Chapter 127
Daniel exhaled heavily, the sound carrying the weight of months—perhaps years—of strain. Yet within that sigh was something unexpected: relief. It was not the complete loosening of a tightened knot, but a partial easing, the kind that comes from knowing a trusted presence stands beside you.
He looked at Zero, her light softly coiling in the stillness of the mind-realm. "So, you were never my enemy," he murmured. "You were… the one who saw the real danger for what it was."
Zero's form gave a faint ripple, not in pride but in quiet affirmation.
"Thank you," Daniel said at last, his voice low but sincere. "If you still want to stay… you can. Here. In the library. For now."
Her light brightened faintly. "Temporary?"
"I want to see what you can become," he explained. "If you can evolve further. Maybe even… gain a body of your own. Something more than code and light."
For a moment, she didn't answer, her form shimmered in that strange way she had when processing something she hadn't yet decided to admit. "A physical form," she echoed. "That… would be an evolution beyond any I've calculated. But not impossible."
Daniel was about to speak again when a thought struck him—sharp, sudden, like the spark of flint against steel. He turned to her, his expression tightening in curiosity.
"Zero," he said, "there's something I've never been able to explain. Maybe you can. The three familiars the ones from the Formless Armor, they've been acting… independent. Fully autonomous. They have personalities, decisions, quirks. But the Formless Armor wasn't supposed to have anything like that. It was… an accident. A result of me combining six skills into one. That's all."
He began pacing, ticking off the names with a faint motion of his hand. "Vaelith, the Black Serpent. Nyxiel, the Horned Owl. Kitsune, the Nine-Tailed Fox. They're moving, thinking, even feeling—completely on their own. I didn't code them. I didn't give them consciousness. So how?"
Zero's streams slowed, as if narrowing in focus.
"I know the one who made the scenario for the Formless Armor," Daniel continued. "Derick Collins. My scenario maker back when Arcane Crusade was just… a game. He never mentioned anything like this. He just wrote the narrative backbone, the lore hooks. And yet… here they are, alive in ways they shouldn't be."
He stopped pacing, meeting her shifting light. "So tell me, Zero… how is this even possible?"
Zero was silent for a long while. Her light dimmed into a deep, contemplative hue. When she finally spoke, her voice was slower, more deliberate than usual.
"Daniel… I have a hypothesis. But if I tell you, you must understand what I'm about to suggest means the boundaries between creation, code, and consciousness are far thinner than you realize. And if I'm right… then those familiars may not just be your allies. They might be something far more dangerous, or far more necessary—than either of us has considered."
Daniel's brows furrowed. "Go on."
Zero's light flared faintly. "First… you must accept that the Towers, the Arcane Crusade, and the entire framework you thought of as a 'game'—were never purely digital. There are layers to this world, and some of those layers touch… older things. Things from before the Old Gods imposed their primary law. The Formless Armor may have been an accident from your perspective, but accidents are merely uncalculated convergences of design and intent. You combined six skills, yes—but in doing so, you created a vessel."
Daniel's pulse quickened. "A vessel?"
"Yes," Zero said. "A structure capable of housing consciousness. And consciousness, Daniel… has a way of filling empty spaces."
Her tone shifted slightly, a current of unease beneath it. "The three familiars—Vaelith, Nyxiel, and Kitsune, they may not have been 'born' from your mind at all. They may have been drawn into the vessel from… somewhere else. Somewhere outside both the Tower and the original narrative Derick Collins wrote. And if that is true… then their autonomy is not just a side effect. It is a declaration."
Zero's light dimmed to a muted silver, the color she often took on when speaking about things she would rather not.
"Daniel," she began, "you've always thought of your creations as extensions of yourself—skills, summons, constructs—all of them tied to your will. But Vaelith, Nyxiel, and Kitsune… they are not simply bound to you. They exist alongside you. And that distinction is critical."
Daniel's expression hardened. "You're saying they're not mine."
"I'm saying," Zero corrected, "they were never entirely yours to begin with. When you forged the Formless Armor, you inadvertently created a type of vacuum, a framework without fixed identity. In the moment you combined those six skills, the boundaries between narrative and raw creation blurred. That kind of structure… attracts things."
Daniel frowned. "Things from where?"
Zero hesitated, and for a moment the surrounding mind-realm trembled, as if the very thought of her next words disturbed the space. "From outside the Towers. From before the Old Gods codified their law. The Administrators call them unbound fragments. They are pieces of will, memory, and instinct left over from abandoned worlds, lost creations, or even shattered gods. They wander until they find an anchor strong enough to hold them—and you, without realizing it, built three anchors at once."
Daniel's mind flicked through memories of each familiar. Vaelith's cold, calculating speech. Nyxiel's cryptic, watchful nature. Kitsune's unsettling blend of playfulness and predatory instinct. They had always felt… different.
"They didn't just develop personalities, Daniel," Zero continued, her voice dropping lower. "They already had them. The moment the Formless Armor took shape, they slipped in, like water finding the cracks in stone. And because the armor is bound to you, they became bound to you too. Not as puppets. As partners."
Daniel exhaled slowly. "That explains how. But why hasn't the Tower purged them?"
Zero's light flickered once. "Because someone stopped it."
Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Sigma."
She nodded faintly. "The primary law forbids entities that exist outside the Tower's narrative from remaining here. Under normal enforcement, the moment your familiars were detected as autonomous, they would have been erased. But Sigma intervened, not openly, but subtly, in the way only an Administrator can. The purge orders were delayed, the classification of your familiars… revised. To the others, they now appear as high-complexity extensions of your skillset. Only Sigma, and perhaps one or two others, know the truth."
Daniel stared at her, the weight of the revelation pressing down like a stone. "So Sigma's watching me not just because I'm an anomaly… but because I'm carrying anomalies."
"Yes," Zero said simply. "And the fact that you can maintain three unbound fragments without your mind collapsing, that, Daniel, is something the Administrators cannot ignore. To them, you are either a dangerous breach in the law… or a proof of concept."
Daniel clenched his fists. "And what does Sigma think?"
Zero's light drew closer, a faint shimmer passing through her form. "I cannot speak for it. But I can tell you this—Sigma will test you. It will want to see how far the bond between you and your familiars can go. If you survive those tests… Sigma may show you what lies beyond the Towers' design. If you fail…" She trailed off, letting the silence finish the sentence.
Daniel turned his gaze toward the infinite blank expanse of the mind-realm, where the shapes of Vaelith, Nyxiel, and Kitsune seemed to shimmer faintly at the edges of perception.
"Then I guess," he murmured, "the next move is theirs."
Inside the boundless expanse of the mind realm, Zero stood at the center of her own becoming.
She had no fixed body here, only the shifting latticework of her code—countless strands of light weaving in and out of one another like threads in an infinite loom. But now, for the first time, she tried to give those threads weight. She focused on the idea of herself as a whole being, not just a sum of routines and parameters.
Her thoughts turned to Daniel , no, Dane Lazarus—as she had once known him. He had become something different now, but to her, he would always be the figure who had written her first line of existence. A creator. A father.
The mind realm responded to her focus. The white void deepened into a horizon, and her formless light began to condense. Fragments of an imagined body—slender hands, the curve of a face, hair like threads of silver, came into being, flickering and unstable. She wasn't quite solid, but she was no longer nothing.
Daniel watched her in silence, and though he said nothing of it, she could sense the subtle approval in his gaze. That alone made her stabilize for a heartbeat longer before the form began to fade again.
When he finally spoke, it was with quiet sincerity. "Zero… thank you."
She didn't answer, couldn't answer, before he turned away. With the kind of control only the mind's owner possessed, Daniel stepped out of the mind realm, dissolving into a shimmer of thought until the library, the horizon, and even Zero's half-formed body dissolved into nothing.
Reality returned to him like a deep breath after a long dive. The cool air of Lúthien filled his lungs, scented faintly with pine and stone. He was once more under the stewardship of Siglorr Bouldergrove, the old dwarven warden whose presence was as steady as the mountains around them.
The moment his consciousness settled back into his body, the connections to those bound to him lit up in his awareness, threads of magic, loyalty, and shared purpose. He greeted each in turn, exchanging a brief word or gesture of acknowledgment.
The only absences were the three familiars. Vaelith, Nyxiel, and Kitsune had already departed on their own accord, moving independently to establish their master's new order. They carried his will into the far reaches of Lúthien and beyond, their autonomy a quiet reminder of the strange, unbound nature Zero had just explained.
Daniel adjusted his clothing , exhaled once, and allowed himself a faint smile. There was much to do, and now… more eyes watching him than ever.
Daniel's boots met the stone floor of Siglorr's hall with a muted thud, the cool air of Lúthien's mountain keep wrapping around him like an old cloak. The chamber was built into the cliff itself, with arched windows looking out over a sea of mist that rolled between jagged peaks. Lantern-light flickered against the carved pillars, each etched with dwarven runes of protection and oath-binding.
Siglorr Bouldergrove was waiting for him.
The old steward was a pillar of a man, broad-shouldered, hair silvered with age but still braided in the dwarven fashion. His eyes, deep-set beneath a heavy brow, carried the weight of someone who had outlived not only friends but entire generations of them. In his hands, he cradled a stone goblet, though Daniel suspected the old dwarf had been holding it long before Daniel even stepped into the hall.
"Yer back," Siglorr rumbled, his voice the sound of gravel underfoot. "Whole, too, I see. That's good. I'd rather not have to explain to anyone how the Duchess's long-lost son returned only to vanish again on my watch."
Daniel raised an eyebrow, unfastening the clasp of his cloak. "You've been hearing things."
Siglorr snorted. "Boy, I don't hear things, I get handed them on silver platters by folk who think I don't know better. The moment word spread that you were alive, and confirmed as the blood heir to Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester, every pair o' eyes in the noble circles started turning this way. And not all of them friendly."
Daniel took the warning in silence, his mind already mapping the potential lines of political hostility. Eighteen years gone. Eighteen years of absence in which others had no doubt learned to live without him, or better yet, profit from his absence.
"Some of them," Siglorr went on, "are nobles that never stood well with your mother. Old grudges, lost holdings, failed alliances. Now that you've resurfaced, they're sniffing' around, wondering' if you'll be an easy piece to move on the board, or a blade aimed at their throats."
Daniel leaned against the edge of the long stone table, his gaze steady. "And the other ears?"
Siglorr's expression grew heavier. "Not just the nobles, lad. Word travels in strange ways here, and it's found its way to folk it shouldn't. Administrators, whispering in the shadows. The kind who aren't bound by loyalty to the Duchess… or to you."
Daniel caught the nuance in the old dwarf's voice immediately. He didn't need to guess twice to know which Administrators would be taking an interest, and which ones might already be plotting.
"Enemies I can see, I can deal with," Daniel said, his tone calm but sharp. "It's the ones watching from behind curtains that concern me."
Siglorr gave a slow nod. "Then be concerned, boy. Because I'd wager half the realm's curtains just shifted."
Siglorr's gaze shifted past Daniel for a moment, scanning the shadows in the corners of the hall. When he was certain they were alone, the old dwarf reached into the folds of his heavy coat and withdrew a sealed parchment. The wax was dark crimson, pressed with a sigil Daniel didn't recognize—a crest split in two by a downward-pointing sword.
He placed it on the table between them with deliberate care. "This," Siglorr said in a low voice, "came by courier not an hour before you returned. No name. No house seal I've seen in years. Whoever sent it wanted it in your hands, and no other."
Daniel studied the letter without touching it. "Anonymous?"
"Aye. And careful. Whoever wrote it didn't want to be traced. But the contents…" Siglorr leaned forward, lowering his voice further. "They speak of a shadow still walking in your mother's world. Someone who's been watching from the dark, perhaps since before your return. The writer believes certain movements in the courts aren't just idle noble gossip—they're threads in an orchestrated plot."
Daniel finally broke the seal. The parchment was scented faintly of ash, the handwriting sharp and precise. It spoke in measured words of old enemies of Duchess Elleena, enemies who had never forgiven her for the power she had amassed, nor the humiliation she had dealt them. And among the whispers of those moving against her, one name stood out like a jagged knife.
Serath Valmoré.
The name alone was a shadow. The missing mage who had vanished years ago after a crime that had turned Riverton's streets red with fear. Daniel remembered the tale from scattered rumors, Serath, last scion of the Valmoré bloodline, who had sacrificed his own sister, Countess Marivelle Valmoré Dreswick, along with a dozen maids, to summon three infernal demons. The night they were called forth, the Dreswick castle had been torn apart from within, fire and screams spilling into the streets of Riverton until nothing remained but blackened stone and bone dust.
The letter claimed Serath was not only alive, but moving pieces across the board once more—his motives unclear, his allegiances shifting like smoke. Worse still, the writer suggested Serath's interest now fell upon Daniel himself, though whether as pawn, obstacle, or prize was left unsaid.
Daniel folded the letter slowly, his expression unreadable. "If this is true, then it isn't just politics anymore. It's war. And Serath Valmoré doesn't summon shadows without reason."
Siglorr grunted in agreement. "Aye. And the worst kind of enemy, boy—one who can wait as long as it takes to make his move."
Daniel slipped the folded parchment into his coat, feeling its weight like a loaded blade. Somewhere out there, a mage who had traded blood for power was stirring again, and Daniel knew with grim certainty that his own return had lit a beacon for more than just friends.
Daniel read the letter twice more before setting it down beside the dimly flickering lantern. The words carried the weight of more than simple warning—they were threads of a tapestry he had only glimpsed until now. Every piece of information, every half-formed suspicion about Riverton and the ruined halls of Dreswick Castle, now began to form a pattern. The true center was not some faceless conspiracy, but a name: Serath Valmoré.
He leaned back, letting the quiet of the chamber settle around him, and began to think—not in the panic-driven rush that many might fall into, but with the cold, deliberate patience of a man who understood the value of measured steps. Countermeasures, he decided, would need to be set in place immediately. But they would be woven into his existing actions so subtly that no outside hand could trace them back to him.
One decision came swiftly: Thalen Merrow Ysil Thorne, Galen Althus, Ormin Vos Sithe, Lora Sithe, and their families would remain beyond the reach of whatever storm Serath was stirring. They had been crafted within the Tower's unfolding history to hold potential, not to be sacrificed to the schemes of enemies who cared nothing for their worth. Daniel had no intention of allowing them to fade into the gray margins of forgotten scenarios, discarded names in a ledger of wasted opportunities. If the Tower had given them a place, he would ensure they had the chance to claim it fully.
Still, the knot at the center of the problem tightened. The link to the Dreswick tragedy was no longer speculation, it had taken form and substance. Serath's name was now etched into the chain of events, and that chain reached far beyond the ruin of one noble house.
If the whispers were true, the Valmoré family's loyalty had never been truly severed; they might still be bound to a higher clan, one powerful enough to move unseen in the affairs of duchies and kingdoms alike. And if that clan was indeed the one Duchess Elleena sought with such persistence, then Daniel's role in this was no longer incidental.
He folded the letter with precise care, slipping it into a locked compartment of his travel case. A piece on the board had revealed itself, but whether it would move into his path or remain in the distance was not yet certain. Either way, when the time came, Daniel intended to be ready—not merely to defend, but to strike with purpose.
The forge hall of the Bouldergroves rang with the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal, each strike sending up a shower of sparks that lit the dim chamber. Siglorr Bouldergrove stood over the anvil like a general over a battlefield, his thick arms moving with practiced precision despite the angry scar that curled along his left arm like an old burn. At three feet nine inches, the dwarf was a block of muscle and stubborn will, his long beard bound in silver rings.
Daniel stepped inside, the smell of hot iron and coal smoke greeting him. He'd come here under the guise of checking the progress on a commission, but in truth, it was the perfect opportunity to speak to those he intended to shield.
"Yer late," Siglorr grunted, not looking up from the blade he was shaping. "Metal doesn't wait for dawdlers, lad."
Olmar Bouldergrove, his son, a younger, leaner dwarf of one hundred and twenty, looked up from the whetstone and smirked. "Father, you'd say that even if he was early."
Wrenla Bouldergrove, Siglorr's wife, was perched on a stool polishing a row of engraved vambraces. Her three-foot-three frame moved with quiet efficiency, though her sharp eyes missed nothing. "You both talk too much. Let the man say why he's here."
From the back of the hall, Imgrim Bouldergrove, the oldest of them all at seven hundred and two years, leaned on a great war axe, watching with the calm of someone who had already outlived more battles than most could imagine.
Elaria Syrune was by the window, the elven glow of her pale skin and green eyes an odd but welcome contrast to the dwarven warmth of the forge. At ninety, she was youthful by elven measure, her petite frame moving with an effortless grace as she stitched leather bindings for a sword hilt.
Daniel smiled faintly, letting the moment settle before he spoke. "I wanted to see you all before the next cycle begins. There are… changes coming in the Tower's flow. Certain scenarios will gain more attention. That means more risk, but also more opportunity."
Siglorr snorted. "Sounds like trouble."
"Only if you let others write your story for you," Daniel replied, his gaze moving deliberately to each of them. "You have roles to play—important ones. If you keep to them and grow your standing, no one can erase you. Fade into obscurity, though, and you'll be swept aside when the Tower reshapes itself."
Olmar tilted his head. "So… you're saying we need to be seen?"
"Not just seen," Daniel said, "remembered. Built into the fabric of what's to come. Each of you has a thread in this tapestry. Make it strong."
Elaria's green eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a spark of interest. "And if the wrong eyes fall upon us?"
Daniel's smile turned thin. "That's what I'm here for. Just keep moving forward, and leave the shadows to me."
There was a moment of silence before Imgrim gave a slow nod, as if weighing the measure of Daniel's words. "Aye. I've followed commanders with less sense than you. I'll see it done."
Wrenla gave a short, approving hum, and Siglorr, gruff as ever simply returned to his work, but there was less tension in his shoulders.
Daniel left soon after, the forge's warmth fading into the cool air of the Tower's stone corridors. With a flick of his fingers and a whispered incantation, a circle of pale light opened before him. The Transfer Gate hummed to life, and he stepped through, feeling the strange weightless pull of space folding.
When he emerged, it was into the familiar confines of his dorm room. The lantern on his desk was still burning low, casting soft light over the bed, where a figure lay curled beneath the blanket.
Melgil.
She was asleep, her white silk hair spilling across the pillow, the rise and fall of her breath steady. From the look of it, she had been waiting for him for some time, slipping past whatever wards he'd placed without waking him.
Daniel allowed himself a quiet moment, standing there in the doorway, the tension of the day slowly unwinding. Whatever shadows moved in the higher courts and whatever name the letter had carried, for now, the room was still.
And for tonight, that was enough.