The capital did not breathe the way Hearthroot did.
Hearthroot had been quiet in a lived-in way. Streets that settled into themselves by evening.
Solcarth's capital was different.
It's alive.
From the moment Astrae and I passed through the gate and walked far enough that the walls disappeared behind layers of stone and traffic, the city pressed in from every side. Roads branched and overlapped like veins. Walkways crossed above us, some built of pale stone, others reinforced with dark metal etched in glowing lines that pulsed faintly with energy. The buildings rose higher the closer we went toward the inner districts, stacked and terraced, their shapes angular but elegant, designed to channel flow rather than block it.
It reminded me uncomfortably of major cities back home.
Not in appearance, but in scale.
People everywhere. Merchants calling out prices. Couriers moving fast, slipping between foot traffic with practiced ease. Wayfarers with visible Standing marks walked openly, their presence subtly reshaping the space around them as others adjusted instinctively. There was noise, but not chaos. Everything had a rhythm.
And underneath it all was power.
Not the kind you saw directly, but the kind you felt. Light crystals embedded into walls hummed softly, feeding illumination into streets without flame. Transport platforms slid along rails of hardened mana. Even the water channels glowed faintly, purified and circulated by systems I didn't fully understand.
It wasn't electricity.
It was something older and cleaner.
Aether-driven infrastructure, refined to the point it felt mundane.
I walked slower than the crowd wanted me to, eyes tracking everything without quite meaning to. I was used to small places, to spaces where I could see the edges. Here, the edges were buried under layers of intention.
Astrae walked beside me, posture relaxed, expression neutral. She blended in easily. Too easily.
No one gave her a second glance.
That, more than anything, told me how dangerous she actually was.
"This place doesn't slow down," I said quietly.
"No," Astrae replied. "It was built not to."
We didn't head inward. Not yet.
Instead, we circled the outer commercial districts first, letting the flow of the city carry us while we got our bearings. Guild halls marked entire blocks, their emblems carved deep into stone facades. Some were obvious. Combat-focused groups advertising contracts openly. Others were quieter, their entrances tucked between storefronts, guarded by subtle wards that hummed when people passed too close.
Information guilds. Logistics. Appraisal houses.
Politics lived here too, just not where banners flew.
By late afternoon, we settled on an inn well away from the central districts. Cheap, but clean. The kind of place that catered to transient workers and minor Wayfarers passing through on long routes. The rooms were small, but private. No unnecessary questions.
Perfect.
After washing up and resting for a bit, we went back out once night settled properly over the city.
Solcarth at night was brighter than Hearthroot at noon.
Lantern crystals lit streets in soft gold and white. Elevated walkways glowed faintly blue beneath foot traffic. Music drifted from open doorways, mingling with conversation and laughter. Somewhere in the distance, bells chimed in measured intervals, marking time for those who cared to listen.
We didn't head for anything obvious.
No official guilds. No central plazas.
Instead, we drifted.
Markets that stayed open late. Taverns where people talked too freely once the third drink hit. Corners where conversations overlapped and half-secrets slipped out between complaints about taxes, rumors of court decisions, and speculation about the relics recently brought into the capital.
I listened more than I spoke.
Astrae did the same.
When she did ask questions, they were casual. The kind that sounded like idle curiosity. Who was favored at court. Which heir had been making decisions lately. Why certain patrols had doubled in specific districts.
People answered easily.
They always do, when they think the questions don't matter.
By the time we turned back toward the inn, my head felt full.
Too full.
Politics here were layered. Royals, noble houses, religious authorities, containment factions that didn't advertise themselves but carried quiet weight. Everyone watched everyone else. Everyone claimed it was for the good of the capital.
As we passed through a narrower street lined with closed shops, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Theo?"
I turned.
Tomas stood a few paces away, looking surprised and genuinely pleased. He wore plain traveling clothes now, no visible insignia, but I would have recognized him anyway. Some things didn't change.
"Tomas," I said. "Didn't expect to run into you."
"So, it is you!" He laughed lightly. "Same. Didn't think I'd see you this soon. It's barely three weeks."
His gaze flicked briefly to Astrae, polite and assessing, then back to me. "You both eaten?"
We exchanged a look.
Astrae shrugged slightly.
"Not properly," I addmited.
"Then come on," Tomas said, already turning. "There's a place nearby. Nothing fancy, but it's decent."
Dinner was simple.
Warm food, decent portions, no one trying to impress anyone else. Tomas talked about the journey back, about the capital being restless lately, about how everyone seemed to be on edge without quite knowing why. I listened, responded where it felt natural, and let Astrae stay mostly quiet.
She played the part perfectly.
When we stood to leave, Tomas walked with me a few steps behind Astrae.
His voice dropped.
"Lay low if you can, don't try to get anyone's attention as much as possible. Whatever you plan on doing here, just do it quietly," he said in a hushed tone.
I glanced at him.
"I've got a feeling," Tomas continued. "That artifact you helped with… it's drawing attention. More than it should. People from the palace are asking questions, and you're the easiest and most important one they can get. The archivist the captain hired and the one directly involved. And you're here, very easy target."
I nodded slowly.
"I don't know who's looking yet," he added, "but if you feel pressure, trust that instinct. It's not paranoia."
"Thanks," I said. "I'll be careful."
He hesitated, then gave me a brief, firm nod. "Good. Take care of yourself."
He didn't look at Astrae when he said it.
We parted ways shortly after.
As we walked back toward the inn, the city noise faded into something more distant, less intrusive. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Tomas is right," I said. "We're already being noticed."
Astrae nodded. "Of course you are." Emphasizing on the you.
"That… that was fast though."
She glanced at me. "It's been a long time since something divine-adjacent surfaced in a way mortals could touch. Even fragments attract attention. Especially here."
I frowned. "You think there are others?"
"Others? If you're asking about the remnants of gods, probably yes. Across the continent and even the entire Aetherfall."
"And how about your kind?" I asked, hopeful that her answer would be on a positive side.
"Not openly," she said in a quiet confidence. "But it would be naïve to assume none of my kind ever chose to walk quietly among mortals. Especially in a city like this."
"To them," Astrae continued, "being able to interact with a god, even a diminished one, would be considered a triumph. A validation. Some would seek it for power. Others for control."
"And you, how do you feel about this?" I asked.
"I don't intend to be found," she said simply.
We reached the inn without incident.
As I closed the door behind us, exhaustion finally caught up to me. Not physical. Mental.
The capital had teeth.
And we had walked straight into its mouth.
~~~
[Third Person POV: General]
The chamber was quiet when the relics were brought in.
Not ceremonial quiet. Not respectful quiet.
The kind of quiet that settled when everyone present knew they were standing near something that did not belong to them.
Caedryn stood near the long stone table at the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight but relaxed. He did not rush the attendants. He never did. Rushing made people careless.
One by one, the containers were placed down.
First, the black metal shard. Wrapped in layered bindings, its surface dull and unremarkable at a glance, but heavy in a way that pressed against the senses.
Second, the bone fragment. Sealed in clear crystal, pale and smooth, carved with symbols that refused to settle in the mind.
Third, the stone disc. Suspended within a glass frame, its circular markings broken at the center, the damage violent and deliberate.
And finally …. The divine feather.
It was placed last, not because anyone had decided it was most important, but because no one wanted to be the first to touch it.
The feather rested in a separate containment cradle, thinner than the others, reinforced with stabilizing sigils that glowed faintly. Gold in color, but not shining. It did not pulse. It did not hum. It simply existed, calm and unmoving, as if it had always been there and always would be.
Caedryn's eyes shifted to it immediately.
Not lingering or staring but acknowledging.
The attendants stepped back once everything was in place.
One of them cleared his throat. "By order of the Solcarth Dominion, these artifacts are now under your authority, Prefect Caedryn."
Caedryn inclined his head slightly. No smile. No satisfaction.
"It was unavoidable," he said. His voice was low, steady. "Anything tied to divine containment always is."
The attendant hesitated, then added, "The heirs expressed concern about removal from palace oversight."
Caedryn's gaze did not move from the table. "Concern is not jurisdiction."
That ended the discussion.
When the chamber was empty except for him, Caedryn finally stepped forward.
He did not touch the relics. He never touched first.
Instead, he let his perception unfold.
It was not magic in the way most understood it. No spells, lights or invocation use. His awareness slid outward, slow and deliberate, brushing against the edges of the artifacts like fingertips over ice.
The shard resisted him.
Not violently. Just enough to say it had weight beyond its size.
The bone fragment blurred at the edges of his awareness, refusing to be fully grasped.
The disc reacted strangely, its damaged center echoing with absence rather than presence.
Then there was the feather.
Caedryn paused.
Of all the objects on the table, it was the easiest to read.
Too easy.
It felt clean. Finished. That unsettled him.
"A remnant," he murmured softly. "That is what they will call you."
He circled the table slowly.
From every angle, the same conclusion pressed against his thoughts. The feather carried divine origin, yes, but not divine intent. It was not watching, not even reacting.
It was not alive.
Which meant it was not the source.
Caedryn stopped at the edge of the table and looked at all four items together.
Three anchors.
One explanation.
And something amiss.
His fingers tapped once against the stone surface.
"The seal failed," he said quietly, as if testing the words. "But not completely."
He let his awareness pull back, narrowing, sharpening.
The damage patterns inside the disc were not consistent with collapse. The shard carried traces of force applied from within, not without. The bone fragment held memory scars, old ones, not fresh.
And the feather…
The feather sat there, silent and perfect, like an answer provided too quickly.
Caedryn straightened.
"No," he said under his breath. "It didn't fail."
He turned away from the table, already forming plans.
Someone had walked out.
Not violently. Not loudly.
But completely.
And whoever or whatever it was had been careful enough to leave behind something convincing.
Caedryn allowed himself a thin, humorless smile.
"Interesting," he said. His eyes twinkle.
Then he reached for the bell at the side of the chamber.
"Prepare the lower vault," he ordered when the attendants returned. "Separate containment. Individually monitored."
His gaze flicked once more to the feather.
"And make sure that the divine one is watched," he added. "Not because it is dangerous."
The attendant hesitated. "Then why, Prefect?"
Caedryn's eyes hardened.
"Because it is pretending not to be."