Cecil reached out and took the leather tube. The leather felt warm and solid beneath his palm. He was about to rise and take his leave when Flint held up a hand, gesturing for him to wait. Her gaze drifted past him and settled on Gwendolyn.
"You said that symbol belonged to your mother." Flint’s voice had deepened, a careful focus glinting in her ice‑grey eyes. "If you can recognize it, you remember that era. How long have you been sealed inside this little lizard’s body?"
Gwendolyn was perched on Cecil’s lap, her tail swaying slowly. Her blue eyes locked onto Flint, as if weighing something — judging whether this woman was worth talking more to.
"I have lived far longer than you," Gwendolyn replied. "And even if I told you exactly how long, you would not believe me."
"Try me."
Gwendolyn tilted her head. After several seconds of silence, she spoke. Gone was some of her usual lazy sarcasm, replaced by a heavy undertone Cecil rarely heard, deep as water flowing beneath thick ice.
"When my mother walked this land, the Magic Council did not exist on the continent. The Church had not yet built its main cathedral. The bonds between humans and spirit‑beasts were mutual back then — not taming, but equality. Later, your kind rewrote the rules. You erased the word ’equality’ from the contracts and replaced it with ’control’. Spirit‑beasts who refused these new terms were either hunted down or sealed away. By the time I was trapped inside this body," she glanced down at her blue‑and‑white scales, "humans had only just finished drafting the very first version of the spirit‑beast contract system."
Flint’s fingers tightened around her enamel mug for a split second. She made no attempt to hide her shock, yet she did not wear the dismissive expression of someone who thought she was being lied to. She simply listened quietly, then slowly set the mug back down on the desk.
"You have been sealed for over five hundred years," Flint stated.
"Roughly."
"Five hundred years of memories — you carry all of them?"
"A dragon’s memories do not vanish because of a seal," Gwendolyn said. "They are merely buried deep. I can dig them back up whenever I wish."
Flint leaned back in her chair, folding her hands. Her eyes shifted back and forth between Gwendolyn and Cecil, several times. Silence hung in the office for five or six seconds, before she let out a faint laugh, soft as a thin crack spreading across frozen ice.
"I originally invited you here this afternoon to teach you things you did not know," Flint said. "Now it seems you hold more knowledge than I do."
Gwendolyn did not reply, but the tip of her tail twitched upward. Cecil recognised the small gesture: she was holding back a quiet sense of triumph, as if she had known this outcome all along.
Flint sat up straight, resting both hands flat on the desk. Her tone grew more formal than it had been before. "Let me be frank. I had planned to propose an even trade: you give me information, and I supply you with resources. But now I see the knowledge you hold is far more valuable than the resources I can offer. That bargain would be unfair to both of us."
She paused.
"So I would like to propose something different. A long‑term partnership. Within reasonable limits, I can provide nearly any resources at my disposal — maps, portal access, training grounds, potions, even intelligence networks. The favour I ask in return is simple. If you make any discoveries in the future, regarding ancient spirit‑beasts, soul resonance arts, or sealed ruins, share them with me. Not everything. Only whatever you are willing to give."
Cecil met her eyes. There was no evasion, no hidden calculation in her ice‑grey pupils. He had seen that same unyielding candour many times on Gwendolyn’s face — the look of someone laying all their cards on the table, leaving the final choice to him.
He tilted his shoulder, leaning his head down so Gwendolyn could draw close to his ear.
They were only inches apart, and Cecil whispered so quietly only she could hear him. "What do you think?"
Gwendolyn’s tail brushed lightly against the back of his neck, her voice equally faint for his ears alone. "Her offer of a long‑term partnership is genuine. I can read the dilation of pupils when people speak the truth, and she is not lying. Still, we cannot know the true limit of the resources she can mobilise until she acts on them. Accept for now, and take things one step at a time."
Cecil gave an almost imperceptible nod. He turned back toward Flint, his voice returning to its normal volume. "We can agree to a long‑term partnership, but we have a few conditions."
"Speak them."
"First: you will not interfere with our battle decisions. Provide us the maps and portal permissions, and we will choose our own path. Second: if any piece of information relates to my father’s disappearance or the Church’s movements, the final call on whether to reveal it belongs to me."
Flint answered without hesitation. "I accept the first condition. I have no intention of commanding you, nor of acting as your caretaker. As for the second," she paused briefly, "matters involving the Church do demand caution. I agree. If clues surface about your father, you may decide what to share, and I will wait."
She pulled a blank slip of paper from her drawer, scribbled a few lines, and slid it across the desk. It bore an address and a date. "The day after tomorrow at night. The third shopfront in the old eastern market. Someone will meet you there with your first batch of supplies: two high‑purity mana recovery potions and a complete map of the academy’s underground portal network."
Cecil picked up the note, folded it, and slipped it into his inner pocket alongside his fluorite stones and potion vials.
"We have it," he said.
Flint nodded. She said nothing more. Her gaze lingered on Gwendolyn one last time before drifting away.
"I will see you the night after tomorrow."
Cecil stood up, and Gwendolyn hopped onto his shoulder to settle there. Halfway to the door, he glanced back. Flint was leaning against her chair, hands folded on the desk, her ice‑grey eyes fixed on the burnt‑orange evening sky outside the window, still and quiet as a statue.
He pushed the door open and stepped out.
Cecil walked back down the corridor, Gwendolyn perched on his shoulder, her tail hanging loose and swaying gently in time with his steps.
When they reached the stairwell corner, Gwendolyn spoke suddenly.
"She is smarter than I expected."
"You mean because she accepted all our terms?"
"No. Because she did not press for more answers about my mother." There was a subtle shift in her tone, something Cecil could not quite name, a softness he rarely heard. "She could tell I did not wish to speak of it, and she did not push."
Cecil did not respond. He descended the stairs, crossed the main hall, and stepped out into the evening courtyard.
"The night after tomorrow," he murmured.
"Mhm."
"That seal your mother left behind — the frozen rift valley. Do you want to go inside?"
Gwendolyn did not answer right away. Her tail swept once, then twice, across the back of his neck. Then she spoke one single word.
"Yes."