***
Dison wasn’t wrong—they didn’t have to wait long.
Dark clouds swallowed the horizon. Bright flashes of lightning flickered in the sky, but it was eerily quiet, as if all sound had been stripped from the city. An unsettling stillness... Gray sheets of rain fell just as silently. It felt as though the Southern Tower had been enveloped in a cocoon of darkness and hush.
The thud of a body hitting the stone floor made the two men by the window jump.
The elf recovered first.
“Oh, yes, Radis always did love a dramatic entrance,” he said, rushing over to Krezin, turning him over, and recoiling in shock. “Vivi, are you seeing this too?”
His Majesty had far weaker nerves than the elven physician. He stumbled back, tripped over something unexpected in the otherwise empty tower, lost his balance, and smacked his head against the windowsill, temporarily checking out of reality.
Truth be told, few could accuse the Emperor of weakness without lying through their teeth. What had appeared in the tower resembled Advisor Krezin only in size and familiar clothing. Mostly, “it” looked like a Christmas tree from the palace gardens. A very cheerful Christmas tree...
The black hair that reached down to Krezin’s waist—his greatest pride—looked like a bundle of freshly mowed grass, complete with wildflowers, bugs, and other field oddities. Thorny branches poked through his blue cloak with silver embroidery in several places, and where the fabric held, pine needles bristled out like a green hedgehog. Tiny roots sprouted through his white gloves, and something seemed to be wriggling inside his boots. And his face... His face was covered in tiny scale-like petals, and it was trying to speak.
Dison leaned over his friend, assessing his condition. The physician’s sharp gaze quickly noted that the skin visible beneath the petals was normal, human... though tinged with a greenish hue. The elf reached out to test this theory but barely managed to yank his hand back as the branches lunged toward him.
“Don’t touch,” Krezin groaned softly. “Better not mess with me... It’s my own fault... I accidentally got caught in some kind of garden spell... The Well is over there, under the Emperor... One wish.”
“Krezin, is there anything we can do?” Maldrab the Fourth, now recovered, was determined to take an active role in the unfolding events.
The advisor seemed not to hear him.
“One wish and three conditions... You’ve got to state the conditions before it fully comes true. You know, materialization or whatever...”
At that moment, the Emperor was least interested in dealing with the empire’s problems.
“Krezin, will this—” he gestured toward the artifact, “—help you?”
“He warned me you’d ask that. And I doubted him... Forgive me, Your Majesty. The Well is powerful, but the wish has to be precise. And I have no idea what’s happening to me,” the advisor’s voice now sounded stronger, more confident. “Radis wasn’t in a hurry to save a thief, and I get why...”
“How about wishing for general healing?” The elf stepped closer.
“And who knows what ‘healing’ means for me now?” A brief conversation with the First Mage had stripped Krezin of any optimism. “What if I end up rooted to the ground, blooming with roses? No, we need to help the country first. And then... Radis mentioned a second wish might be possible, though it’d only partially come true. If it comes true at all. He said a lot of things...”
The Emperor tried to steer the conversation back on track.
“Krezin, can you elaborate? About the Well?”
“Vivi, listen up!” the elf snapped. “He’s made it clear: make a wish, specify three conditions before the spell fully takes effect, and get to a safe distance to see what happens.”
“That’s not all, actually.” Krezin hesitated. “Anyway... Radis hinted... No, forget it! I don’t get how it’ll help me... Doesn’t matter!”
“And why did he let you go?” Dison suddenly asked. “With stolen goods, no less?”
“How should I know?” If not for his bizarre appearance, Krezin’s embarrassment would’ve been more obvious. “Maybe he’s got his own plans. Your Majesty, will you give it a shot? The rain might cover up... ahem, any potential side effects.”
“Hmm...” Maldrab mused thoughtfully. “And what should I wish for?”
Dison snorted.
“Vivi, have you already forgotten the empire’s problems?”
His Majesty grimaced. Why did the elf always make him feel like a twelve-year-old troublemaker who hadn’t done his homework? And not just him! The ministers had once even formed a delegation demanding the court physician be expelled from the country, claiming he “dishonored the crown” and “humiliated the court in the eyes of neighbors.” Back then, the Emperor had “expelled” them from their posts instead, because there were plenty of bureaucrats, but someone who’d mentored his great-grandfather, grandfather, and father was one of a kind. Let him act however he pleased—any offended party would just think, “Non-human... They’re all like that!” At least Krezin had enough politeness for the both of them.
“No need, Dison,” Krezin interrupted Maldrab’s thoughts. “Radis said the wish needs to be specific. Like relocating someone... Your Majesty, what do you think would save Velli?”
The Emperor fell into deep thought. The vast empire was plagued by feuds among landowners, frequent raids by nomadic tribes from the west, and Klus had lured away nearly all the mages. But none of that was the primary concern for the Vellian ruler and his closest advisors at the moment.
Garton, their southern neighbor and eternal rival, had once again bared its claws. The Vellian Empire, often simply called Velli, had little to counter the formidable cavalry and well-trained infantry of its adversary. Garton wasn’t called the land of born warriors for nothing.
However, the neighbor wanted to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Graight, Garton’s ruler, had proposed an alliance to Maldrab, sealed by the marriage of Vellian Princess Margalinaya to Gartonian Prince Gedaniot. Their heir would eventually rule over the united realms, but until then, Velli would retain its independence.
The Emperor had agreed, because the alternative was Garton’s armies marching through imperial lands without delay. This way... his own grandson would succeed him on the throne, the bloodline would continue, and no blood would soak the fertile soil. Besides, it was a more dignified option than silently awaiting the noose.
Incidentally, the alliance would also allow for significant expansion of borders toward the Strange Forest. Lan, the legendary ruler of the non-humans, hadn’t appeared in his realm for over half a century. Even his subjects were growing restless! New contenders vied for the throne, governance faltered, and Starilis became a potential prize—not an easy one, but an incredibly tempting one. Countless artifacts, unimaginable treasures, and secret knowledge drew attention like a magnet!
The only snag: the Temple Lands stood in the way—a neutral part of the continent. They had been established to prevent war between races, with ancient temples of unknown origin rebuilt for the purpose. New gods settled in the sanctuaries, safeguarding the borders’ sanctity. But if one could secure the support of the divine...
Garton demanded that during the Season of Pilgrimage, the princess and prince together walk the Path of All Sanctuaries: visiting the Twelve Temples and participating in the necessary rituals to receive the gods’ blessings. After that, an unprecedented wedding and the signing of the alliance treaty were expected.
Expected...
Plans fell apart, as they always do, suddenly, irreparably, and in the most unexpected way. When Maldrab informed his daughter of the impending marriage, he hadn’t anticipated overwhelming joy, but the princess didn’t cry, throw a tantrum, or even cause a scene—though such outbursts weren’t uncommon for her. She simply looked at her father sadly and said:
“Dad, you’re going to be a grandfather soon. Very soon.”
“W-when?!”
“Well... it won’t be long now.”
To say the Emperor was stunned would be an understatement. Truthfully, Margalinaya had never been particularly slender, and lately, she’d taken a liking to Klusian fashion, skillfully blending the loose, flowing styles of Klus with the deep necklines popular in Velli, but...
This couldn’t be happening!
Yet the perpetually busy ruler—whether hunting, attending balls, or occasionally dealing with state affairs—hadn’t paid much attention to his daughter’s figure, and servants’ gossip often went over his head. Besides, restraint wasn’t exactly Margalinaya’s strong suit; usually, her secrets were known to everyone around her. So how had she managed to keep such significant news under wraps? More precisely, how had she hidden her pregnancy?!
“Magic must be involved,” the Emperor realized.
His daughter lacked any magical gift, but she eagerly used enchanted trinkets like ever-writing quills and never-wilting flowers. Malicious tongues claimed that Margalinaya’s arsenal even included love potions and poisons! If she wanted, the princess could quash rumors before they gained traction.