Justin opened his eyes.

The throne room materialized around him—shattered windows, cracked columns, scattered ash where Blackwood had fallen. Atlas stood beside him, optical sensors swiveling with concern. Beyond, his companions waited, faces tight with worry.

As he suspected, no time had passed at all.

"Well?" Eldrin asked, his voice careful. "Did it work?"

Justin nodded. "It worked."

His gaze drifted to Valdrik, who watched with those calculating eyes of his from a distance.

Justin's first instinct was to keep the new class secret, to hide what he'd become until he understood it better.

Then he remembered his choice. Living Legend demanded visibility. It demanded witnesses. It demanded that his deeds be known and his name spoken.

He'd just helped banish a Level 50 Lich Emperor back to the Nether Realm. He'd absorbed a second Prismatic Core in front of multiple witnesses.

There was no going back to being nobody.

"I have a unique class now," Justin announced, his voice carrying through the throne room. "It's called Living Legend."

Every head turned. Theric's eyebrows rose with interest. Alistair's expression shifted to concern. Myrelle's blue eyes widened. Lila gripped her knives tighter.

Irina's silvery gaze met his, and she nodded once—as if she'd seen this future and was simply watching it unfold.

Even Valdrik went still, his casual mask slipping for just a moment.

Justin continued. "Every heroic act that's witnessed and retold might grant me a Legendary Title, depending on how far it spreads. Each title gives me unique powers tied to the legend itself: The Highcliff Catacombs, The Vault of the Sapphire Star, The Pyrosphinx." He paused. "And others, in the future."

Silence stretched for three heartbeats.

Then Alistair stepped forward, jaw tight. "Justin, that's extraordinary, but right now the Queen—"

"I need help!" Elena's voice cut through. She knelt beside the throne, emerald light pulsing from her staff. "My magic is strong, but the shadow has its hooks in her core."

Valdrik moved forward, his expression carefully arranged into something approaching remorse. "This is... unfortunate. Truly." His tone was smooth, practiced. "My goal was only to claim the Prismatic Core from the Vault. The Queen's life was never meant to be in danger." His gaze shifted to Justin, and something cold flickered behind his eyes. "But as always, Justin, you have a remarkable talent for derailing plans you don't fully understand—consequences you never consider. Once Blackwood and I had the core, we were going to snap her out of it. She wouldn't have remembered a thing."

Justin didn't believe that for a second. "Well, the Prismatic Core is mine now. And regardless of your intentions, you are a criminal and a traitor. Multiple witnesses can attest to that, and the Queen herself will be apprised of it when she wakes."

The threat hung in the air between them.

Valdrik studied him for a long moment, then smiled—thin and dangerous. "After everything that just happened, the last thing I want is to fight you, Justin. But there are still forces in play beyond your understanding." He tilted his head. "But already, it's too late to stop meddling in matters that don't concern you."

"The Queen!" Elena's voice cracked with desperation. "Please—someone—"

Eldrin was already moving, reaching into his traveling satchel. His fingers found what they sought, and he produced a crystal vial no larger than his thumb. Within the glass swirled liquid of resplendent emerald green, shot through with dancing aurorae that seemed to move with a life of their own.

Justin's breath caught. "That's the sap from Krythalis, isn't it?"

Eldrin nodded. "Ryak said its healing properties were beyond anything in the mortal realm." He handed the vial to Elena. "I've carried it since we left Land's End, waiting for the moment it was truly needed."

Elena took the vial, holding it up to the broken light filtering through the shattered windows. The liquid seemed to glow brighter.

"It's all we have," she said quietly.

She uncorked the vial with infinite care. The scent that emerged was indescribable—like spring rain and ancient forests, the freshness of the northern wilds, like hope made tangible. Even from several feet away, Justin felt his shoulder wound ease, the ache in his bones diminish.

Elena tilted the Queen's head back gently, cradling it with one hand while bringing the vial to Her Majesty's pale lips with the other.

Three drops fell—no more.

The liquid touched the Queen's lips and seemed to sink into her skin like water into parched earth.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Justin held his breath. Beside him, Lila's hand found his arm, squeezing tight. Alistair's war hammer hung forgotten at his side. Even Valdrik leaned forward, curiosity overriding calculation.

Then the Queen gasped—a sharp, desperate sound like someone breaking the surface after nearly drowning.

Her eyes snapped open, her dark green eyes suddenly, devastatingly aware. They darted wildly at first, unfocused, still caught between nightmare and waking. Then they settled, sharpened, and found Elena's face.

"Elena?" The Queen's voice was hoarse, confused. "What... where..." Her gaze swept the ruined throne room, taking in the destruction, the assembled strangers, the broken windows. "What on Eyrth has happened?"

Justin processed the Queen's reaction. She knew Elena—recognized her immediately, even through the haze. The implications of that relationship would have to wait.

Elena's face was filled with relief. "Your Majesty. Welcome back."

The Queen tried to sit up straighter, wincing as her body protested. Her gaze swept across the assembled group—taking in each face with the sharp attention of someone trained to assess threats and allies in an instant. Her eyes lingered on the ash pile where Blackwood had fallen, then moved to the scorch marks on the floor, then the shattered columns.

"Where is Lord Blackwood?"

Alistair stepped forward, placing his fist over his heart in salute. "A traitor, Your Majesty. I am Alistair of Drakendale, Paladin of Mont Elea. Lord Blackwood kept his true class hidden—he was a Blood Wizard who conspired against the Crown. As for the destruction, they summoned a Lich, which we have dispatched back to the Nether."

The Queen's face paled, one hand rising to her throat as if checking for a wound. "A Blood Wizard? And a Lich? In my own court?" Her fingers trembled. "How long was I...?"

"Long enough," Alistair said grimly. "He used your blood magic to create a ritual; we're not sure of the mechanics. We stopped it, but only just."

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"You said 'they,'" the Queen said. "Who else was part of this conspiracy?"

Justin's eyes swept the throne room, searching for Valdrik, along with everyone else.

But Valdrik wasn't there.

Alistair's reaction was instant, his war hammer rising. "Bar the doors! Valdrik has gone invisible—no one leaves!"

"Count Valdrik?" The Queen's confusion deepened. "What does Dragomir have to do with this?"

"Your Majesty, he orchestrated the conspiracy with Blackwood," Alistair said, his words tumbling out faster now. "A necromancer the Templars have been hunting for months—"

The throne room doors exploded outward with a blast of force that sent splinters flying.

Justin caught a glimpse of it—a shadow, darker than it should be, flowing like liquid smoke through the doorway and into the corridor beyond. Then it was gone, moving with inhuman speed.

In the shadow's wake, a contingent of Queensguard poured through the shattered entrance, their crimson armor gleaming, pikes drawn. At their head strode a grizzled captain with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

"Stand down!" the captain's voice boomed through the chamber. "In the name of Queen Eleanor, you are all under arr—"

"Belay that order, Captain Garland." The Queen's voice cut through like a blade, stronger now, commanding. She gripped the armrests of her throne and pulled herself fully upright despite the visible effort it cost her. "On the contrary—give these people full access to the palace grounds. They are not to be impeded or questioned. Do you understand?"

Captain Garland's weathered face showed confusion, but his training held. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Count Valdrik must be found," the Queen continued, each word precise and cold. "He is a traitor and a Necromancer. Find him. Bring him to me in enchanted chains—assume he will resist with lethal force. Alert every guard. Seal the gates. No one leaves the palace grounds without my direct authorization."

"At once, Your Majesty!" Captain Garland spun on his heel, already barking orders to his men. "You heard the Queen! Lock down the palace! Find Count Valdrik! Move!"

Half the guards scattered immediately. The others formed a protective cordon around the throne, their eyes wary but obedient.

Elena looked torn, her gaze moving between the Queen and the corridor where Valdrik had vanished. "Irina," she said urgently. "Go with them. I'll stay with Her Majesty—she can't be left alone, not yet. The shadow's hooks went deep."

Irina nodded, her silvery eyes already distant, seeing futures that hadn't yet unfolded. "I'll do what I can."

"I'll remain as well," Theric said, positioning himself between the Queen and the doorway. "If Valdrik doubles back, he'll find more than he bargained for."

The Queen met his eyes and nodded gratefully, recognition flickering across her face. "Theric Wren. I should have known you'd be involved somehow."

Theric gave the monarch a roguish wink. "What can I say, Your Majesty? I have a weakness for damsels in distress, even of the crowned variety."

Despite everything, the Queen's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

While all this was going on, Justin was already moving toward the corridor. Atlas chirped and scuttled after him.

"You won't catch him," Irina said, her voice placid despite the urgency. Her eyes had that unfocused quality again. "I've seen the paths. He's already gone."

"We still have to try," Justin shot back.

He didn't wait for agreement. His boots pounded against the marble. Behind him came multiple sets of footsteps.

Justin burst into the outer chamber and skidded to a halt.

Chaos reigned.

Guards swarmed in every direction, many turning toward Justin's group with weapons half-raised—clearly not yet having received the Queen's orders. A noblewoman in a torn gown sobbed into her hands. A young page cowered beneath an overturned table. Servants pressed against walls, trying to make themselves invisible.

And above it all, shouts rang out:

"Dragon!"

"Not a dragon—a drake! It's on the palace grounds!"

Justin didn't slow. He pushed through the confusion, shouldering past a stunned guard and vaulting over an overturned chair. Atlas chittered urgently beside him, sensors locked on the palace entrance ahead. People rushed out of the way, more to avoid getting bowled over by Atlas than Justin.

When Justin burst through the front doors and into the late afternoon light, his heart sank.

There—in the center of the front lawn, massive and terrible—crouched Vorthyrn. The undead drake's scales were mottled and gray, a far cry from its previous violet-blue. Open wounds marred its body, bound only by swirling, dark necrotic energy. The smell hit Justin next, like an open sepulcher. Its eyes shone with icy light as it watched the fleeing courtiers with predatory focus.

And floating toward the drake's back, held aloft by a vibrant, moving platform, was Valdrik.

The Lexicant's robes billowed while his staff pulsed with dark energy. He was already settling into position between Vorthyrn's massive shoulder blades, hands working through practiced gestures that would secure him for flight.

People screamed. Nobles fled in every direction. Guards tried to form up but clearly had no idea how to engage a creature of this size without killing the very citizens they were sworn to protect.

Justin didn't hesitate. He vaulted onto Atlas's back.

"Atlas, Drill Charge and launch!"

The construct obeyed immediately, executing Drill Charge. The spider leaped down the palace steps—one, two, three massive bounds—drills extending and whirring with mechanical fury.

Justin crouched low against Atlas's carapace, his mind racing through options. No cooldowns left. No Sapphire Aegis. No Upper Hand.

Just him, his cane, and one chance to stop Valdrik before the drake took flight.

Then he felt it—the familiar pulse of potential crystallizing in his awareness.

[1 Advantage gained.]

Atlas reached the bottom step and launched. Justin's stomach lurched as they soared through the air, closing the distance to the drake in a perfect arc. Wind whipped past his face as time itself seemed to slow.

Valdrik's head snapped around, eyes widening in genuine surprise. Then his expression hardened into a scowl. His staff came up, already moving through an incantation, syllables of Vranthillis sharp and violent.

The air around Valdrik's staff ignited.

A spray of molten rock and fire erupted like dragon's breath—dozens of burning projectiles scattering in Justin's direction like shotgun pellets from hell.

Justin activated Gentleman's Sidestep.

Time seemed to slow further. His body moved on pure instinct, twisting impossibly mid-air, legs tucking, torso pivoting. The burning projectiles streaked past—one inch from his shoulder, two inches from his face, close enough to feel the heat sear the air.

[Elegance in Motion is active.]

[1 Advantage gained.]

Atlas wasn't so lucky. Three projectiles struck the construct's carapace with metallic clangs. The spider's trajectory wobbled but held, still carrying Justin forward on pure momentum.

Valdrik was already casting again—no pause, no hesitation. His staff swept in a wide arc, gathering pure force into a sphere of compressed air. The spell built quickly, unstable, designed for area of effect rather than precision.

A concussive blast. Wide enough that dodging would be impossible.

Justin saw the calculation in Valdrik's eyes. The Lexicant had learned. No more precise attacks Justin could sidestep. Just overwhelming force that couldn't be avoided.

The sphere of compressed air launched like a cannon shot.

Justin made a split-second decision. He needed three Advantages to reset his cooldowns. Burning one trying to dodge something impossible would leave him short. But if he took the hit and played it right...

Advantages were rewarded for style.

He spread his arms wide, accepting the blast with theatrical bravado.

The concussive wave hit like a freight train. The impact drove the air from his lungs, sent pain lancing through his ribs, and tore at his coat. Shrapnel from the spell left a dozen shallow cuts across his arms and face. His Ring of Regeneration pulsed immediately, warmth spreading through the wounds, but even its healing couldn't undo all the damage at once.

It slowed his advance; he was no longer going to land perfectly on the drake, but rather its flank.

[1 Advantage gained.]

Perfect. Three Advantages. Justin burned all three immediately, resetting every cooldown.

And in that same moment, Atlas's trajectory brought them crashing into Vorthyrn's scaled flank. Justin released the construct and grabbed onto the drake's riding harness, using his momentum to swing himself up and over. His boots found purchase on the drake's back, a few steps behind where Valdrik sat.

Valdrik turned in his saddle, his expression shifting from annoyance to something darker. His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're persistent, Mr. Talemaker. I'll give you that."

The drake's wings beat once, twice, gaining altitude. The palace fell away below them.

"I'm not running anymore," Justin said, activating Poison Barb. "Come at me, bro."

"With pleasure."

The Lexicant's body became ensconced in dark, violet light—

Then, without warning, the world flipped as Vorthyrn executed a barrel roll.

The spell had been a feint. Valdrik had never intended to attack.

And somehow, Valdrik remained firmly rooted, surrounded by magical vines that bound him to the drake.

Justin's hands scrabbled for purchase—found nothing—his grip was ripped away by sheer momentum.

Justin was falling, at least a hundred feet to the street just outside the palace below. He faced the ground, seconds away from certain death—if he didn't have Sapphire Aegis available.

He waited until the last possible moment to activate the enchantment. The impact was instantly absorbed, and Justin bounced a few times before coming to a rest.

Justin lay there for a few seconds, catching his breath and processing what had just happened.

He'd attacked a Level 37 Lexicant Necromancer on the back of an undead drake.

And for the first time, Valdrik had run from him.

Shouts echoed from nearby. "Someone fell from the drake!"

"There he is!"

Footsteps approached—guards, citizens, he couldn't tell.

Justin sat up slowly, adjusting his hat with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I'm fine," he said to no one in particular.

Once again checking the sky, Vorthyrn let out a rattling scream as it flew north over rooftops, gaining altitude. Valdrik was as good as gone, and despite Justin's efforts, Irina had been right.

Justin bounded back in the direction of the palace, where the others were presumably waiting.

Even if he couldn't manage to catch Valdrik, he had the biggest loot drop and experience dump of his life to look forward to.

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