Maxwell

  “At times, I wonder whether we are the hunters or the hunted.

  The Corrupted One’s influence stretches further than I thought. The whispers in the wind speak of things I dare not repeat. It is as though the land itself is rejecting us. Each night, I lie awake listening to the howls of creatures that should not exist, knowing they are drawn to us by something darker still. And yet, we press on.

  My companions grow more silent by the day. Regulus, ever the inquisitive one, has become hushed and withdrawn. Athelos, the stalwart protector, knows not friend from foe. I caught him staring into the shadows yesterday, his hand gripping his blade as though in waiting for some phantasmic enemy that would not reveal itself. Cynthia, who once moved like a ghost in the night, has grown unnervingly restless.

  Our destination is the Darkenlands, far to the west. Somewhere within those cursed lands, the Corrupted One stirs in his cradle. I only pray our fellowship is strong enough to take the journey.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2155 Post-Separation (PS).

  Having dealt with the most esteemed and obnoxious Lady Elena, Amelie began steering me away from the crowds. Her brisk pace carried us deeper into the hall, ever closer to the central dais where the Elders and the Nobles sat gathered around a raised table.

  The very sight of them was enough to make my chest tighten with anxiety, and I could not help but lean closer to Amelie and whisper, “Do we really need to disturb them? They look... well, somewhat preoccupied.”

  “They are assessing,” she replied, her voice just loud enough to carry over the steady hum of conversation. “It is what they do - measure power, status, alliances. Do not let it unnerve you. Appearances are everything.”

  I let slip a defeated sigh, and nodded my assent. It was becoming increasingly obvious to me that this banquet was no joyous celebration of lavish foods and charming pleasantries. Rather, it was a battlefield, veiled in the guise of festivity, where sharp words equaled drawn steel, and missteps were tantamount to mortal wounds.

  As we neared the center, I allowed myself a quick glance around, to see if anyone had taken note of our approach.

  The other guests certainly did not seem to mind. They were all too preoccupied with their revels, of sharing drinks and trading words with polite smiles on their faces. A dancing couple briefly looked our way as we passed, but soon returned to their frolics, lost in the sway of music and the warmth of each other’s embrace. We were, for all intents and purposes, going unnoticed by the crowd.

  That was, until I felt a piercing gaze upon my neck, and turned to find a pair of sapphire eyes staring at me from across the room.

  The color was remarkable. A deep blue, vivid as gemstone, framed by locks of the same tint, only darker in hue. Faint scars trailed pale lines across a stubbled chin, on a face that seemed both youthful and ancient at the same time. As if the man had lived a great many years, and his body had just failed to notice.

  He stood at the opposite end of the room, his back against the wall. There was a notable distance between him and the other guests. None seemed eager to linger in his periphery. His hair had been put up into a long ponytail, and his eyes remained fixed on us, and nothing else.

  His apparel was likewise surprising. Unlike the other guests gathered in the Forum hall, who were all dressed in their finest regalia, he looked as though he had just come from a lengthy trek through the wilderness. His brown traveling cloak was soaked through with mud and grime, his boots scuffed and well-worn. A cloth- wrapped sword lay slung over his shoulder, which, for some reason, the guards had not seen fit to confiscate.

  A cold shiver crept its way up my spine.

  He’s watching us so closely, I thought, averting my eyes. As if we’ve caused him great harm somehow.

  “Amelie?” I asked, turning to address my companion. “Do you know who-”

  My words promptly died on my lips as I noticed the countless eyes now turned my way.

  At the head of the table sat a regal woman, no older than thirty, dressed in a magnificent ball gown of pine-green silk. Flowing curls of brown hair cascaded over slender shoulders like a mantle of burnished bronze, and her eyes, a rich hazel, held within them a subtle gleam, of equal parts curiosity and subdued amusement. Her fingers, adorned with silver rings, tapped lightly against the polished surface of the table, a rhythm that seemed to mark the seconds as they passed.

  To her left sat an elderly man with a spotty beard and gray hair framing his face like a halo of frost. His sharp, sunken eyes regarded me with frightening clarity, as if taking measure of my worth, appraising my every flaw and imperfection. Opposite him, a thin youth of frail disposition, whose bald head caught the light of the chandelier above. His nervous energy was plain for all to see; he twitched and muttered to himself on whispered breaths, his lips moving in half-formed words.

  Both men were clothed in the same garments. Robes spun of white wool, adorned with an emblem on the chest; a fig leaf with branching veins running across its surface.

  There were others seated at the table as well, but my eyes yet lingered on the woman in the pine-green gown. There was something about her that nagged at me, something I could not quite place. A sensation, perhaps, or a presence that spoke to the senses, if not the mind. It was... unnerving.

  “Well,” she began, meeting my gaze, “you’ve certainly stirred the waters, haven’t you?” Her eyes flicked between me and Amelie, and I could not tell if it was meant as a reprimand or a compliment.

  Amelie dipped her head in greeting, her posture exuding a confidence that I envied but could not mimic.

  “My lady,” Amelie said. “Forgive the intrusion. It was not our intent to disrupt the flow of your evening.”

  The woman chuckled softly, a sound like the tinkling of distant bells. “Disruption can be... enlightening,” she replied, resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she studied us with renewed interest. “Though I must confess myself surprised. Based on what I have heard, it is rare to see the Lady Harthway in the company of... well, anyone, really. Much less someone of the male persuasion.”

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other as the woman’s hazel eyes bore into me with a scrutiny that made my skin crawl. Beside me, Amelie’s grip on my arm remained firm, anchoring me in place.

  “Circumstances have a way of changing,” Amelie said, her tone measured. “Suffice it to say that Maxwell has proven himself a most dependable companion.”

  “Companion, is it?” the woman mused, her lips curving into a faint smile. “How fascinating.”

  Before Amelie could respond, the elderly man in white cleared his throat, his sharp eyes fixed on me. “Dependable or not, I see no sigil upon his chest, nor crest upon his sleeve. Tell me, boy, what House do you hail from? What claim do you have to this table?”

  His words cut through the polite veneer like a blade. At once, the murmurs of nearby nobles seemed to swell, as though in anticipation of my response.

  “I... I don’t belong to any house,” I said, my voice steady despite the growing lump in my throat. “I’m here because Amelie trusts me.”

  The man scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Trust, is it? A fleeting currency if ever there was one.”

  “Peace, Elder Caedrin,” the woman said, her voice laden with an authority that silenced the murmurs around us. “Let us not forget that Lady Amelie is a Harthway. Her judgment is not to be so easily questioned.”

  Elder Caedrin gave a begrudging nod, though the flicker of disapproval did not fade from his eyes. The woman’s gaze softened as she turned to us, the hardness in her tone giving way to something more welcoming.

  “Lady Harthway, Maxwell,” she said. “Allow me to welcome you to our city. I am Lady Nidana, Arbiter of the Elders’ Council here in Fogveil. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I must admit, your presence here does raise some questions.”

  “It was my understanding that Lord Harthway had rejected your summons, Elder Nidana,” a blonde-haired man said, his piercing green eyes studying Amelie. He sat beside Elder Caedrin, his expression composed, stoic even, yet something nondescript stirred beneath the surface. A haunted quality, as though his mind was tethered to something far away, something he wanted to escape, but could not. His golden hair had been cut short, and brushed in such a way as to part in the middle. His suit was likewise stately, yet the subtle wear on his cuffs spoke to a man too preoccupied to truly care for the finer details of his appearance.

  “It might interest you to know, Lord Grimsworth, that I have not spoken with my father since the winter season,” Amelie said, deflecting the jab with ease. “As such, I am not here as his representative.”

  “Ahh, so you mean to tell me that you just so happened to stumble upon the hidden city of Fogveil, and this meeting, entirely by chance?” Lord Grimsworth said, raising an eyebrow.

  “W-Well...” she hesitated, her poised demeanor faltering for the briefest of moments before she recovered. “Chance, perhaps, had little to do with it. The events that lead us here were guided by survival, not design.”

  “It’s true,” I echoed. “We were crossing through Mistweave Forest because it was the quickest route to Benadiel. Not because we wanted to gatecrash some political meeting.”

  The corner of Lord Grimsworth’s mouth twitched, the hint of a smirk betraying his skepticism. “And yet, here you are, standing before the Elder’s council. A curious coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Come now, Elias,” a secondary party interjected, a placating smile upon his lips. “Let us not bombard them with questions before they have so much as been able to find their seats. They have, after all, been invited to this table by our host.”

  The man, seated opposite Lord Grimsworth, could have passed for his brother. His flaxen hair framed a face of similar make, though he appeared younger in years, and his demeanor was markedly softer. Where Lord Grimsworth exuded a calculated coldness, this man seemed to embody an air of detached charm, his smile a mask of hidden layers. A black coat cascaded over a tailored grey suit and a brown tie, complimented by the glimmering chain of a pocket watch, tucked away in his shirt pocket.

  “As such, Elder Nidana,” he continued, ignoring the sullen look Lord Grimsworth had now adopted. “If you saw fit to allow them entry to the council’s presence, then perhaps it would be wise to first hear what they have to say before we leap to any conclusions.”

  Lady Nidana gave a gracious nod to the man. “As usual, Mr. Ashmont, your voice brings a much-needed balance to our discussions.” She turned her attention back to us, gesturing toward two open chairs at the far end of the table. “Please, sit. I find that discourse flows more freely when we’re not looming over one another.”

  We gracefully accepted the offered seats, the table feeling more like a stage than a gathering beneath the watchful eyes of the council. Once seated, Amelie inclined her head respectfully toward Lady Nidana. “We are honored to be welcomed into your circle, my lady,” she said.

  Lady Nidana rolled her eyes as a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Yes, yes, enough with the pleasantries. Let us instead address the truth of your journey. You claim to have come upon Fogveil through circumstance, but cities such as ours do not simply appear to travelers unless they are... meant to.”

  “My lady, we did not stumble upon Fogveil by chance,” Amelie said. “We were led here by one of your own. Gareth of the Warborn. Surely you know this?”

  A ripple of murmurs, swelling like the sea before a storm, ran through the council. Several heads turned toward one another, exchanging glances that ranged from disbelief to confusion. Lady Nidana’s expression tightened, her hazel eyes seeking out Elder Caedrin.

  “That is news to me, I’m afraid,” she said, a contained frown upon her lips. “Though I do recall Elder Caedrin mentioning a meeting taking place between him and the Major earlier this week. What have you to say on this matter?”

  Elder Caedrin’s fingers, which had been steepled before him, slowly curled into fists atop the polished table.

  “... W-Well, as it happens, Major Gareth may have mentioned something about escorting two individuals back to the city following his latest excursion into Mistweave,” Elder Caedrin said, doing his utmost to avoid looking at Lady Nidana.

  “I see,” Lady Nidana said, using a hand to rub at her temples. “And you failed to mention this because...?”

  “It... must have slipped my mind. My apologies.”

  “Slipped your mind?” she repeated, her voice deceptively calm. “How delightfully convenient.”

  Elder Caedrin shifted uncomfortably, his sunken eyes darting between Lady Nidana and the other council members.

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Ashmont interjected once more, his smooth voice cutting through the noise, “we should focus less on Elder Caedrin’s mistake, and more on the reason behind our gathering, my lady. Namely, the threat of the Bonefeeder, and the supposed birth of a new Seedling.”

  An uneasy silence settled over the table at Mr. Ashmont’s words, as if the very mention of the Bonefeeder had drawn a shadow across the room. Lady Nidana’s fingers came away from her temples, and she leaned forwards, her commanding presence filling the space between us.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “The Bonefeeder and the Seedling are not matters to be discussed lightly, Mr. Ashmont. Your eagerness for answers is noted, but let us tread carefully,” she said.

  Amelie stiffened beside me, her expression betraying only a fraction of the unease I knew she must be feeling. I glanced at her, hoping for some clue or reassurance, but her attention remained on Lady Nidana.

  “What’s the Bonefeeder?” I asked hesitantly, breaking the silence. I had been given a barebones description of the creature by Gareth, yet there were still plenty of questions left unanswered. “And... what’s a Seedling?”

  “The Bonefeeder was a man, once,” Lord Grimsworth said, regarding me with some derision, as if I was a particularly challenged half-wit. “History remembers him as Arvul, trusted of Rodona, head of the Herbalism Chamber at the Apothecarium. A renowned scholar, well-respected by his peers.”

  “Arvul was a man of knowledge and innovation, but his ambition was boundless,” Elder Caedrin said, fingers drumming against the table. “Inspired by the great works of his Master, he sought to replicate her success in the field of healing by tapping into the leylines, the biggest arteries of Astra to be found in Alwaar. A monstrously stupid idea, as any Wielder could tell you.”

  “His experiments began small. Infusions to strengthen crops, minor enhancements to medicinal brews. But such power as is found within the leylines is not to be wielded lightly. And before long, the prolonged exposure to such great quantities of Astra began to work on his mind, amplifying his desires and twisting his thoughts. His wish to cure the world of illness, passed down to him from his Master, began to shift and distort into a desire for the defeat of death itself. Yet such a thing is folly, for death is not something to be conquered.”

  “In the end, his ambition became his downfall,” Lord Grimsworth finished, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Convinced that the only way to escape death was to become one with the planet itself, he thrust himself, body and soul, into the leylines. But rather than ascension, it was ruination that awaited him in the embrace of the lifestream. For the untainted power of Astratum worked upon his flesh, and birthed in him something... nameless.”

  Amelie’s gaze grew at once thoughtful, her eyes fixed on Lord Grimsworth. “Nameless?” she repeated, her tone carrying a note of confusion. “I was under the impression that the term ‘Bonefeeder’ was meant to be more than an epithet.”

  “It is,” Lady Nidana interjected. “But what Arvul became defies true understanding. ‘Bonefeeder’ is a title we use to frame the unfathomable. In truth, he is a predator. One who drains Astra and life itself from all he encounters. His transformation left him devoid of humanity, but worse, it made him a conduit. The corruption he embodies spreads wherever he treads.”

  “And the Seedling?” Amelie asked. “How does it tie into this?”

  “The Seedling, my dear, is a parasite.”

  The unexpected voice drew every gaze as a figure approached the table. A woman, regal and imposing, moved with practiced poise, her arm linked with that of a shorter, nervous man whose eyes darted around the room as if seeking escape.

  Her striking red hair framed a face of serene confidence, and her amethyst gown shimmered as she approached. Recognition struck me; this was the same woman we had seen on the bridge earlier, her presence now no less enigmatic but infinitely more intrusive.

  “Ahh, Lady Baldec,” Mr. Ashmont said. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

  “Alexander,” the lady said, dipping her head in greeting. “My apologies for the delay. This banquet hosts a great many guests, and so there were hands to be shaken and words to be traded.”

  Leaning closer to Amelie, I whispered in her ear, “Who is that?”

  “That is Evelynn Baldec,” came the answer. “Descendant of the legendary merchant Alistair Baldec, who founded the Baldec Menagerie. The largest delivery and postal service company in Alwaar.”

  “Your tardiness is forgiven,” Lady Nidana said, gesturing towards the two empty chairs next to Lord Grimsworth. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

  “Hear that, my dear? The Esteemed Arbiter has offered us a seat at her table. It would be very rude indeed to reject her courtesies,” Lady Baldec said to her companion.

  The man, visibly reluctant, offered the congregation a tight smile and a shallow bow before taking his seat with apparent hesitation. He seemed wildly out of place amid the grandeur of the hall, his fidgeting hands betraying his discomfort. Lady Baldec, on the other hand, settled into her chair with effortless grace, her demeanor assertive, as though her place at this table was a matter of course.

  “I must admit,” Lady Baldec began, her deep-green eyes sweeping over the council, “it has been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of engaging with Fogveil’s most illustrious. And yet, it appears that pressing matters have drawn us all together.”

  “Pressing indeed,” Lady Nidana said. “Now, perhaps you would care to elaborate on your earlier statement, for the sake of the uninitiated?”

  Lady Baldec put on a faint smile, tilting her head as though the question amused her. “Certainly. Though I am no scholar nor expert on the matter.” She turned to us, her gaze lingering briefly on me before moving to Amelie. “The Seedling is no mere anomaly. It is a child of the Great Corruptor, much like the Husks that plague our lands. However, the Seedling’s emergence is exceedingly rare, far too infrequent to be dismissed as a mere byproduct of the Corruptor’s spread.”

  She paused, allowing her words to sink in before pressing on. “While the Husks are mindless agents of destruction, chaotic and crude by nature, the Seedling is an altogether more insidious force. It selects a host, integrates itself into their very essence, and begins to grow. As it feeds on Astra, it endows its host with unparalleled strength and capabilities. Yet this power comes at a cost.”

  Her expression darkened, and the smile disappeared. “The Seedling operates in silence. At first, it appears as a boon, amplifying its host’s abilities, sharpening their skills. This subtlety is its greatest weapon. By the time the corruption manifests openly, the host is already lost.”

  “Lost?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “What do you mean by that?”

  Her gaze shifted to me, piercing and unnerving. “The Seedling matures,” she said. “And as it does, its host ceases to be an individual and becomes a vessel. An extension of the Corruptor’s will. Such a being cannot be reasoned with. It exists only to serve, and spread its influence.”

  The room fell into heavy silence, the weight of her words settling like an oppressive fog. Lady Baldec’s explanation did not seem like news to the others, and yet, I could see the effect it had on them, like a closing fist about their hearts. They all knew the terrors inherent in the appearance of such a being. I, on the other hand, could only speculate as to its true significance

  “Which brings us to the matter at hand,” Lady Nidana said. “If a Seedling is indeed present within our borders, its eradication must be swift. The damage it could wreak upon our lands and our people is immeasurable. We all remember what happened the last time such a being was allowed to fester east of the Darkenlands.”

  “The Butchering of Lourn,” Mr. Ashmont said, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, we remember. A dark day for the nation.”

  “Wait, what?” Amelie said, bringing everyone’s attention to her. “The Butchering of Lourn was caused by a Seedling?”

  “Naturally,” Lord Grimsworth said, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t tell me you believed the official story? What else could have driven the villagers to such madness?”

  “W-Well, I...” she started, only to be interrupted by the appearance of yet another unannounced guest.

  “Sorry for being late. What have we missed?”

  The words, uttered on a labored breath, belonged to a man of such handsome make, his mere presence sparked a note of jealousy in my chest. He was possessed of the kind of beauty that demanded attention, and lingered in memory long after the moment had passed.

  His eyes were pools of molten gold, warm yet piercing, capable of making you feel simultaneously seen and stripped bare. His teeth, white as sunlit ivory, were set with such flawless precision they might have been carved by the gods themselves. His medium-length hair fell into a cascade of soft, inky-black curls, framing a strong yet refined face. It parted naturally at his forehead, accentuating the symmetry of his features. A jawline that seemed etched from marble, cheekbones high enough to catch the light, and a nose that lent a stately balance to his visage.

  Attached to his arm was a woman, who was at once recognizable to both me and Amelie.

  It was Lady Elena, the very same person we had exchanged verbal jabs with earlier. Only, she seemed somewhat less put together now than she had before. Stray locks of chestnut hair had broken free of their pinned captivity, to stand on end at awkward angles. Her makeup was smudged in several places, and a slight sheen of perspiration lingered upon her forehead.

  Similar dishevelment could be seen in her partner’s attire, though it was less noticeable at first glance. His dark tunic bore faint creases and a smudge near the hem, as though hastily straightened in a room with poor light. His collar was slightly askew, a single button near the top left undone. There was an unmistakable air of intimacy to the way Lady Elena clung to his arm, leaving little doubt as to their recent activities.

  “Lady Elena,” Amelie said, her tone laced with sarcasm. “You seem... uncharacteristically ruffled. Has the evening been taxing for you?”

  Lady Elena’s hand tightened on the man’s arm for just a moment before she dropped it, as though realizing how her grip might appear. She smoothed her gown with deliberate care, tilting her chin upward in an attempt at elegance. “Your concern is noted, Lady Harthway,” she said. “Though unnecessary. I assure you, I am perfectly fine.”

  The man’s molten-gold gaze flicked toward Amelie, then me, a faint glimmer of amusement in their depths. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, a smile upon his lips. “Amelie Harthway... and with a partner, no less. Truly, these must be the end times.”

  “Hadrian,” Amelie said, nodding to him. “Your penchant for the inappropriate has yet to wane, I see.”

  “Oh, please,” he laughed. “As if my impeccable sense of humor has not been to your enjoyment in the past.”

  Amelie’s expression did not shift, but I could feel a subtle change in her, blown in on a whispered breeze. Her calm, measured voice sliced the air like a razor. “I fail to recall a time when your humor served any purpose other than to test the limits of my patience. It seems you have yet to find a better use for it.”

  Hadrian’s grin only widened, as though her barb had hit a nerve he was proud to expose. “Ah... I’ve missed this, you know,” he said. “Few can bandy words with me as you can. A true talent, I say.”

  The tension in the room was palpable, like the taut string of a bow being drawn just a fraction tighter. Amelie’s eyes remained locked on Hadrian, her expression serene but her body language unyielding, the epitome of poise under pressure. I could not tell if the simmering energy between them was borne of rivalry, history, or something far more complicated. Whatever it was, it seemed to amuse Hadrian immensely.

  Lady Nidana, ever the master of timing, chose this moment to intervene, her words ringing with clear authority. “Hadrian, that is enough of your levity. We have matters of grave importance to discuss, and I will not have this council reduced to a stage for your games.”

  Hadrian inclined his head, a sudden picture of obedience, though his smile yet lingered. “Of course, Arbiter. I live to serve.”

  Lady Nidana’s gaze swept over the gathering as though daring anyone else to interrupt. The hum of subdued whispers quieted, leaving only the weight of expectation pressing down upon all present.

  “Good,” she said, with abject finality. “Then let us proceed. The emergence of the Seedling cannot be dismissed as mere misfortune. It signals a convergence, one that we are ill-prepared to face if we remain divided.”

  She turned to Amelie and me, her expression inscrutable. “Lady Harthway, you and your companion seem to have stumbled into this conflict... though in truth, I suspect it more than mere happenstance. Tell me, what do you know of the Seedling? And of the Bonefeeder?”

  Amelie straightened, her demeanor unflinching. “Very little, my lady. What we have learned has been pieced together from scattered warnings and rumors. Gareth of the Warborn guided us here, and he made mention of the Bonefeeder to Maxwell in passing. Beyond that, our understanding is... incomplete.”

  Lady Nidana’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then allow me to complete it. The Bonefeeder, as you have heard, is not merely a corrupted being, but a harbinger of destruction. Wherever he treads, life withers. The Seedling, on the other hand, represents a more insidious threat. It infiltrates, deceives, and then consumes from within. Together, we believe them to be the vanguard of the Great Corruptor.”

  The room seemed to darken with her words, a shadow cast by the collective dread that now filled the air. Even Hadrian’s playful smirk faltered, though only somewhat.

  “I will not mince words,” Lady Nidana said. “If the Seedling is within Fogveil, it will seek a host, feeding on their essence until it assumes full control. Once that happens, the host will be lost to us, their will replaced by the Corruptor’s. We must find and destroy it before that comes to pass. Additionally, there is the matter of the Bonefeeder, who we believe has common cause with both the Seedling and the Marauders that occupy the northern forest.”

  “And how do you propose we tackle this issue?” Lord Grimsworth interjected, his tone clipped. “It’s not as though these creatures announce themselves. And if they are indeed allies, then we are facing a two-pronged attack.”

  “Major Gareth has already begun his work,” Lady Nidana replied. “Even as we speak, his men search tirelessly for traces of the Seedling’s influence. But it will not be enough. We must remain vigilant. Every eye, every ear, every resource at our disposal must be focused on this threat.”

  “And what do we stand to gain by aiding you in this matter?” Lord Grimsworth continued. “Lest you forget, the fate of Fogveil matters little to the world at large.”

  A sudden grunt from Elder Caedrin brought all eyes to him. He wore a disgruntled look as he regarded Lord Grimsworth with enmity. “Perhaps you misunderstand the gravity of our situation, Lord Grimsworth,” he said, his voice edged with steel. “Fogveil is not just a city, it is a nexus. The leylines that converge here are not isolated. Should the Seedling corrupt them, the damage will ripple far beyond our borders.”

  “Yes, but-”

  “And what’s more, is it not true that you and your family have benefited greatly from our partnership over the years? Lest you forget, it was with me that your father first parlayed, when you were but a babe at your mother’s teat. A true man of honor, he was. Would you sully his memory now, with your reckless words?”

  The room fell deathly quiet, as Elder Caedrin’s retort hung in the air. The younger noble’s composure faltered for a moment, his lips contorting into a grimace. Whatever comment he might have intended to voice died unspoken, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment.

  “Certainly not, Elder Caedrin,” he said. “I meant no disrespect to the council or its mission. I merely wanted to... Ah, it matters not. I will defer to the council’s wisdom.”

  “A wise decision, Lord Grimsworth,” Lady Nidana said. “Let us not allow dissent to weaken our resolve. We face an enemy that thrives on division.”

  As the room murmured its reluctant agreement, I could not shake the feeling of unease coiling in my gut. I hazarded a glance at Amelie. Her face betrayed no fear, but I knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders.

  Before I could speak, Hadrian’s voice broke the silence once more. “Forgive me, Arbiter, but this all sounds rather grim.” He leaned back in his chair, his molten-gold eyes trailing between the gathered nobles. “Surely there’s a better way to pass the evening than indulging in tales of doom and gloom.”

  “Hadrian,” Lady Nidana said sharply, her patience thinning. “If you have nothing constructive to add, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

  “Ah, but you wound me,” Hadrian said, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I merely propose that we focus on the here and now. After all, the Seedling hasn’t taken root yet, has it?”

  Lady Nidana’s gaze hardened, but before she could respond, a sharp knock echoed from the grand doors. A guard entered, his face pale and his movements hurried as he made for the center dias, paving his way through the sea of guests. When at last he reached the table, he put his right hand in a closed fist to his forehead.

  “My lady,” he said, holding the salute for a short moment. “There’s been an incident in the lower districts. A disturbance near the markets.”

  The table froze. Lady Nidana’s expression turned to stone as she rose from her seat. “What sort of disturbance?”

  The guard hesitated, his hands trembling. “I am not certain, my lady... only that there appears to have been some sort of explosion, followed by a scuffle between the locals.”

  "An explosion, you say?" she repeated.

  "Yes, my lady," the guard replied. "The details are unclear, but witnesses report having seen strange lights, followed by a sudden stillness before the explosion occurred. There have also been claims of something unknown emerging from the smoke in the aftermath, but descriptions vary wildly between individuals.”

  “I understand,” she said, before turning to address the council once more. “My apologies, but it would seem that me and my fellow Elders are needed elsewhere this evening. We shall reconvene here on the morrow, I think, to continue our discussion. For now, I wish you all a good night, and pleasant dreams.”

  As she finished speaking, the room seemed to let slip a collective exhale, as though some invisible weight had been lifted, albeit momentarily. The council members all began to stir, their chairs scraping against the floor as they rose to leave. The meeting had reached its end... for now, at least.

  “Come along, Maxwell,” Amelie said, gripping my arm. “We have much to discuss.”

  “Y-Yeah, sure,” I said, following her lead. But as I pushed myself from the chair, an unsettling feeling settled in my chest, a nagging suspicion that something important had been overlooked. My gaze swept the room, searching for the figure I had glimpsed earlier; the man with the cloth-wrapped sword.

  Alas, he was nowhere to be seen. He must have slipped away during the meeting, vanishing into the shadows before I had chance to make sense of his presence.

  "Maxwell?"

  Amelie’s voice brought me back to the present. She was standing just next to me, her hand still on my arm, brow furrowed in concern. "Are you coming?"

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, forcing myself to focus. “I’m coming.”

  ... Just another mystery, I thought. As if there aren’t enough of those these days.

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