Cane slipped the scroll into his ring with a practiced swipe, noting how both Fergis and Sophie were still watching him.
"It's not marked urgent," he said casually. "And it's from a capital courier—probably something from the auction house or a follow-up from the commission board."
"I've never gotten anything from the auction house," Fergis said glumly.
"I've never gotten a message from anyone," Sophie countered, one-upping him with a grin.
Cane chuckled. "Every group's got a popular kid. Guess that's me."
Sophie laughed softly. "I'm heading to the kitchens. Some of the girls are hanging out tonight."
Cane nodded, accepting the kiss she pressed to his cheek. "More training tomorrow. After that, I want to scout the first leg of our route. Would be good to check out the wagons and draft teams if we can."
"I'm in," Fergis said, already stepping off toward his tower.
Cane entered his room and locked the door behind him. He pulled the scroll free of his ring, feeling again the soft pulse of magic embedded within—subtle, refined, and unmistakably elven.
Not standard enchantment, either. This was older… deeper. The kind of magic that didn't announce itself, but instead waited to be discovered.
He unrolled the scroll.
Blank.
He turned it over. Held it up to the light. Even sniffed it—roses and cedar sprigs, strangely pleasant.
"Right," he muttered. "Let's try this…"
Cane closed his eyes and submerged his thoughts into the parchment.
The shift was instant.
A forest unfolded before him—massive trees, towering high enough to vanish into clouds. Cities woven into the canopy. Rope bridges and platforms spiraled upward in seamless union with nature. Homes shaped from bark and light. The air shimmered with quiet life.
Cane let out a low whistle. "They really built cities in the trees…"
Then a familiar figure stepped forward from the misted woods: Commander Moriwynn of the Sunset Court.
Her posture was formal, but her expression was relaxed.
"Cane," her voice echoed gently in his mind, "I hope you are well. I would like to formally invite you to visit the Sunset Forest during your academic break. Present this to Archmage Telamon, and he will see to the arrangements."
The vision faded, the forest dissolving into silver mist.
Cane opened his eyes, still holding the scroll.
He smiled to himself. "Sunset Forest… huh. Guess I'm making friends in high places."
Cane studied the note for a moment longer, then shook his head. "Nope… for some reason, that place feels like somewhere I should avoid."
He held the parchment to the candle flame on his window ledge and watched as it ignited—only to flare with angry light and return, seconds later, completely undamaged.
"Huh…" Cane stashed the parchment and kicked off his boots, determined to get a full night's sleep.
"Good morning, everyone! This is Sofie Sweetwater with today's announcements."
Cane rolled over, smiling at the pleasant voice echoing through his room. He listened half-awake to news from across the realm, drifting in and out of attention until Sofie signed off. The message from the night before floated back to the surface of his thoughts.
Cane: Do we have an academic break?
Clara: Of course! End of the second cycle. How do you not know that?
Sophie: He skipped orientation and didn't read the handbook.
Cane: This again?
He dressed slowly, mentally reviewing his half-planned day. "Team training this morning… then I want to scout Sarona."
Fergis: We can pick up the mission packet today.
Cane: Let's do that first.
Cane met Fergis outside Seven Tower. He was whistling softly, looking oddly cheerful.
"Two more days," he said. "I'm actually looking forward to it."
"Same," Fergis replied, his eyes drifting toward the Central Fountain. "Hot springs tonight? I've been feeding that eel daily. He's gonna get fat."
As they arrived at the Admin Office, Cane paused at the red double doors.
"I need to talk to the Archmage. Can you grab our packet?"
Fergis gave a two-fingered salute. "Meet you back here."
Cane entered and smiled at Ana Grahl. "Morning. I'd like to see the Archmage."
Ana, unphased—he was the only student allowed to make that request unannounced—just nodded. "I'll let him know."
The psi rune on her neck glowed faintly as she whispered something Cane couldn't hear.
A moment later, the heavy doors to Telamon's office swung open.
"Go right in."
The Archmage stood before a hovering three-dimensional map of the known world, hands clasped behind his back.
"Is the Sunset Forest on there?" Cane asked.
Telamon didn't look away from the map. "No. That's not somewhere one travels by land or sea."
Cane pulled the blank parchment from his ring and held it out. "I received this yesterday."
Telamon raised a brow. "Ah. That explains your question." He accepted the scroll, examined it briefly, then passed it back. "How well do you know Commander Moriwynn?"
"Barely. We exchanged a few words. She referred to me as a Metal Singer."
Telamon's expression shifted. "Did she now? And let me guess—she told you you're the first human with that skill?"
Cane nodded.
"Untrue." Telamon's voice had gone distant. "Although she wouldn't know that."
He stepped away from the map, gaze ancient and unreadable.
"During the First Rise of Man, the talent was rare—but it existed. They were master smiths—true metallurgists—who forged weapons and armor so precise and powerful they could make the heavens sing. That was real metallurgy… not the shadow of it we practice today."
"Wait—First Rise?" Cane asked. "How many were there?"
"This is the second."
Cane stared. "What happened to the first?"
"Feuding Archmages destroyed everything. Magic burned too bright. Cities fell, kingdoms vanished. Only a few survived—scattered and ordinary. The rest was lost."
He turned to face Cane fully. "First contact with the Sunset Forest didn't happen until a thousand years ago. They emerged from hiding. Carefully. Selectively."
"Do you think I should go?" Cane asked, voice low.
"That depends. Do you want to?"
Cane shook his head. "Moriwynn was pleasant enough, but I could feel it… that undercurrent. Arrogance. She formed Gryphon Company, sure—but why? I think she sees us as less."
"That," Telamon said with a nod, "sums elves up perfectly."
Cane's voice grew quieter. "What's to stop someone from squashing me like an ant if I go there? Would her people even care?"
Telamon's eyes glinted. "She's going to know you tried burning the message." His mouth twitched in amusement. "She might have even felt it."
As the team left the Academy, Clara glanced toward the road ahead. "We're heading west? Not north?"
"Wetlands," Cane said. "Few hours that way. Our route from Sarona to the capital cuts through a swamp. Seems like a good match."
The terrain shifted quickly—rolling hills gave way to worked fields and pastures. The stench of manure and livestock hung in the air as they followed the rapids of an angry river. A narrow log—no thicker than a man's waist—spanned the rushing water, forming a crude bridge.
"I NEED YOUR HELP!"
A man's shout rang out from the far bank. He appeared from the trees, drenched in blood, sprinting toward the river.
Without hesitation, he darted across the log.
Cane's hand flashed to his ring. Starbolt appeared in an instant—and flew faster.
The trident struck the man square in the chest, stopping his momentum cold and nearly flipping him into the water. A split-second later, a fireball tore through the air and sent the impaled figure tumbling down the rocky slope.
Clara: What?!
Cane: Form Ice Wall—now.
A low, guttural laugh rippled from the crumpled form below. Twisted and unnatural, the thing impaled by Starbolt began to rise—its body arching upward, spine cracking, limbs dangling off the ground like a puppet's.
Frigid air rolled outward as Clara's Ice Wall surged into place behind them.
Cane advanced, gripping Starstrike tightly.
Fergis: You're in my line of fire. Move left.
Cane veered along the river's edge, angling wide to flank the creature.
The thing hissed, its skin patchy and half-frozen, one arm dragging claws across the rocks with a shriek of metal on stone. The illusion of humanity was gone—only a mask peeled over something far worse.
Cane: Root it. I'll draw its attention. Create the opening.
It saw him coming and crouched to leap. Mid-air, vines erupted—wrapping around its legs and yanking it off-balance. It landed hard, bones cracking, and broke free with a burst of unnatural force.
Too slow.
Cane's swing came down in a savage arc, cleaving into its shoulder. The limb detached with a wet crunch, flopping to the ground in a spray of gore.
Clara: What is that?!
Cane: Shit… Banshee. Hit it hard.
He rolled aside as the banshee howled, its screech curdling the air. White-hot flames tore through its legs—Fergis's balefire lighting the swamp like midday. The creature reeled, thrashing wildly with its remaining arm.
Cane raised his shield, blocked a desperate slash, then brought Starstrike down again—hard.
The banshee's final scream shivered the air as it collapsed, twitching. Cane planted a boot on its chest and yanked Starbolt free.
The quiet that followed was sharp—broken only by retching.
Clara doubled over, emptying what little breakfast she'd had into the grass. Dhalia held her steady, one hand glowing faintly.
Clara: Sorry… That was more blood than I'm used to.
Cane: Same thing happened to me my first time.
Fergis walked up and kicked the banshee's corpse. "We need to find where it came from. If it had taken that form, then someone died—probably recently."
Dhalia: How did you two know it wasn't human? You both attacked instantly.
Fergis: Ever seen someone run full speed across a log like that? No hesitation, no panic? Not possible.
Cane: And listen to the words. Calm. Too calm. No one screams for help and talks like they're having lunch.
Dhalia exhaled slowly, nodding. She turned to Clara, who had finally straightened up, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve.
"You okay?"
Clara nodded. "Yeah. That was disgusting… Now I'm hungry again."
Cane: You listening in, Sophie?
Sophie: Yes… I was afraid to say anything that might distract you.
Cane: Has that falconer left town yet?
Sophie: No, he's waiting to return with a caravan tomorrow.
Cane: I'll have to get one. We need eyes in the sky.
Cane cleaned the blood from Starstrike, then pulled a pair of blacksmith pliers from his ring and bent over the fallen banshee.
Dhalia: What are you doing?
Fergis: The fangs. There's a bounty for them, even off-mission. They're worth points.
Cane nodded silently, storing the twisted ivory fangs.
"Let's go," he said, stepping onto the narrow log bridge with trident in hand, using it for balance. The current rushed beneath them, loud and fast.
Once across, he bent to study the blood trail—darker where the banshee had fled the scene.
Clara: Up there.
He followed her pointing finger. Dozens of vultures circled lazily above a patch of low trees.
"Vultures," Cane said aloud. "Looks like we won't have to track."
Cane: Good call. Let's move.
The air thickened as they advanced—damp and heavy, touched with something foul. The brush thinned, giving way to an open field. A small log cabin sat near the center, with two outbuildings flanking it. Wheatfields stretched beyond in golden rows, stark against the rising dread.
Fergis reached out, grabbing Cane's arm.
"I see them," Cane said quietly, already locking eyes on the shapes near the cabin.
Cane: Two bodies. No need for everyone to see this—but I have to confirm.
Fergis: We'll hold here. I've had enough blood for one day.
Cane gave a grateful nod and stepped forward, his boots sinking into the soft, freshly tilled ground.
The first body lay near the wheat rows—a man in his thirties, strong build, one hand still gripping the broken haft of a hoe. He'd fought.
Closer to the cabin, a woman lay on her back, eyes glassy, mouth frozen mid-scream. Her abdomen was torn open, entrails half-devoured. Whether by vultures or the banshee, Cane didn't know.
Then—wailing.
He flinched, instincts firing as he sprinted toward the house.
The door was ajar. Inside, the floor was swept clean, the home neatly kept. A second cry rose from a small alcove near the back.
Cane: Sophie, contact the Archmage. Request non-emergency aid. Eight miles west of the Academy.
He stepped inside, bent down, and lifted the crying bundle. A baby, swaddled in a loose wrap, arms flailing and lungs full.
Cane: Infant survivor. Parents butchered. House intact.
Fergis: Gods…
Clara: I'm coming.
Clara arrived first, her expression tight but steady. She took the child from Cane without hesitation and moved deeper into the cabin.
"I'll clean her up," she murmured, already checking for injuries.
Dhalia: What should I do?
Cane: Find sheets. We'll wrap the bodies. I'll dig.
Cane pulled a shovel from his storage ring and stepped behind the house. A solitary tree stood near the edge of the field, its branches swaying gently.
Cane: Single grave behind the house. Fifty meters out. I'll dig another beside it.
As Cane began to dig, the sound of the shovel biting into the earth was the only reply.