Dimensional Descent

"Old Bastian, I need to talk to you," Aerin bowed respectfully at the entrance of a Dream Pavilion. He didn't need to be so polite, but Old Bastian was still his elder. That said, the fact he called him Old Bastian at all went to show how close their relationship was.

"Come in, come in," an aged but cheery voice came from the inside.

Aerin smiled a hint bitterly and then entered.

"How many times do I have to tell you there's no need for such formalities, little prince? You've already done more for the Dwarven Race than I've done in my entire lifetime. If anything, I should be bowing to you."

An aged Sparrow with a head of white hair and a face full of wrinkles beckoned Aerin forward, urging him to sit on the prayer mat by his side.

The older Sparrows grew, the larger their wings became. In fact, some of them even showed mutations that allowed them to grow multiple.

Old Bastian had two pairs of wings that looked like they had been plucked from a dragonfly's back. Usually, for the average Sparrow, a wing that was more than a foot long was already a huge boon. But Old Bastian's wings were almost as long as he was tall, spreading out to over four feet.

Though the man looked aged, the one thing that never lagged behind for Sparrows were their wings. He was more agile now than maybe any other person in the Dwarven Kingdom.

"You're flattering me again, Old Bastian," Aerin said a bit sheepishly.

"Only what you deserve, only what you deserve. Now tell me, what've you come here for today?" Old Bastian said with a jovial smile. "I can tell there's something weighing heavily on you."

Aerin took a deep breath. Even though he took a seat on the prayer mat, he had a hard time looking Old Bastian in the eye.

"Old Bastian, will you hate me if I ask you for something unreasonable?"

The old Sparrow looked at Aerin deeply before giving him a meaningful smile.

"You wear your heart on your sleeve too much, little prince. That is why you're so easily manipulated. I've spoken to your father about letting you explore the world, but it seems that you've gone off and done it on your own, hm?"

Aerin's heart jumped.

Old Bastian chuckled. "If you want to sneak away, you need to be sharper than that. And let me guess, the report that was marked false wasn't you, correct? Meaning there's a spy somewhere in our world now?"

"Well, I wouldn't call myself a spy."

The sudden voice nearly made Aerin leap out of his skin. His head snapped back to see the disguised Leonel, wondering what the hell he was doing. Hadn't they already agreed on a strategy?

Indeed they had, but after seeing Old Bastian's reaction, Leonel knew that the original plan had to be scrapped.

Old Bastian looked back as though he wasn't very surprised. "So you're the one who's been manipulating my prince?"

The old man suddenly released a dignified air. It was clear that even in his old age, he had quite some sharpness remaining.

"No, that wouldn't be me. But I do need your help to deal a blow against that person."

"A convenient story," Old Bastian replied coolly.

Leonel smiled. None of this surprised him, he had given it a 50/50 chance. If anything, he was happy that Old Bastian recognized this flaw, because it meant that the Dwarven Race wasn't incompetent.

From the beginning, the biggest flaw in Leonel sneaking in was never himself, but rather Aerin. If Aerin didn't hide his tracks well enough the first time he left, it would be easy to expose Leonel instead of confusing the first and second break-ins as the same instance.

Without a word, Leonel flipped his palm and revealed the Silver Tablet.

This time, Old Bastian was even quicker on the pick up than Aerin. But this was because unlike Aerin, Old Bastian had a lot of information about the outside world... like how the Spirituals had just started a campaign against the humans for unknown reasons.

"You're here to retaliate against the Spirituals?" Old Bastian asked.

"Close enough." Leonel nodded, not elaborating.

"My Dwarven Race doesn't want to get involved in this."

"I'm sure you're smart enough to know you don't have a choice. Whether it's me or your enemies, someone is going to throw you into the fray one way or another. So why not do it with some flair and show the world your Race isn't to be trifled with?"

Old Bastian fell into silence for a long while and Leonel didn't interrupt him.

"You want my Dream Pavilion Head position?"

"Temporarily."

"I doubt that," Old Bastian chuckled. Even if Leonel kept to his word and abdicated, would their Race ever truly be free of him? Or would they end up in his clutches?

Leonel didn't refute, there was no point in doing so.

With a grunt, Old Bastian slowly stood to his feet.

"If you want it, then show me you're worthy. If you cannot defeat me, what would be the point?"

Leonel chuckled. "Alright, why not?"

Leonel quite liked this old man. He reminded him of coach and Old Hutch. Though his mouth wasn't as foul as either, his temper was surely there.

"What would you like to play?" Old Bastian asked.

"Feel free to choose, or else you won't be convinced, right?" Leonel replied.

"Good. Then we will play a round of portal."

Portal was a game not much unlike Go of Earth. The difference was that the board was constructed of teleportation Force Arts, thus the namesake. Not only did you play your normal pieces, but you also moved the Force Arts around, changing the landscape of the board by either triggering or blocking teleportations.

It was essentially a game within a game.

Because the teleportation Force Arts were incomplete, it relied both heavily on intelligence and knowledge of the game of Go.

Honestly, Leonel had never played Go before, so he was a layman...

But his Force Art comprehension was so far beyond Old Bastian's that it didn't matter. He didn't even bother considering where to put down his pieces, directly bulldozing the old man and teleporting all his pieces away.

In the end, Old Bastian didn't even last a few minutes before he conceded.

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