The column of raw magic ripped through the roof, a piercing white pillar stabbing into the heavens, announcing Tesia’s presence across the surrounding city. Dust and plaster rained down from the ceiling as the building groaned under the sudden, uncontrolled magical surge. Kethari, still holding Vero’s arm, blinked slowly. Her eyelids felt like lead. This was decidedly *not* conducive to a nap. “Well,” she murmured, her voice flat despite the chaos, “that’s quite inconvenient. Less subtle than I’d hoped.” She released Vero, whose eyes were fixed on the exposed princess. Tesia, now revealed in pearl-silk and a delicate circlet of moon-spun silver, shrank back, her knuckles white around the inert royal seal. “My lady, we must move!” Vero finally snapped into action, his earlier stoicism replaced by urgent concern. He scooped up his fallen blades, then gestured towards the nearest shattered wall, where the sounds of an approaching mob already began to swell. “Every guard in the district will converge here within moments.” Kethari merely sighed. “Such enthusiasm. One would think they’d never seen a princess before.” She ignored the splintered exit, instead walking towards a heavy woven hanging depicting the founding of the guild. Behind it, a cleverly concealed seam in the wall barely registered as a door. “Grandmaster Othmar, bless his eccentric soul, always preferred to keep his most interesting projects out of public view. Follow me, quickly.” She pushed the hidden door inward, revealing a narrow, descending passage carved from dark, polished stonewood. The air within was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of aged parchment and something pleasantly herbal. Vero hesitated only a moment, then, with a curt nod, swept Tesia into his arms, protecting her exposed form as he followed Kethari into the gloom. He moved with a warrior’s grace, even burdened, his gaze constantly sweeping their surroundings. The sounds of distant shouts and the frantic clatter of armored boots grew louder, swallowed by the closing stonewood door. The passage spiraled downwards, lit by soft, glowing moss that pulsed with a gentle warmth. Kethari led them deeper, her steps unhurried, as if she were simply strolling through a garden. They emerged into a vast, circular chamber, its walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with scrolls, peculiar artifacts, and humming arcane devices. This was Othmar’s private sanctum, his true workshop, far beneath the ostentatious offices above. Before Kethari could point towards a comfortable looking chaise, a familiar, sneering voice echoed from a shadowed alcove. “Running away, Kethari? You always were one for dramatic exits.” Vandir stepped out, flanked by two of his most imposing bodyguards, their enchanted cudgels at the ready. A smug smirk stretched across his face, far too wide for the situation. His fine tunic was singed, and his hair askew, but his eyes gleamed with a predatory triumph. “I knew you couldn’t simply let me go,” he purred, misinterpreting the entire situation with spectacular arrogance. “This whole charade, buying my conglomerate, the public display… it was all to get my attention, wasn’t it? To make me regret choosing another. But Tesia, poor dear, was just a contract, a temporary balm for my wounded heart. I suppose I can forgive your little tantrum, now that you’ve finally come to your senses. We can start fresh, Kethari. You have my company, and I… well, I still have my standing. And you, if you play your cards right.” Vero tensed, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his short blade. Tesia, still in his arms, whimpered softly. Kethari, however, simply tilted her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. She looked at Vandir like a particularly dull piece of furniture. “Vandir,” she said, her voice dripping with an almost theatrical ennui. “I assure you, my interest in your attention ceased roughly around the time I realized you thought ‘romantic longing’ was a valid excuse for public infidelity.” She paused, a glint entering her eye. “As for your standing…” She reached into the inner pocket of her robe, withdrawing a small, intricately carved medallion – the official seal of the Grand Guildmaster of Oravari Dream-Builders. She held it up, letting its golden light catch the gloom of the vault. “As the newly appointed Grand Guildmaster, by decree of Grandmaster Othmar himself, and as the rightful owner of the Grand Dominion Spires conglomerate, including all its subsidiaries and associated patents…” Her gaze hardened, losing its usual drowsy haze. “I hereby revoke your guild license, Vandir Elderon. Effective immediately. For gross negligence, dereliction of duty, and the endangering of Guild assets. Your kin's contracts are null, your workshops seized, your patents forfeit. You are, from this moment, no longer a master builder. You are nothing.” The air left Vandir’s lungs in a choked gasp. His smug smile withered, replaced by a horrified, slack-jawed disbelief. The color drained from his face, leaving him pale and mottled. His bodyguards, sensing the shift in power, exchanged uneasy glances, their grip on their weapons faltering. “N-no…” Vandir stammered, his voice cracking. “You can’t. My household's legacy! My reputation! I am a master builder!” Kethari yawned, a delicate hand covering her mouth. “Were. You *were* a master artisan. Now you’re just… a man with expensive tastes and no means to sustain them.” She waved a dismissive hand. “The Guild enforcement will be here shortly to escort you from the premises. Unless you’d like to be seen by the whole district as the architect who couldn’t even hold onto his own craft.” Vandir’s face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury and humiliation. He lunged forward, but his own bodyguards, recognizing the irrevocable authority of the Guildmaster’s seal, quickly restrained him. His frantic, sputtering protests were cut short as Kethari tapped a hidden rune on the wall, and a section of the stonewood floor slid open, revealing another, even darker passage. “This way,” Kethari said, turning her back on Vandir’s impotent rage. “Othmar’s true vault is deeper still.” They descended into the true vault, leaving Vandir to his shattered pride. The air grew colder, heavier, filled with the hum of raw, contained magic. This chamber was more austere, a single massive obsidian plinth dominating its center. On the plinth lay a single, rolled parchment, glowing with a soft, inner luminescence. Vero gently placed Tesia on a cushioned bench carved into the wall, his eyes scanning the chamber. He approached the plinth, his movements cautious. “My lady,” he said, his voice hushed with reverence, “this must be it. The final work.” He unrolled the parchment. It wasn't a blueprint for a building, but for a system. Intricate diagrams of the Sun-Spun Archipelago’s floating island-cities spread across the page, connected by luminous lines of power. Below them, a hidden network, previously unseen, branched out like parasitic roots. Each root terminated at a symbol: the crest of Vandir’s family, the Elderon mark. “This… this explains everything,” Vero breathed, his voice tight with controlled fury. “The Elderon clan wasn’t just profiting from corruption. They were actively siphoning the core magic, the lifeblood that keeps the islands aloft, for their own gain. Othmar must have discovered it, and that’s why he named you his successor. He left you the means to stop them.” Kethari peered over his shoulder, her brow furrowed, a rare intensity in her gaze. Tesia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The blueprint flared, and a line of text, written in Othmar’s spidery hand, became legible in the paper's deep grain. *To re-stabilize the Archipelago and prevent its collapse, a massive influx of pure, concentrated magic is required. The only power source strong enough, the blueprint stated, is the boundless, inherent wellspring of a true Dream-Architect, specifically, Kethari’s own life force.*

Banishment by Blueprint