Alastor Creighton, a name that carried the weight of legends, stood before me, exuding an air of casual authority that only came from absolute power. This was a man who wielded nine-circle magic as effortlessly as one might flick a wrist, a man whose very presence was a reminder that the Creighton family wasn't merely a lineage of powerful mages—it was a dynasty that had shaped the course of magical history.
To the world, he was one of three living nine-circle Archmages. To the Creighton family, he was its cornerstone, its shield against external threats. To humanity, he was one of its greatest defenders against the ever-looming menace of the Shadow Seekers. And to Rachel, he was simply "Father."
There was no point in hiding my abilities. "It's an honor to meet you, Archmage Creighton," I said, bowing respectfully.
A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "At ease, young Arthur. Call me Alastor, if you prefer."
