Arwin guided Nalia along the maze of paths, her staff drumming softly against the ground while she examined her surroundings with bright, curious eyes. Luenor—draped in the shadows of Alfrenzo—followed in silence, his presence a heavy, nearly suffocating weight. Even the trees seemed to hush behind them.
Before they departed, Nalia signed a mana contract without protest, her signature flaring to life for a moment with mana light as the pact sealed. Thalanar's eyes remained focused on her, watchfully apprehensive.
"Are you sure she does not know about us?" he asked Arwin quietly as they delved deeper into the forest.
Arwin shifted in displeasure at the question. "I... tried," he said. "She asked why so many in cloaks. I told her they were miners who did not want others to see their faces yet."
Thalanar's lips drew tight, but he said nothing more; the secret of the elves was not yet ready for the world past these trees.
Nalia said little, though her sharp eyes missed nothing. When they reached the mine entrance—a dark gaping wound into the earth—Nalia paused before it and touched the rough stone, felt the coolness of it.
"Show me," she said simply.
Arwin guided her in, the lantern light casting long shadows upon the wall. She glided along in silence, fingertips brushing the stone, murmuring lips barely audible in mutters only she could hear.
Eventually, she turned back to him. "Your employer's requirements?"
Arwin hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat. "Safe tunnels. Support beams. Air to breath. Enough light to see, and mana channels to help the work."
Nalia raised one eyebrow slightly. "Impressive," she said quietly. But nodded again, "I can do that. I'll start tomorrow."
In the meantime, far from the whispering calm of the mines, the news of Mira's demise and strange boy of Alfrenzo had made its way to Hamperfield's most powerful man: Baron Ronney.
He sat in a stout chair in his private study, the flickering glow of the lantern dancing upon polished wood and old, muted banners of velvet.
The cloaked, kneeling men bowed their heads before him.
"Mira is gone," one said softly, "and the mine is in new hands. A man... calling himself Alfrenzo."
Ronney squinted and tapped his fingers on the armrest. "A man comes out of nowhere.... and takes over the bandit's mine, something we haven't been able to do?"
The cloaked men remained silent, while some shifted uncomfortably.
After a moment, Baron Ronney smiled a small, cold smile. "Then let's take back the mine. Not as thieves, but under the law."
He stood up, and his fine cloak brushed the floor. "Send the knights," he said. "And tell them to seize the mine- in the name of justice. 'Let on those miners go,' yes... that is a fine excuse."
The cloaked men bowed again, and silently drifted away from him, silent as wraiths.
Once they had gone, Baron Ronney turned to his butler, a thin man with gray hair and terrible calm. "I want to know everything you can discover on this... Alfrenzo," he said. "I want to know where he comes from, and what he intends."
___
Burizan, the overweight vice-leader of the bandits, shivered in the back of a tavern, his hands shaking as he held a chipped mug of stale ale.
When he heard about the knights—how they were gathering to make a raid on the mine—he was filled with panic. This was it. A chance to save himself.
He approached them gingerly, bowing low, and asking, somewhat nervous, if he could speak to the captain.
At first, the knights were skeptical of him-skewering him with their swords that hung lightly at their hips with cautious resolve, their eyes unwavering. But when he spoke, softly and conspiratorially, when he began outlining the plans of the mine, of the hidden stores and secret pathways, they listened to him.
"You know a lot for a man who reports to have been robbed," the knight captain said, his voice was low and contemplative.
Burizan felt the color drain from his face. "I was.... I was compelled to work there," he lied, the quiver making his voice tremble. "I managed to escape. I can help you, my lord. I want to help bring those people to justice."
The captain scrutinized him for what felt like an eternity, then bowed his head once. "You will accompany us," he said. "We will see for ourselves the truth of what you say."
Burizan's mouth went dry, but he forced a smile. "Of… of course, my lord."
And as the knights prepared their banners and the quiet weight of steel, Burizan felt the walls of fate closing in—knowing he had no choice but to follow.
___
Hera slipped soundlessly along the edge of the forest with a freshly gathered basket of herbs resting on her hip. As she walked the stream came into view and she paused to dig her fingers into its cold water, allowing the gentle movement of the water to take her thoughts away from what has passed over the last several days.
Eclion's slow rebirth, Luenor's slow change, and all the heavy weight of secrets she was yet to let go of.
As she stood up, allowing her mind to leave her memories, that was when she saw Nalia.
The earth mage stood at the edge of the treeline, staff in hand, her sharp gaze taking in the entire scene—the village, the forest, the humans moving around with a shared quiet purpose. Her eyes darted to Hera for a brief moment and in the next instant she appeared wholly distracted by the moment.
"You," Nalia said softly. "I know you."
Hera sucked in her breath. "I... I don't understand—"
Nalia stepped toward Hera, the pulse of mana barely visible on her staff. "The Silver Shadow of Ruthenia," she said as if she was speaking to herself. She turned to face Hera and continued, "I've seen your face... on the bounty posters that move through the underworld. Hera Sureva."
Hera stiffened. "You are mistaken."
Hera stiffened. "You're mistaken."
But Nalia's eyes were cold and certain. "No. I'm not."
She raised her staff. "I have no quarrel with your village, but I can't ignore a bounty like yours. Come with me—quietly. I don't want to hurt you."