Reneal's gloved fingers moved across the spine of an old leather book that was creased by time and use. He wasn't here for literature, though. His gaze swept across the floor, then the walls, even the ceiling.
Sunlight spilled through the high windows, casting long shadows across tall bookshelves and a desk cluttered with scrolls, sealed letters, ledgers, and half-empty goblets.
Just as he was about to delve into the documents, a faint energy tugged at his attention. Reneal had only recently awakened his abilities, so his body was still incredibly sensitive to mana.
Surrendering to his receptors, he moved to the far side of the room where there was no furniture, his fingertips grazing along the lower edge of the wall paneling.
TAP. TAP. TUP.
The hollow sound resounded in his ears.
Something's here.
Crouching, he ran his hand beneath the shelf until he felt it—intricate grooves in the wood. He could just barely feel the mana radiating from the area, and a shiver traveled down his arm.
His eyes widened. Is this… a hidden magic circle? That certainty explains why Midnight's had trouble tracking him. Could he have a similar one on his person as well?
Reneal drew a slender blade from his belt and sliced clean through the sigil. Mana flared once, then died.
Suddenly, as if in response to his sabotage, there was the sound of footsteps and they were approaching quickly.
His heart skipped a beat.
Cursing under his breath, he immediately spun toward the nearest tapestry and pressed himself between the cold stone and thick fabric. Then his breath slowed, jaws clenched, and he didn't even dare to blink.
The door creaked open.
Even without seeing his face, Reneal recognized the silhouette—the tall, aristocratic frame, the smooth movements of someone too powerful to be rushed. His robe shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and as he crossed the threshold, the fabric shifted just enough to reveal a magic circle stitched into the lining of his inner coat.
Reneal frowned, mentally conjuring the image of the sigil he had traced with his fingertips. It's the exact same one I just dismantled. So, he does carry one on his person at all times. Shrewd bastard.
A second figure followed the man into the room—a young woman with a stack of notes pressed to her chest. A modest pair of prescription glasses rested on the bridge of her nose. And her voice, when she spoke, was low and measured.
"…One of the wards has been tampered with, my lord," she said, vividly sensing the severed connection.
Vaerythos didn't respond right away. He walked to the corner of the room, waved a hand, and another seal shimmered faintly on the ceiling, beneath the desk, and several other inconspicuous locations.
"I expected as much," he muttered, evidently annoyed. "Traitors in my ranks. They're always there and watching."
He turned toward the woman. "The Absolution Guild is closing in faster than anticipated. We have to act before they do."
"What shall we do?" She asked.
Vaerythos didn't hesitate. "We'll have that smog bastard Cassius take the fall. Once he's accused of being the Mhaledictus mastermind, the court will beg for his removal and once he falls… the dark guild will eventually scatter."
He glanced down at a half-full goblet of wine resting on the windowsill. "In the meantime, we should probably leave the city for Wonderelle—no, Wavecrest Port might be a more ideal place to lay low."
The woman blinked, her typically stoic expression unraveling. "Is that wise, my lord? Seeking refuge in the town we've declared war upon?"
The man turned, meeting her troubled gaze. "It's a reckless idea, yes… but that's precisely the reason why it will work as no one would expect it."
There was a pause. Then—
"And Prince Reneal?" She asked slowly. "Once we return, what shall we do with him?"
Another pause. Then a quiet scoff.
"An afterthought. Once the dust settles, I'll have him removed quietly. Painlessly, if he behaves."
Reneal's throat tightened at the malicious remark.
"Two problems solved," Vaerythos continued gleefully. "One ascension secured."
After the conversation, they shuffled through papers—parchment being folded, something heavy locked in a case—and then, just like that, they were gone. The door shut behind them with an eerie click.
Reneal stood still for a long moment, listening to the silence return. Then, finally, he stepped out from behind the tapestry, every inch of him buzzing with adrenaline.
His mind reeled.
Vaerythos is orchestrating the Grand Chancellor's downfall. He intends to frame him as the mastermind behind the Mhaledictus to divert suspicion and protect himself.
After that, they'll come for me—erasing every loose end—all while operating right under the nose of the royal court… or whatever scraps of it still remain.
He didn't know what stunned him more—the audacity of the plan, or the ease with which the marquess had spoken about it. There was absolutely no rage or fear in his voice. Just cold and unwavering certainty.
Reneal exhaled slowly, trying to steady the trembling in his hands. He had come for answers and now he had them. But he wasn't sure he was ready for what they meant.
***
Fay was fast asleep in a chair beside the bed, her upper body slumped across the mattress. At some point, her hand drifted upward in search of Silvie's… only to grasp at empty air.
The absence jolted her awake. Her eyes shot open, wide with panic as they scanned the tent.
"Silvie?"
She shot to her feet.
In the kitchen, Casper was busy teaching several of the smaller children how to prepare kebabs, patiently guiding their clumsy hands as they threaded vegetables and meat onto skewers.
Meanwhile, Ribbit—the only other person aside from Aeliana who knew how to cook—was hunched over the hot stove, beads of sweat clinging to his round cheeks. He turned at the sound of footsteps, only to freeze when his crush stepped into the room.
"Fay," he called with a goofy grin. "You're in a hurry. Did you come to help with dinner?"
"Did anyone of you see Silvie?" she asked urgently.
For a moment, the room fell silent. Then an elf finally spoke. "…What do you mean? Isn't she still in bed?"
Fay could see the confusion etched across their faces, but she had neither the time nor the composure to explain. Her chest was tight, her thoughts a blur. Without a word, she spun on her heels and bolted from the room.
"Wait, Fay!" Casper exclaimed. "What's going on?"
***
Pant. Pant. Pant.
Each breath burned in her lungs like bile, but Fay didn't slow, not even for a minute. Her frantic steps brought her to the ruins of what was once the most successful apothecary in all of Lunarel. What was left barely resembled the warm haven it had once been.
Lefahne's gentle hands brushing the hair from her face. Zurrel's slow, thoughtful voice telling stories over tea. Silvestia's laughter echoing above the crackle of the hearth. She could feel fresh grief bubbling to the surface as memories of what once was erupted in her mind.
But she didn't let it take root. Not now. Finding Silvestia was more important.
Pushing the memories down, Fay stepped into the collapsed shell of the building. Dust rose around her feet. The silence inside was deafening.
She hurried to the side of the building where Lefahne had once tended her beloved garden. Wild roots had begun to reclaim the earth. The soil was darker now. Sadder, somehow. But aside from the two graves where Daisuke had buried the dryad and the druid, the garden was empty.
Fay dropped to her knees beside what remained of the people who had taken her into the warmth of their home. She glanced down at the freshly placed flowers by the headstones and wondered if they were from Daisuke or a former patron.
But something inside her said otherwise.
Where would Silvestia go…?
Then the answer came—quick as a breath. A flicker of a memory drifted through her mind: tall white marble. Sunlight reflecting off a lofty peak.
"…The Luminal Obelisk," she whispered, already turning.
Her legs moved on instinct, sprinting before her mind could catch up.
***
Fay's ragged breaths mingled with the sharp click of her footsteps against the marbled steps. Her chest burned, her legs threatened to give out beneath her, but she didn't stop—not until she cleared the final flight of stairs and emerged at the top of the tower.
And there she was…
A familiar figure stood at the balcony on the uppermost floor, bathed in sunlight. Her seafoam green hair danced in the breeze and olive-yellow eyes stared out across the horizon. Her lips were drawn in a tight line.
Then, slowly, she turned her head, her expression unreadable.
"Fay."