of power, she learned through other channels of Arlo’s insistence on holding the investiture as scheduled, and of the Guard’s first mission beginning without her.

Hearing this, she immediately brought out her gryphawk, intending to fly over and show everyone who the real captain was.

It was then that Arlo’s faerie courier arrived.

The vice captain’s literary flair was truly infuriating; even knowing the facts, Ganya found his letter enough to make her lose composure.

The Thirteenth Tower Guard was a newly established official organization, and Ganya had been personally appointed captain by the Council of the Twelve Sages. Arlo could easily have postponed the ceremony until her return, but he refused. If the event could be handled so easily, it meant the situation wasn’t urgent; yet he’d taken the team out today regardless.

Every word in Arlo’s letter reeked of false courtesy, but his decisions made his true intentions plain:

Arlo Shaya did not recognize the authority of Ganya Osini, the captain foisted upon him from above! The predecessor organization, “Silver Cloak,” had always answered to him; even now, with the Guard formally established, he still saw himself as in charge.

She’d already missed the investiture ceremony; if she also missed the first group mission, what next? Was it time for someone else to take over the Thirteenth Tower Guard?

Ganya’s lips curled. “Wishful thinking.”

Her anger reached such a pitch that she became perfectly calm. Arlo was right: the mission site was in the northern river valley; even if she set out now on gryphawk-back, she’d probably be too late.

But she had another way.

Ganya unbuckled the saddle from the gryphawk’s back, caressing the beast’s large, feathered head with a voice gentle and soft, utterly unlike her earlier outburst. “Sorry, plans have changed. We’ll go for a ride another time, all right?”

Amid the gryphawk’s disgruntled muttering, she left the aviary and entered the tall, white tower at the center of her residence.

Every renowned family in Thousand Towers City owned a tower. The Osinis, among the most ancient and respected lineages on the land, were no exception.

Ganya climbed alone. The tower had no windows, and no lamps were lit. Faint light trickled down from the distant summit, just enough to illuminate the winding white stone stairs and the procession of portraits on the walls.

The subjects of the portraits varied in age, most of them women in attire from different eras, yet all shared Ganya’s features: hair white as snow, untainted by the faintest color, and eyes of a rare, clear gold—the color of treasure, and the fabled hue of dragon’s eyes.

Every heir to the Osini family’s magical legacy bore white hair and golden eyes. One day, Ganya too would appear in a frame here, silently watching the next Osini heir pass by below.

But today, she was the one climbing the tower.

She paused before the newest and highest portrait.

Its subject was Iris Osini, the nominal current head of the family and Ganya’s mother. The painting captured her at age twenty-eight, at her own investiture; Ganya had not yet been born.

Her mother’s younger self felt almost unfamiliar. Ganya gazed into the serene, smiling eyes of the white-haired woman, studying that face as if searching for herself in a mirror.

She had inherited her mother’s thin lips and sharply defined jawline. Her nose was like an aunt’s, but her brows and eyes resembled no one. As for her father—his absence from her life was reflected in her features; she could find little trace of him there.

Soon, Ganya turned and continued upward.

“I won’t let you down,” she whispered, her words falling through the spiral staircase as her footsteps ascended.

It felt like the climb lasted ages, but outside, only moments had passed. The pride of a magical lineage infused every stone—the tower was a flawless demonstration of elegant spatial sorcery.

From the summit, the sunset cityscape spread out: domes and spires rising and falling, a magnificent forest of stone stretching toward the horizon. Yet Ganya had no time to admire the view.

She drew a yellow crystal pendulum from her sleeve, wound the silver chain twice around her palm, and poured magic into the crystal, focusing her mind on a certain destination.

The conical crystal immediately swung toward the northwest.

Ganya began to chant.

Her words were short, rhythmic, imbued with power—command and exaltation, a prayer and a spell. As each syllable left her lips, the air trembled, and even the flowing sunlight thickened and grew viscous.

Centered on the young sorceress, a transformation spread outward.

Soon, a visible iridescent aura shimmered around her.

At the same moment, silhouettes appeared atop two neighboring towers—other mages, roused by the pulse of Ganya’s magic. Seeing them, Ganya merely smiled.

The more witnesses, the better.

For three years, she’d secluded herself on an island monastery, delving into the family’s magical heritage. Not only she, but the Osini name itself had lain dormant in Thousand Towers City for years.

Her appointment to the Thirteenth Tower Guard was both her own and her family’s return to the magical capital.

Arlo Shaya had declared open war on her authority; she would answer in kind, in the most conspicuous, direct way.

Arlo was a magical prodigy in everyone’s eyes, but who was to say she was not also a prodigy?

To most mages, flying long distances on their own power was extravagantly wasteful, hardly worth the cost. Why else did they rely on mounts and teleportation arrays?

But today, Ganya was determined to be extravagant.

As her incantation reached its final verse, she rose fully from the ground.

She drifted out from the tower’s peak, ascending steadily, then hovered dramatically above even the tallest spires, wrapped in radiance like starlight, dazzling as the setting sun itself.

In that moment, countless eyes across the magical capital gazed up at the Osini heir.

Then she shot forward.

Like an arrow to its mark, like a burning star, Ganya streaked past the clustered towers, plunging headlong into the brilliant sunset at the horizon.

The gryphawk could not have made it in time, but by flying herself, she absolutely could! As for the magic expended—she was willing to waste it, and she could afford to.

*

Ganya reached the outskirts of Sweetwater Town in the river valley before the sun dipped below the horizon. She no longer needed the pendulum to guide her, unhesitatingly flying toward the densest pulse of magic.

Late summer evenings were perfect for lingering outdoors, yet the medium-sized town was eerily quiet at sundown.

No voices could be heard, not even the usual chorus of livestock. Stranger still, many houses still glowed with warm light from their windows.

It was as if, one moment, the town had bustled with life; the next, every soul had vanished.

A chill ran through Ganya. She dropped lower, cloaking herself in shadow. Slowing, she carefully read the magical traces around her.

The strongest presence was a sleep spell, blanketing the entire town. The magic itself was not powerful, nor hostile; with her amulets, she was nearly unaffected. This had to be the work of the Thirteenth Tower Guard—meant to prevent panic among ordinary townsfolk.

She recalled that the team roster had indeed mentioned an expert in illusions and environmental magic.

Such detailed analysis made it seem she was sneaking up on her own subordinates. The thought made her chafe, yet her expression grew grim. She might well need to be ready for a fight.

After all, most of the Guard’s members had been recruited by Arlo; none would welcome her arrival.

Besides the sleep spell, she detected traces of summoning magic, and a strong protective spell enveloping the town square.

The best defensive wards were almost undetectable; by the time an intruder sensed them, they had already touched the magical barrier and alerted its caster. Ganya eyed the suddenly visible, dark blue, translucent wall and gave a wry smirk.

The square, empty a moment before, now held four people converging from different directions.

“Who’s there? Show yourself at once!” one of them shouted, brandishing a staff and uttering a few Elvish words to conjure several glowing orbs, trying to reveal the intruder who had touched the barrier.

Yet they found nothing.

A soft laugh sounded.

The shadows melted away, and the white-haired mage looked down on the four from above. Her arrival was so natural it seemed she belonged there.

The last rays of sunset flared, bathing her in purple and scarlet light. Her golden eyes, impressive and dignified, shone with a fierce brilliance.

“Ganya Osini, your captain.”

As she spoke her name, the lingering warmth of the night wind swept by, and the frozen air came alive. The four members of the Thirteenth Tower Guard had no time to react before they all turned, as one, to look behind them.

From the shadow of the church steeple, a young man strolled out.

He was the only one without a robe—just a loose linen shirt, collar open, black hair with curled ends lazily falling to his nape.

Though the sun had nearly set, he still looked half asleep, heavy-lidded, as if too indolent to properly regard the commotion his arrival had caused.

Step by step, he passed through the four, moving forward.

At last, he raised his sharp green eyes, meeting Ganya’s gaze.

Her pupils flared with anger.

Arlo Shaya.