The capital of Solcarth Dominion did not announce itself with noise.
It did so with weight.
Stone towers rose in clean, disciplined lines, their pale surfaces catching the sun and bending it into warm gold rather than glare. Wide streets cut through the city like deliberate strokes, not organic growth. Everything here had been planned, measured, reinforced. Even the air felt structured, humming faintly with the same unseen current that powered Hearthroot's lights, only steadier, older, deeper.
Captain Edrin Ward walked through the inner gates without breaking stride.
Two palace sentries stepped aside the moment they saw the sigil on his cloak. No questions. No delays. The crate bearing the relic floated just behind him, supported by a carrier frame etched with containment lines that glowed a restrained amber.
Inside, the audience wing waited.
The chamber was not a throne room. Solcarth did not conduct its real business where crowds could watch. This hall was narrower, longer, built for discussion rather than ceremony. Tall windows lined one side, draped in white-gold banners marked with the Dominion crest. The other side was bare stone, carved with reliefs of ancient treaties, dragon sigils, and the names of rulers long turned to dust.
At the center stood a long table of polished sunstone.
Three figures were already present.
The first was unmistakable.
Lady Lysandra Solcarth, second heir of the Solar Throne, stood at the head of the table with her hands folded behind her back. She was young by royal standards, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with sun-bright hair braided simply at the nape of her neck and eyes the color of burnished amber. She wore no crown, only a thin circlet etched into the fabric of her mantle, subtle enough that most would miss it unless they knew what to look for.
She looked… attentive.
Not bored nor distant but watching.
The second figure stood slightly to her right.
Lord Caedryn Voss.
He wore the robes of a Divine Containment Prefect, layered and heavy despite the warmth of the chamber. Dark gold threads traced binding sigils along the sleeves, each one a ward rather than decoration. His hair was ash-blond, neatly tied, his expression composed to the point of severity.
His Standing mark glimmered faintly at the side of his neck, Mid Exalted. Not hidden, it's displayed deliberately.
Caedryn's eyes were fixed on the crate.
Not with curiosity but with ownership.
The third figure lingered further back, half in shadow, a scribe whose presence was more obligation than participation. Their slate hovered, ready to record whatever was deemed acceptable for history.
Edrin stopped three steps from the table and knelt, one fist to the floor.
"Captain Edrin Ward," he said evenly. "Reporting from expedition site K-17. Retrieval successful."
"Stand," Lady Lysandra said at once.
Her voice carried warmth, but there was steel beneath it. Command that did not need to shout.
Edrin rose.
"With losses?" she asked.
"None that impacted retrieval," Edrin replied. "The route was cleared prior. Remaining threats were minimal."
Caedryn exhaled softly through his nose. Not displeased. Not impressed. Simply acknowledging information.
His lips curved slightly and uttered. "Convenient."
Lysandra raised one hand, a quiet signal. "Bring it forward."
The containment frame glided to the center of the table and settled. The lid unfolded in precise segments, revealing its contents.
The feather rested within.
Even here, surrounded by wards, seals, and people who dealt in dangerous objects for a living, it felt wrong.
Gold, but not reflective. Warm, but not radiating heat. Still, but heavy with implication.
The room went quiet.
Lysandra leaned forward slightly, her expression sharpening. "This is what caused the reaction?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Edrin said. "This was recovered at the core site. No additional manifestations were present when we departed."
Caedryn stepped closer before Lysandra could speak again.
His gaze traced the feather's length, the fine lines along its spine, the faint distortion of light around it. His breath slowed.
"A divine remnant," he said softly. "Intact enough to be dangerous."
"Or valuable," Lysandra replied.
Caedryn turned to her, smiling faintly. "Those are often the same thing."
Lysandra did not return the smile. "Your assessment?"
Caedryn placed two fingers just above the containment field, never touching. The wards reacted instantly, tightening.
"Residual divinity," he said. "Bound. Altered. This is not a living god. Whatever was sealed here did not escape in full."
Edrin remained silent. This was no longer his conversation.
Lysandra turned her attention back to the artifact. "Where was it located?"
"At the convergence point," Edrin answered. "Centered between three prior anchor locations. It was the only remaining object."
Caedryn's gaze flicked briefly to Edrin, then back to the feather. "Then the seal did its job."
"That is our assumption," Lysandra said.
She straightened. "This will be logged as a provisional divine relic. Restricted access. No public declaration."
Caedryn inclined his head. "Agreed. The fewer eyes on this, the better."
The scribe near the wall began recording, the slate hovering quietly as sigils traced themselves into memory.
Lysandra looked back to Edrin. "You've done well, Captain. You and your team will be compensated accordingly."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Edrin said.
"You're dismissed," she added. "Remain in the city until further notice."
Edrin bowed once more and turned to leave.
As he passed through the doors, the chamber returned to its quiet balance. The feather remained where it was, contained, categorized, and understood only within the limits that mortals allowed themselves to accept.
Caedryn watched it for a long moment after Edrin was gone.
The doors sealed behind him.
Silence settled.
Caedryn exhaled and turned fully to Lysandra. "With respect, this should be transferred to Containment immediately. Solcarth cannot afford uncertainty with divine artifacts."
"And yet," Lysandra said calmly, "you have already assumed it is yours to contain."
Caedryn blinked once. "It falls under my jurisdiction."
"It falls under Solcarth's," she corrected. "And I am acting Regent in my father's absence."
Caedryn's jaw tightened. "Your Grace, the Prefecture exists to—"
"Prevent awakenings," Lysandra finished. "Preserve stability. Avoid divine interference. Yes. I know your doctrine."
She stepped closer to the table, her gaze never leaving the feather.
"But doctrine becomes habit," she continued. "And habit becomes blindness."
Caedryn stiffened. "Are you suggesting we delay containment?"
"I am suggesting we understand what we are sealing," Lysandra said. "And who might notice if we do."
"That is dangerous thinking," Caedryn said sharply. "Artifacts like this draw attention whether we study them or not."
Lysandra finally looked at him.
Her expression was calm.
That unsettled him more than anger would have.
"And if sealing it blindly draws the wrong attention?" she asked. "If someone already knows this feather exists?"
Caedryn hesitated.
Just a fraction too long.
Lysandra noticed.
"So," she said softly. "You've felt it too."
Caedryn recovered quickly. "I've felt echoes. Nothing actionable."
"Yet," Lysandra corrected.
She turned back to the feather. "We proceed carefully. No announcements. No public record beyond the expedition report. The artifact remains under joint oversight."
Caedryn's eyes flashed. "Joint oversight invites interference."
"Which is exactly why it prevents unilateral mistakes," Lysandra replied.
She gestured toward the scribe. "Record this as a provisional relic. Classification pending."
The scribe hesitated, then nodded and wrote.
Caedryn folded his hands behind his back. "Very well. But understand this, Your Grace. If this feather is tied to a sealed god, then it will not remain quiet."
Lysandra smiled faintly. "Nothing important ever does."
As Caedryn turned away, his gaze lingered on the feather.
Not with reverence.
With calculation.
Far beneath the capital's polished stone and measured light, something ancient shifted.
And though none of them realized it yet, the moment the feather crossed into Solcarth's vaults, the game had changed.
~~~
By midday, the road had changed.
Leaving Hearthroot had not felt dramatic, but passing through its outer gate had carried a sense of finality all the same. The dull sound of stone settling behind us lingered longer than it should have. Ahead stretched a wide trade road, pressed flat by decades of caravans, pilgrims, and Wayfarers all moving toward the heart of Solcarth. Stone markers lined the route, each etched with distances that meant little to me beyond one simple truth.
The capital was far.
Nine days, if nothing went wrong. Ten, if we rested properly.
I kept that count in the back of my mind as we walked.
Astrae moved beside me, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robe, her pace measured and unhurried. She did not look around with curiosity or caution. No wandering glances, no wasted attention. She walked like someone who already knew what mattered on this road and what did not.
I noticed that almost immediately.
"You've walked this road before," I said.
It was not a question.
She slowed half a step, adjusting her pace to mine with deliberate ease.
"Not like this," she replied. "But I know what lies ahead."
I frowned slightly. "That's not comforting."
She glanced at me, her expression calm. "It's not meant to be."
We continued in silence after that.
The road was busy without being crowded. Merchants passed with laden carts. Small groups of travelers moved in the same direction, some on foot, some mounted. A few wore the marks of Wayfarers, though none were particularly high-standing. Most kept to themselves, exchanging only brief nods.
After a while, I spoke again, quieter this time.
"Back there," I said, keeping my eyes forward, "when Captain Edrin said you should stay with me. You didn't hesitate."
Astrae gave a soft hum, almost amused. "Why would I?"
I did not ask her why she stayed.
That question had already been answered beneath stone and silence, with blood on the floor and time standing still. Whatever agreement had been made there did not need repetition. Dragging it back into the open would only weaken it.
I focused on my pace instead.
I walked steadily, conserving energy the way I had learned to. I was not thin, not frail, not built like the fighters I had traveled with before, but neither was I weak in appearance. My build was average, solid enough to suggest endurance rather than speed. The problem had never been how I looked.
It was how quickly my body reached its limits.
The first village came into view before noon. A modest settlement with low stone buildings clustered around a communal well. Grain dried on wooden racks, and a few children ran between houses with careless laughter. No one paid us much attention. Travelers passed through often enough that we were unremarkable.
Two more villages followed over the next few days, each slightly larger than the last. Each closer to Solcarth's influence. The banners changed. The guard posts grew sturdier. The roads became cleaner, better maintained.
At night, we made camp near the edges of the road or took cheap rooms when they were available. We did not talk much, but the silence between us was not uncomfortable.
When Astrae spoke, it was never idle.
"This stretch floods during late summer," she said once, gesturing ahead with her chin. "If you see markers like that, don't set camp nearby."
I nodded and adjusted our route without comment.
Another night, she corrected the way I wrapped a bandage around my ankle. Her fingers were precise, practiced.
"That will slip when you walk," she said. "Do it like this."
I followed her instructions without irritation or pride.
She never asked about my deaths.
I never asked about her past.
The quiet between us was not empty. It was functional.
On the third day, something finally shifted.
I felt it before I saw anything. A faint pressure at the back of my skull, subtle but unmistakable. Failure Converter stirred, not flaring into alarm, but acknowledging something that did not belong.
I slowed without thinking.
"Astrae," I said quietly.
She had already stopped.
She did not turn around. She only lifted one hand, palm open, a clear signal for me to stay where I was.
The monster burst from the undergrowth in a spray of dirt and broken roots. Its body was wrong in a way that made my eyes hurt to follow. Scales where flesh should be, a mouth split too wide, teeth crowding in places that made no sense.
It never reached me.
Astrae stepped forward once.
There was no flash, no sound that matched the force of her movement. Space itself seemed to fold inward around her strike. The creature collapsed in on itself, bones cracking as if crushed by invisible pressure. It hit the ground already broken, already dead.
I let out a slow breath I had not realized I was holding.
Astrae glanced back at me. "You sensed it early."
"Uh-huh," I replied. "Barely."
"That's enough," she said, as calmly as if we were discussing the weather. "It means you won't be surprised."
She wiped her hand against the grass and continued walking.
I followed. After that, encounters settled into a pattern.
Creatures surfaced from brush, sand, or shadow. Some were aggressive. Some were territorial. A few were simply wrong, twisted by forces I did not want to think about. Astrae handled them before they could become real threats. Sometimes with a single motion. Sometimes by redirecting them into terrain that finished the work for her. Occasionally, she frightened them badly enough that they fled without ever understanding what they had faced.
I did not die.
That bothered me more than it should have.
By the fifth morning, I checked my status out of habit, expecting the number to have climbed anyway. Quiet had never meant safety in my life.
Deaths: 200
The number remained unchanged since I met Astrae.
I stared at it longer than necessary, then closed the window and finished packing.
Two hundred deaths behind me. And now, days without a single one.
It felt unnatural.
Not dangerous. Just unfamiliar.
Bandits appeared on the sixth day.
I felt their intent before I saw them. Not outright malice, but desperation sharpened into decision. I slowed, scanning the roadside, already calculating distances I could not realistically run.
Astrae stopped and sighed softly.
Four figures stepped out from behind rocks and trees. Their weapons were old and poorly maintained. Their movements were hesitant. Hunger showed clearly in their faces, desperation more than confidence.
I did not move.
Astrae stepped forward. She did not threaten them. She did not raise her voice. She simply let a fraction of her presence surface.
The air shifted.
The bandits froze as if struck by the same thought at once. One dropped his weapon. Another stumbled backward, eyes wide. Fear washed over them, raw and immediate. Within moments, they were running, not even bothering to look back.
I watched them disappear down the road.
"You didn't… touch them," I said. "Why?"
"They weren't worth it," Astrae replied.
And that was that.
We stayed in small villages when it made sense. Not every night, but often enough that I started to recognize the rhythm of rural Aetherfall. Low stone houses. Open hearths. People who watched strangers with curiosity rather than suspicion.
Astrae shifted subtly in these places.
Her posture softened. Her stride shortened. She listened more than she spoke. When children stared at her, she ignored them until they laughed, then smiled just enough to send them scattering back to their parents.
I did not ask how long she had practiced this.
I just observed.
I watched how she always positioned herself between me and open roads when we rested. How her attention never fully left our surroundings. How her movements remained economical, precise, never wasted.
She watched me too.
I noticed it in the way her gaze lingered on my footing when the terrain grew uneven. On my hands when I worked. On the way my eyes tracked everything even when my head stayed down.
We did not talk much like friends do.
I had never been good at filling silence. Fresh out of university, with no real work experience and no clear path even before my life fell apart, I had learned early that observation was safer than guessing.
Astrae seemed content with that.
We shared meals without forcing conversation. Walked side by side without pretending closeness. Rested near the same fires without pretending comfort.
And still, we learned things about each other.
I learned that Astrae hated waste. She finished everything she took, even food she clearly disliked.
I learned that she slept lightly, never fully relaxed.
I learned that when she thought I was not watching, she sometimes stared at the sky with an expression that did not belong to a fifteen-year-old girl.
She learned that I walked carefully, always watching my footing.
She learned how my shoulders tightened at sudden loud sounds, not from fear but expectation.
She learned how often my gaze drifted to nothing, like I was bracing for something that did not come.
By the eighth day, the land began to change.
Roads widened. Stone markers appeared more frequently. Travelers moved with purpose. Guards watched crossroads with more attention.
I felt the capital before I saw it.
A low pressure settled in my chest. Not fear. Something closer to anticipation mixed with unease.
"We're close," Astrae said.
"How close?" I asked.
"Close enough that pretending will matter," she replied.
I nodded.
She looked younger than ever in that moment. Hair already pulled high, robe plain, her presence deliberately muted. She could have passed for a younger sister walking beside me instead of something far older than my world. Instead of someone who actually takes front when dealing in danger.
The thought unsettled me.
Not because I doubted her strength. Because it highlighted my lack of it.
I adjusted my duffel and glanced at her. "You're very good at this."
"At what?" she asked.
"Staying alive," I said.
She snorted quietly. "Low standard."
"It hasn't been easy for me," I replied.
She glanced at me sideways. "I noticed."
We walked in silence after that.
Ahead, the horizon shifted. Massive stone walls rose in the distance, imposing even from afar.
The capital.
I swallowed.
For the first time since leaving Hearthroot, the road felt almost stable.
And for the first time since arriving in Aetherfall, I understood that stability might be the most dangerous thing of all.