Rowan’s condition finally stabilised after three long days, but he was far from fully recovered. The relief that washed over Silas was tinged with a simmering fury that showed no signs of abating. Rowan remained at Lonestar Manor, too fragile to be moved, and his parents visited him daily, their grief deepening with each passing day.

Silas watched as Rowan’s mother, once vibrant and hopeful, withered under the weight of sorrow, her eyes shadowed with despair. Rowan’s father, outwardly stoic, struggled to mask his devastation. During one visit, his voice trembled as he whispered to his unconscious son, “Don’t worry, son. We’ll get justice for this. I promise.” Rowan lay still, pale and silent, his face a mask of suffering.

Unable to bear seeing Rowan’s father burdened with guilt, Silas leaned in close. “Uncle,” he whispered, his voice firm with resolve, “let me handle this. I swear, I’ll make them pay a hundredfold for what they’ve done.”

Rowan’s father nodded weakly, his expression a mixture of gratitude and fear. “Just don’t do anything reckless, Silas.” He knew that no amount of complaints or pleas for justice would resolve this matter. He had spent his whole life in Amberheart, so he could guess this much. If they wanted revenge, they had to take measures into their own hands, but he was just an insignificant small-time merchant and had to pin all his hopes on the youth before him.

Silas nodded, his mind already set on a path of vengeance. “I’ll be careful,” he promised before leaving the room with a burning resolve.

Silas retreated to his room that night, driven by a newfound conviction. He stared at the scar on his neck in the mirror, his eyes cold and determined. The unjustified attack on Rowan had carved away his doubts, leaving only resolve. He traced the scar with his finger and thought, ‘The day draws near when I’ll need to stain my hands with blood. This time I won’t hesitate. I can’t, for Rowan’s sake and my own.’

He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a small, ornate jar containing the Restoration salve. This was no ordinary salve; it held the promise of transformation and renewal. Silas recalled his vow to Uncle Chen, which now seemed more significant than ever. He had promised himself that once he used the salve to restore the scar on his neck, he would shed his previous self—the self that hesitated and faltered in the face of danger, the self that had endangered not just himself but those he cared about.

It sizzled softly as he applied the cool, gel-like substance to the scar on his neck. The scar faded, and with it, the remnants of his old self—hesitation, doubt, and fear—dissolved.

As the memory of his father’s words echoed in his mind—“What is the most important thing in life?”—Silas reaffirmed his truth: his friends. Anyone who dared to harm those he cared about would face his wrath. Rowan’s attackers wouldn’t just be confronted; they would be obliterated, leaving no trace of their existence.

When Kael entered the room, his expression was severe but calm. “Silas,” he began, meeting Silas’s intense gaze, “I understand your anger, and I don’t doubt your ability or resolve to take revenge for Rowan’s sake. But before you take action, you need to be strategic about this.”

Silas’s eye grew fiercer. “What do you mean? I want to find them and make them pay for what they’ve done to Rowan. The sooner, the better.”

Kael nodded, acknowledging Silas’s anger. “I know. That’s why I want to help you. I think I know who they are. Do you remember the group of people we saw when we were entering the forest? They seemed nervous and fidgety, almost as if they had been in a fight. As a Soulweaver with a perfect memory, I’ve etched every detail into my mind. We can find out their identities.”

Silas’s eyes lit up with fierce bloodlust. “Then let’s find them. Now.”

Kael held up a hand, urging caution. “We can’t at least not yet. If we strike now, we’ll be acting on limited information. We might manage to get two or three of them, but the rest will be on high alert. If we get caught, not only will we fail to achieve full retribution, but we’ll also bring trouble to the Lonestar Manor. So, we need to plan this carefully.”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “We should wait until Rowan wakes up and regains some strength. Once he’s able to provide any additional details, we can move more effectively. Striking them all at once has two advantages. First, it will solidify our assertion that these are the ones who attacked Rowan. Second, if we attack now, we risk only getting partial revenge, which could lead to failure or worse. We need to strike with precision, not in blind rage.”

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Anger still burned within Silas, but Kael’s pragmatic advice tempered it. He nodded, recognizing the wisdom in his instructor’s words. “Alright. We’ll wait until Rowan is awake and ready. But once we have all the information, we will make sure they face the full measure of our wrath.”

Kael offered a reassuring smile. “That’s the spirit. We’ll make sure Rowan’s attackers suffer a gruesome end, and we’ll do it in a way that ensures our success. Plus, you aren’t the only one seeking revenge—I am too.” Kael’s face hardened by the end of the sentence.

Silas took a deep breath. He would wait only to ensure more effective and devastating retribution. Rowan’s attackers would soon face the consequences of their actions, and Silas would be ready to deliver them with unrelenting fury.

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Days passed, and Kael, through his diligent recollection, crafted a series of sketches. He handed these over to Uncle Chen, who then enlisted his network of contacts and informants throughout Amberheart. Their task was to track the faces depicted in the sketches and monitor their activities, ensuring that none of these individuals could slip away into hiding outside the city.

Meanwhile, the nobles remained either arrogantly assured of their protection or naively hopeful that the turmoil would dissipate without consequence. Little did they realise they were on the brink of a rude awakening.

Rowan eventually awoke after being tended to by the skilled medical team at Sullivan’s disposal for a week. His eyes fluttered open, the pain in his body a searing reminder of the brutal attack. He tried to sit up, but his head throbbed with blinding intensity. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he retched into a basin beside the bed. When the nausea subsided, Rowan tried to focus on his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit room, the air heavy with the scent of medicine. A figure stood beside the bed, a silhouette against the dim light.

“Silas?” Rowan croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

The figure turned, revealing Silas’s worried face. Rowan’s heart swelled with relief. Silas had been his best friend since childhood, and he knew he could always count on him.

“You’re awake,” Silas said, his voice filled with emotion. “Thank goodness.”

Rowan tried to smile, but the pain in his face made it difficult. He looked around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.

“We’re gonna take revenge for you,” Silas said, his voice impassive. “Get better soon, I need your confirmation on their identities.”

Rowan nodded and laid down to rest, exhaustion washing over him.

While Rowan recuperated, Silas withdrew to a rented workshop, his focus narrowing to a single purpose: crafting his vengeance.

His first present for the nobles was simple yet deadly: arrows. He asked Uncle Chen to arrange for five arrows. The shafts were crafted from black oak, a wood known for its strength and durability. The tips were forged from a unique alloy of black steel, a substance that promised to pierce even the toughest armour.

But Silas wasn’t content with the arrows’ mere physical damage. He infused the arrow tips with elemental magic, inscribing intricate flame runes that pulsed with a crimson glow. Days turned into weeks as he laboured over each arrow, his body growing weary from the constant exertion, a sacrifice he was willing to make for revenge.

These runes were not just decorative; they were the key to unleashing a devastating attack. The runes required a delicate balance of fire magic to keep them stable. Silas knew that the arrows would remain dormant and potent but contained as long as he maintained this delicate balance. However, the moment he released the fire magic, the runes would destabilise, triggering a chain reaction that would unleash a grand, explosive force upon impact. These arrows were not just tools but potent symbols of his maddening thirst for vengeance.

Meanwhile, Kael and Uncle Chen kept a close eye on the nobles, tracking their movements and gathering information through Uncle Chen’s extensive network. Their vigilance paid off when they discovered the nobles were planning a departure from Amberheart. Curiously, they made little effort to conceal their intentions, leading Kael and Uncle Chen to suspect that their exodus had nothing to do with the incident involving Rowan. Their suspicions were further fueled when a merchant informed Uncle Chen of the items the nobles were purchasing—salves, weapons, dried foods, and other supplies that suggested preparations for a long and perilous journey.

The list of items was extensive and telling: protective gear, enchanted amulets, detailed regional maps, survival kits with fire-starting tools and portable shelters, antidotes, and even magical communication devices. They also acquired beasts of burden, likely to carry heavy supplies and luxurious provisions like fine wines and comfortable bedding, indicating their desire for comfort despite the dangers ahead.

Uncle Chen, Kael, and Silas concluded that the nobles likely planned to undertake a Soulweaver trial. Given that some of the seven nobles were sixteen or seventeen, it was the ideal time for them to set out on such a quest; it was likely that all seven would team up for the trials. Silas decided they would make their move near Bitter Creek, a desolate stretch of land ideally suited for an ambush.

It took Rowan a whole month to recover, his strength returning gradually under their watchful care. When he was finally strong enough, he confirmed the seven nobles as his attackers.

Before setting their plan into motion, Silas approached Rowan. “We’ll be heading out to intercept the nobles soon,” he said, his voice firm yet laced with concern. “You should come with us.”

Though still recovering, Rowan understood the gravity of the situation and nodded, ready to join the others on this critical mission.