Chapter 121
Word of the Weeping Vines quest spread quickly through the capital, but when it reached Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester, it was met not with idle curiosity but with measured intent. She saw to it that Daniel received the formal recognition he deserved—not merely as a Royal Academy student who had cleared a sanctioned guild quest, but as the rightful heir to her bloodline, now proving himself in the field. Every public acknowledgement was part of a larger, deliberate plan, one designed to draw her enemies out from the safety of the shadows, to force them into motion where they could be seen and dealt with.
Count Ailmar Dreswick's blunder, though rash, was not entirely without cause. Somewhere in the count's private dealings, he had come across information, half-truths, or whispers that had convinced him to act. And like many nobles whose pride outweighed their foresight, he could not bear the thought of someone outside his influence gaining prominence, especially someone as young as Daniel.
Nobility had a long history of making reckless moves when they felt their authority challenged. Dreswick's attack on the seven Academy students was just the surface of something deeper, a faint ripple hinting at the presence of a much larger force stirring beneath.
The sudden summoning of a creature on Sithe farmland was now under investigation by Riverton's guild members. But Count Dreswick, eager to distance himself from the act he himself had ordered, moved quickly to muddy the waters.
He suggested that the monster might have been a stray remnant from the Hallowtree corruption, swamp-born beasts driven beyond their natural range after the treant's destruction. In his retelling, the event became an unfortunate coincidence rather than a targeted strike.
In a further display of false concern, he publicly advised the seven students to return to the Royal Academy for their own safety. It was a move meant to appear protective, but in truth, he simply needed them gone before Duchess Rothchester caught wind of the attack and investigated the matter.
For Dreswick understood all too well what kind of woman she had been in the past andd what she had become now. Docility was no longer in her nature, especially when it came to her family. If she believed someone had endangered her son, she would not rest until that person was stripped of power or life.
The guild leader at Riverton, perhaps swayed by Dreswick's argument, agreed that the attack could be treated as an isolated incident. The count even went so far as to offer Sithe Vineyard additional protection, a gesture Elandor and Thessa Sithe declined outright. Their reasoning was simple: Victor, their retired-soldier son, was more than capable of safeguarding the farm. The guild leader, however, issued a quiet warning, overconfidence could prove fatal if other remnants of the monster outbreak still lingered in the region.
The discussion continued within the stone-walled chambers of Riverton's guildhall, the air thick with competing agendas and cautious words. Meanwhile, back at the farmhouse, Daniel and the other Royal Academy students waited in silence. Lora's parents had gone to the guild to settle matters face-to-face, leaving the group in a tense holding pattern. Daniel sat quietly at the long wooden table, his mismatched eyes distant, listening for the faintest echo of hostile mana beyond the vineyard's borders.
Elandor and Thessa Sithe, with Victore driving the wagon they were nearing the Riverton guild office, the Riverton Guildhall was not large, but its walls had absorbed decades of hard bargaining, accusations, and uneasy compromises. Today was no different. The heavy oak table at the center was flanked on one side by Guildmaster Calren Vorric and two senior assessors; on the other sat Elandor and Thessa Sithe, and alongside them was their eldest, Victor. their posture stiff but composed. Count Ailmar Dreswick occupied the far end, a faint smile curling his lips as if this were merely a polite discussion over wine.
"I am simply stating the obvious," Dreswick said smoothly, gesturing toward the parchment report. "The monster's appearance was likely a byproduct of the Weeping Vines incident. The treant's corruption spread far too far for us to assume every remnant has been cleansed. It is in everyone's best interest for these… students to return to the Academy until the matter is resolved."
Thessa's eyes narrowed. "You mean to remove them from the farm."
The count inclined his head. "For their safety."
Elandor leaned forward, his weathered hands flat on the table. "With respect, Count, my daughter's friends are here under our roof. They are not your wards to relocate. The farm is secure. We've weathered worse without interference."
Dreswick's smile didn't falter, but his voice gained an edge. "Security is relative. You may believe your retired soldier son can handle the threat, but if more creatures appear, that belief will be tested, possibly fatally."
Guildmaster Vorric raised a hand, cutting through the exchange. "The count raises a valid point, Elandor. We cannot ignore the possibility of other roaming creatures. However," he turned to Dreswick, "the suggestion to remove the students is not a decision the guild makes without consent. They are here by choice."
Thessa's voice was calm, but her words struck like steel. "And we decline your 'protection,' Count Dreswick. We've lived long enough to know when an offer is worth less than the ribbon tied to it."
One of the senior assessors shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the guildmaster. Dreswick merely leaned back, folding his hands. "Very well. But remember—you were warned. If something happens, the responsibility will rest on your shoulders, not mine."
Vorric's gaze moved between them, his tone measured. "Then it's settled. The incident will be logged as an isolated case, with ongoing patrols in the surrounding area. The Sithe farm will remain under its current arrangements. But I urge all parties to remain alert."
The meeting concluded with curt nods. Dreswick departed first, the echo of his boots fading into the hall. Thessa and Elandor lingered only long enough to exchange a few private words with the guildmaster before taking their leave, their refusal unchanged.
Outside, the count's carriage waited, its crest gleaming in the sunlight. As he climbed inside, his expression was unreadable. Behind him, Riverton bustled as if nothing had happened, yet both he and the Sithes knew the peace was a fragile illusion.
Melgil sat on the farmhouse porch, legs stretched out, a cup of tea cooling beside her. Her gaze drifted over the front fields, but her attention was fixed on Daniel, who sat a few paces away, quietly reading. The faint creak of the rocking chair and the soft turning of pages were the only sounds between them. To anyone else, it looked like a peaceful afternoon—but Melgil was waiting. Watching.
She knew someone was watching him, too. The night the summoned creature appeared, she had seen the shadow lingering at the edge of the property, the figure that fled after Daniel cut the beast down before it could take three steps past the fence line. Whoever it was, they were skilled enough to evade most eyes—but not hers. The hardest part of setting a trap was the waiting. Not knowing when it would spring. Not knowing if the threat would come in daylight, under the cover of fog, or not at all.
What made it worse was Lora Sithe's involvement. She was being dragged into the heart of this dangerous game without ever having chosen to play.
Daniel had his own reasons for caution. From the lingering essence left behind by the duchess's true son, faint traces of soul memory—he had heard a single name: Dreswick. It was maddeningly incomplete, unclear whether it was a family name, a given name, or simply the echo of a connection long since severed. That uncertainty gnawed at him.
It was that name that had prompted Melgil to gather their small circle—Thalen Merrow, Ysil Thorne, Galen Althus, Ormin Vos Sithe, and Lora herself—and urge them to sign on for the Hallowtree quest. The mid-sized city near the quest's target region was under the management of the Dreswick family.
Melgil, who shared rooms with Ysil and Lora, had overheard Lora's unsettled reaction to a letter from her brother. The letter spoke of sudden, unexplained changes to their water supply and quietly suggested that Count Ailmar Dreswick might be behind it.
Victor Sithe Lora's brother and a former soldier who had once served Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester had already been suspicious. Now, convinced the matter required higher intervention, he sent a petition directly to the duchess requesting her aid.
When Victor learned the truth—that Daniel was Duchess Elleena's long-lost son—he hesitated to even approach the young man. Years ago, after the tragedy that claimed her husband and child, Victor had witnessed the duchess's descent into grief. She had never been able to announce her son's existence publicly before he was taken from her.
Victor had served her faithfully in those years, even surviving an assassination attempt meant for her. He had been injured in the attack and during his recovery met Rebeca the daughter of his father's next-door neighbor, who would later become his wife. But the memories of the duchess's loss had never left him, and now that her son had been found alive, yet unaware of the storm building around him, Victor knew the stakes were far higher than anyone else at the farmhouse could yet imagine.
The sun had begun its slow descent, bathing the Sithe farm in the amber light of late afternoon. Daniel hadn't turned a page in several minutes, though his eyes stayed on the book. Melgil knew the difference between reading and thinking with a book in your hands.
"You're expecting them to try again," she said at last.
Daniel didn't look up. "They will. People like this don't send one warning and walk away when it fails. They escalate."
Melgil rested her elbows on her knees, watching a faint breeze stir the long grass beyond the fence. "The Dreswick name still bothers you."
"I don't like loose ends," Daniel replied quietly. "The soul fragment from the duchess's son mentioned it. That's not something I can ignore." He finally closed the book and set it on the table beside him. "But the name alone doesn't tell me who. And that's the problem—there could be dozens of Dreswicks. Or just one who matters."
Melgil's mouth curved in a faint, humorless smile. "And you think this Count Ailmar is the one?"
"I think," Daniel said, "that he either ordered that summoning himself or knows exactly who did. Either way, he's close enough to the center of it that his shadow falls here."
They sat in silence for a moment. Somewhere out in the fields, a night bird called.
"Lora's caught in the middle," Melgil said. "She's not ready for this kind of game."
"That's why we make sure she doesn't see most of it," Daniel said firmly. "If the attacks come, we meet them before they reach her or anyone else here."
Melgil tilted her head, studying him. "You speak like you've already decided you'll stay."
Daniel's gaze drifted toward the horizon. "If Dreswick thinks this farm is an easy target, he's wrong. And if he's tied to whoever took the duchess's son from her…" His voice hardened. "…then he's already made himself my problem."
The last of the sunlight caught his mismatched eyes, one a deep, steady brown, the other the bright, unnatural gold of old magic. Melgil didn't miss the way his shoulders were set or the way his jaw tightened.
She leaned back in her chair, her own resolve settling into place. "Then I'll watch the fields. You watch the roads. And we'll see how long it takes for Dreswick to make his next mistake."
Neither of them noticed Victor Sithe standing just inside the farmhouse door, listening. His hand tightened on the frame. He knew Duchess Elleena would come for her son. The only question was whether she'd arrive before this quiet farm became a battlefield.
The quiet of the porch shattered with a sudden, sharp pulse of magic. Daniel's armband flared, a thin ring of pale gold light circling the etched sigil along its surface. Before he could even move, a voice, clear, commanding, and impossible to mistake—flowed from it.
"Daniel, kindly open a transfer gate at this moment, please. Your current location."
Melgil froze mid-breath, her eyes snapping to the source of the voice. It was a voice she knew. A voice that could freeze lesser nobles in place. Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester.
For a heartbeat, Melgil's mind went blank. She hadn't expected this. Not here, not now.
She was still in her travel-worn tunic, hair pulled back in a loose knot from working around the farm earlier. Standing before the Duchess in such a state was unthinkable; appearances were currency in noble circles, and dignity was the only armor one could wear without drawing a blade.
She rose so fast her chair scraped across the wooden porch boards. Her pulse raced as she smoothed her tunic, adjusted her belt, and pulled her hair into a neater fall over her shoulders. It wasn't much, but it was enough to look composed rather than caught off guard.
Daniel watched her with faint amusement but said nothing.
The original plan, her cover, was for Melgil to pose as a simple maid in Daniel's service. It had been a safe choice, a role that wouldn't draw too much attention or questions from powerful families. But Daniel had refused it outright, his voice firm in a way that brooked no argument.
"I won't have you pretending to be less than you are," he'd told her days ago.
Melgil had taken it at face value, assuming his reasons were purely strategic, that lowering her status might invite political complications, especially if their association became public. But in quiet moments, she wondered if there was something more behind it. A quiet protection of her name. Perhaps even the unspoken acknowledgment that, in his mind, their futures were already intertwined.
Now, with the Duchess's voice echoing in the air and Daniel already reaching for the gate spell, Melgil straightened her shoulders, steeling herself. If she were to stand in front of Elleena Laeanna Rothchester, she would do so not as a servant, but as someone worthy of standing beside Daniel Rothchester himself.
The magic circle bloomed into existence before them, threads of light weaving together in the air until they formed a shimmering oval that hummed with restrained power. Heat rolled off it, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine and steel, a scent Melgil remembered all too well.
Then, through the swirling glow, a figure emerged.
Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester stepped through with the kind of poise that silenced rooms. Her presence seemed to push the world back an inch; the farm's quiet porch suddenly felt like a royal audience chamber. She wore a dark travel cloak over deep crimson attire that spoke of both authority and readiness for conflict. Her sharp, unyielding eyes swept the porch, taking in every detail.
They stopped on Daniel.
For an instant, the duchess's composure faltered. Forty-two days without seeing him, and here he stood taller, steadier, with something in his gaze that hadn't been there before. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. There were too many days of absence, grief, and unanswered questions all pressing at once.
Daniel inclined his head, the barest hint of a smile touching his mouth. "It's been a while."
The duchess's breath caught. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than Melgil had ever heard it, though still lined with steel. "Too long."
Behind her eyes, a dozen calculations sparked to life: political ramifications, the enemies her son had unknowingly drawn out, the implications of his survival, and the strength he now carried. But beneath all that strategy was something simpler and infinitely rarer: relief.
Melgil bowed deeply, every instinct telling her that she was in the presence of a woman who could command armies and topple noble houses with a single decree. And now, she understood more than ever why Daniel had refused to let her pose as a mere maid. Standing here, she would not have been able to meet the Duchess's gaze from such a low station.
The gate shimmered closed behind Elleena, sealing the porch in a moment that carried both the weight of reunion and the promise of coming storms.
The magic circle bloomed into existence before them, threads of light weaving together in the air until they formed a shimmering oval that hummed with restrained power. Heat rolled off it, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine and steel, a scent Melgil remembered all too well.
Then, through the swirling glow, a figure emerged.
Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester stepped through with the kind of poise that silenced rooms. Her presence seemed to push the world back an inch; the farm's quiet porch suddenly felt like a royal audience chamber. She wore a dark travel cloak over deep crimson attire that spoke of both authority and readiness for conflict. Her eyes—sharp, unyielding—swept the porch, taking in every detail.
They stopped on Daniel.
For an instant, the duchess's composure faltered. Forty-two days without seeing him, and here he stood taller, steadier, with something in his gaze that hadn't been there before. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. There were too many years of absence, grief, and unanswered questions all pressing at once.
Daniel inclined his head, the barest hint of a smile touching his mouth. "It's been a while."
The duchess's breath caught. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than Melgil had ever heard it, though still lined with steel. "Too long."
Behind her eyes, a dozen calculations sparked to life: politicall ramifications, the enemies her son had unknowingly drawn out, the implications of his survival, and the undeniable strength he now carried. But beneath all that strategy, there was something simpler and infinitely rarer: relief.
Melgil bowed deeply, every instinct telling her that she was in the presence of a woman who could command armies and topple noble houses with a single decree. Now she understood, more than ever, why Daniel had refused to let her pose as a mere maid.
Standing here, she would never have been able to meet the Duchess's gaze from such a low station.
The transfer gate shimmered closed behind Elleena, sealing the porch in a moment heavy with both the weight of reunion and the promise of storms to come.
Veylan, who had been silently leaning against the far porch rail, stiffened. His keen eyes had caught something the others might have missed, the magic Daniel had used to open the gate was unlike anything taught in the academies.
The incantation was silent, the script of its sigils entirely foreign, and the sheer mana output… impossible. That much power, channeled without strain, should have been beyond the reach of anyone under fifty years of age. Yet here stood a twenty-three-year-old who made it look effortless.
The energy from the spell had not gone unnoticed. Thalen Merrow Ysil Thorne, Galen Althus, Ormin Vos Sithe, and Lora Sithe all felt the sudden surge. Instinct screamed danger, and within moments, they spilled out of the farmhouse, weapons drawn, scanning for the threat they were certain was coming.
What they found instead made them falter. From the dying glow of the gate, Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester stepped onto the farmstead, her cloak shifting in the light breeze. Ten attendants followed in precise formation, the last of them a dignified man in a black and silver coat, Head Steward Custodia, whose presence alone signaled that this was no casual visit.
Inside, Isla and Rebecca Sithe clutched each other, peering from a window.
Rebecca instinctively tightened her hold on the baby in her arms. "What in the saints' names has your sister-in-law done now?" Isla whispered, eyes darting between the armed students and the regal procession on the lawn. At Rebecca's urgent gesture, they both drew back into the shadows. "Stay inside," she hissed. "No matter what happens."
The duchess's boots crunched on the dirt path, mercifully dry, though it bore the marks of farm labor. Her gaze swept over the assembled group, weighing each face in turn.
Lora, still gripping her spear, stepped forward and dipped her head in a warrior's bow. "Your Grace," she said cautiously. "We were not expecting—"
"You were not meant to," Elleena interrupted, her tone firm but without malice. "Had I sent word, Riverton would be awash with rumors before my carriage ever left the city gates."
Daniel, still standing at the porch's edge, regarded her with calm eyes. "You came here for more than a reunion," he said.
The duchess's lips curved faintly. "You have your father's way of stripping the pleasantries from a conversation." Her gaze flicked toward the gathered students and the Sithe family. "But yes, Daniel, I did not cross half the duchy simply to exchange polite words. There are matters to address some concerning this land and others concerning you."
Her eyes, sharp as tempered steel, shifted to the head steward. "Custodia, see to it that the attendants unpack the gifts. The household will accept them."
Lora exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with Melgil. The Duchess had just made a public gesture of favor toward the Sithe farm, one that every noble in the region would notice if word spread. Such gestures were rarely without purpose and never without consequence.
The duchess mounted the wooden staircase, her every step measured, until she stood before Daniel. Up close, the warmth of her expression softened the edge of her command. "It has been too long, my son," she said quietly, a note of relief slipping through the formality.
The air between them felt like a held breath, one that the whole farm seemed to be waiting to exhale.
The others instinctively stepped back, forming an unspoken perimeter as Duchess Elleena touched Daniel's arm and gestured toward the farmhouse door.
"Walk with me," she murmured.
No one dared to follow except Melgil, who took up a position just inside the threshold, prepared to act if needed. The Duchess gave her a single measuring glance, then inclined her head ever so slightly—a silent acknowledgment of Melgil's presence and perhaps of her right to be there.
Inside, the farmhouse felt smaller, its walls pressing in under the weight of nobility. The Duchess removed her gloves with practiced ease, each motion deliberate, buying a moment before she spoke.
"I heard of the attack that Count Dreswick instigated. If you are wondering how I know lets just say,i never lost track of what is happening, as this also reached my desk," she began, her voice low. "He dressed it up as an isolated incident, the work of stray monsters. But I know his hand was in it, and I know why."
Daniel leaned against the heavy oak table. "Then you know he's playing a dangerous game."
"Dangerous," Elleena agreed, "and clumsy. Dreswick believes himself clever, but pride makes fools of lesser men. Your presence here threatens his ambitions, and instead of keeping you in his blind spot, he's drawn attention to himself. Now I have cause to act."
Daniel's brow furrowed. "If you act too quickly, he'll see it as personal retribution. That will push him to desperate measures."
The duchess's eyes glinted. "Daniel… I want him desperate. Desperation reveals loyalties—and enemies." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He is not alone. The summoning at the Sithe farm was not his idea, but he allowed it. That tells me he is willing to serve another's design."
Daniel glanced toward the window, where the faint silhouettes of the attendants moved outside. "You mean to flush them out."
"I mean to burn them out," Elleena corrected, her tone sharpening. "But for that, I need you alive, and more importantly, seen. The more they think you're merely a talented student, the better. Let them underestimate you."
There was a long silence between them. Then, softer, she added, "I will not lose you again."
Daniel met her gaze, and for a moment, the politics fell away, leaving only the quiet, undeniable bond of blood.
From the corner, Melgil studied them both, her earlier suspicion now solidifying into certainty—this was not just a reunion. It was the opening move in a much larger game, one in which every piece, from the Sithe farm to the halls of Riverton, was about to be set in motion.
By the time the sun began to sink toward the horizon, the Duchess's entourage was already winding its way up the steep, cobbled road that led to Castle Dreswick. She had no intention of sending word ahead—surprise was a weapon, and Elleena Rothchester wielded it with the same precision as a blade.
The castle gates groaned open under the weight of her name alone. The guards stepped aside, some visibly nervous, their eyes darting to one another as if silently questioning whether they should have stalled her arrival.
In the great hall, Count Ailmar Dreswick rose from his chair with the uneasy grace of a man caught mid-scheme. His smile was polished, his bow deep enough to feign respect but shallow enough to retain pride.
"Your Grace," he greeted, voice honeyed. "What an unexpected honor."
Elleena's heels clicked against the marble as she crossed the hall without slowing. "Count Dreswick. You and I need to speak." Her tone was pleasant enough to the untrained ear, but the undercurrent was unmistakable—there would be no refusal.
He gestured toward the long table. "Shall I have wine brought?"
"No," she said simply, taking a seat without waiting for him to offer it. "Wine dulls the tongue. And I have questions that require your full clarity."
Behind her polite phrasing lay an unspoken threat. She had not come to talk about monsters or farmland; she had come to dismantle whatever game Dreswick thought he was playing.
Meanwhile, in the private chambers above the hall, the Countess moved swiftly. Word had reached her of Elleena's arrival before she had even crossed the drawbridge, and she wasted no time summoning her most trusted servant.
"Bring the mage," she ordered in a hushed but urgent tone. "The one my husband hired before."
"My lady," the servant whispered, "do you mean,"
"Yes. And bring the artifacts. All of them." Her eyes were sharp with calculation. "If Elleena intends to kill Ailmar, we will not sit idle. We will call forth something she cannot face alone."
The servant paled but bowed.
Within minutes, the hired mage was kneeling before the Countess, his hands already hovering over the lacquered chest of summoning relics. Ancient talismans glinted in the candlelight, each one a promise of power—and destruction.
"Do not fail me," she warned, pressing a cold silver seal into his palm. "Summon an army if you must. Whatever it takes to keep Ailmar alive tonight."
Back in the hall, Elleena leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the Count like a predator studying its prey. "Tell me, Ailmar," she said softly, "do you know what I despise most?"
The Count swallowed. "I… can't say that I do, Your Grace."
"Lies." The single word hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.
The great hall felt larger than it had moments before, as if the Duchess's presence had pushed the walls outward, forcing every whisper of power and politics into sharper relief.
Count Dreswick's fingers tightened on the armrest of his chair. "If this is about the unfortunate incident at the Sithe farm, I can assure you"
Elleena raised a hand, silencing him without a word. "I do not want assurances, Ailmar. I want truth. And I want it now." Her eyes glittered like cut glass. "You have overstepped. Once might be excused as poor judgment. Twice is intent."
The Count's lips parted, but before he could speak, her voice softened—dangerously. "And intent, in my court, is treason."
Above the hall, in the Countess's chambers…
The mage laid the summoning artifacts in a precise circle: carved obsidian pendants, cracked bone charms, and an iron disc etched with symbols older than the kingdom itself. Each relic pulsed faintly, as though aware of what was about to be demanded of them.
"My lady," the mage warned, "the power you are asking for… it cannot be recalled once unleashed."
"I am not asking," the Countess replied coldly. "I am commanding. My husband's life is worth any price."
She stepped back as the mage began chanting, his voice low and guttural, the air thickening with every syllable. The candle flames guttered, shadows twisting across the walls like serpents.
Back in the hall…
Elleena leaned back in her chair, watching the count squirm. "Do you know what happens, Ailmar, when one interferes in matters beyond their grasp?"
"I act only in the best interest of the realm," he said stiffly.
"You act," she replied, "in the interest of your pride. And that, I find, is the quickest way to lose everything you hold dear."
Her gaze drifted deliberately to the doors leading to the upper chambers, as if she could already sense the magic building above them.
In the Countess's chamber…
The iron disc in the circle flared red-hot, runes glowing as the summoning neared completion. A low hum filled the room, deep enough to rattle the panes of the tall windows. The mage's voice rose, each word dragging something unseen closer to the mortal plane.
From the darkness at the circle's center, a shape began to form—broad, armored, its eyes burning with otherworldly fire. And it was only the first.
The Countess smiled grimly. "Let her talk. Let her threaten. When she moves to strike, she will find herself buried beneath an army she cannot stop."
In the hall…
Elleena's voice dropped to a near whisper. "I came here today to give you a chance to explain yourself, Ailmar. But if you prefer to surround yourself with shadows…" She let the sentence trail off, her smile as sharp as any sword.
And above them, the dark, malevolent energy was gathering fast.