My Infinite System.

Five years after that first night on the roof, the world had learned to whisper their names.

Not in fear. Not quite. In something closer to awe, the kind that made people lower their voices without knowing why. The kind that made parents tell their children stories at bedtime—stories that grew taller with each telling, until the original truth was buried under layers of legend.

Finn had stopped correcting people. There was no point. If someone wanted to believe he’d split a mountain in half with his bare hands, let them. If someone wanted to believe he’d outrun a lightning strike, fine. The truth was stranger anyway.

He stood at the window of their quarters—larger now, a whole floor of the east tower that the Academy had grudgingly surrendered—and watched the sun rise over the capital.

"You’re brooding," Mira said from behind him.

"I’m thinking."

"Same thing."

She joined him at the window. She was taller now, her red hair longer, her freckles faded but not gone. The staff Lucian had made for her leaned against the wall, humming faintly, always humming.

"Another request came this morning," she said. "The King of Veridia wants us to investigate a dimensional rift in his northern provinces."

"How many is that this week?"

"Four. Veridia. The Free Cities. The Silver Coast. Someone calling themselves the Eternal Emperor of the Ashen Wastes."

Finn turned. "The Ashen Wastes don’t have an emperor."

"They do now. Apparently."

He rubbed his face. His jaw was rough with stubble. He’d stopped shaving regularly—another thing he’d let slip as the years piled up.

"Dorian’s handling it?"

"Dorian’s been handling it for three years. He’s good at handling." Mira paused. "He wants to come back, though."

"I know."

"He misses us."

"I know."

"He won’t say it."

"I know." Finn turned back to the window. The capital sprawled below, a patchwork of towers and slums, wealth and poverty, magic and mundane. Their city now. Their responsibility. "He’s stubborn."

"Like someone else I know."

Finn didn’t take the bait.

---

The morning training session was quiet.

No more constructs. No more drills. Those had ended years ago, when Finn and Mira had surpassed everything Lucian could throw at them. Now they trained each other. Sparred. Pushed. Corrected.

Lucian watched from a chair in the corner, a book open in his lap, his eyes following every movement. He hadn’t aged. He never aged. The same face, the same clothes, the same tired calm.

"You’re slowing down," he said.

Finn stopped mid-strike. "I’m not slowing down."

"Your left hook is lazy."

"I’ve been fighting for an hour."

"The enemy won’t care."

Finn lowered his fists. Mira lowered her staff. They looked at each other, then at Lucian.

"What’s wrong?" Mira asked.

Lucian closed his book. "Nothing’s wrong. I’m just reminding you that you’re not done. You’ll never be done. That’s the point."

"You’re in a mood."

"I’m always in a mood."

He stood up, walked to the center of the courtyard, looked at the sky.

"The dimensional rift in Veridia," he said. "You’re going to take it."

"We haven’t agreed to—"

"You’re going to take it. Because it might be connected to Evelyn. To Caleb. To everyone who’s disappeared."

Finn’s chest tightened. It had been years since Lucian mentioned Evelyn. Years since the name had passed his lips.

"You found something?" Mira asked.

"I found a pattern. All the disappearances—all the erasures—they cluster around unstable dimensional boundaries. Thin places. Places where reality is weak." Lucian turned to face them. "Veridia’s rift is the largest in recorded history. If there are answers, they’re there."

Finn nodded. "We’ll go."

"Take Dorian."

"He’s not here."

"Fetch him."

---

Dorian arrived the next day.

He looked different. Older. Sharper. The softness of youth had been replaced by the hard edges of responsibility. He’d been running his family’s affairs for two years now, ever since his father’s illness had forced him to step up.

"You look terrible," Finn said.

"You look the same." Dorian clasped his arm. "Some of us age, Finn. Some of us are blessed with... whatever you have."

"Supplements."

"That’s not supplements."

"It’s mostly supplements."

Dorian laughed. It was a tired sound, but genuine. "I’ve missed this."

"Missed what?"

"Lying."

They walked to the courtyard together. Mira was already there, her staff in hand, her red hair pulled back. She nodded at Dorian. He nodded back. No hugs. No tears. That wasn’t their way.

"Veridia," Dorian said. "I’ve read the reports. The rift is unstable. The local mages can’t contain it."

"Then we contain it," Mira said.

"And if we can’t?"

"Then we find out what’s on the other side."

Dorian looked at Finn. Finn shrugged.

"That’s the plan," Finn said.

"That’s not a plan."

"It’s the beginning of one."

---

They left at dawn.

No fanfare. No crowds. The Academy had learned, over the years, that their departures were best left unremarked. Too many people asking questions. Too many requests for autographs, for blessings, for miracles.

Lucian stood at the gate, hands in his pockets.

"Come back," he said.

"We always do," Finn replied.

"One day you won’t."

"Then come find us."

Lucian didn’t answer. He just watched as they walked through the gate, three figures in traveling clothes, carrying nothing but their staffs and their reputations.

The road to Veridia was long. They didn’t need roads anymore—not really. Finn could cross the continent in minutes. Mira could track any destination by following the threads of connection. Dorian could... well, Dorian could keep up, mostly, with the enchanted boots Lucian had made him.

But they walked. Because walking gave them time to talk. To remember. To be human.

"What do you think is on the other side?" Mira asked.

"Nothing good," Dorian said.

"That’s pessimistic."

"That’s experience."

Finn walked between them, listening to the rhythm of their footsteps. Left, right, left, right. The heartbeat of their strange family.

"Evelyn," he said. "That’s what’s on the other side. Or a clue to find her."

Mira glanced at him. "You really believe that?"

"I believe Lucian believes it. That’s enough for me."

Dorian was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "He’s not coming with us."

"He never comes with us."

"Why?"

Finn thought about it. About Lucian’s face when he mentioned Evelyn. About the weight he carried, invisible but immense.

"Because he’s afraid," Finn said. "Not of the rift. Not of what’s on the other side. He’s afraid of finding her and discovering she doesn’t remember him."

Mira’s steps faltered. "That’s... sad."

"That’s Lucian."

They walked in silence after that.

The sun rose higher. The road stretched ahead. And somewhere beyond the horizon, the rift waited—a tear in reality, a door to somewhere else.

Finn picked up the pace.

He was tired of waiting.