The flickering light from the hearth cast long shadows across the room, filling the space with a heavy tension as Countess Elara spoke up, her voice calm but authoritative. “Before we proceed any further, we should get to know each other’s strengths. This mission won’t succeed if we don’t understand what each of us brings to the table. Only then can we formulate a proper plan of action.”

Luther shifted lazily in the high-backed chair, fingers tapping a rhythm on the armrest as his eyes swept over the room. When he straightened, it was with the confidence of someone who relished being the centre of attention.

“Well, since you’re all dying to hear…” He leaned forward, flashing a self-satisfied grin . “I’m a Tier One Soulweaver. I’ve got contracts with two minor spirits, so I’m not a pushover.”

The room fell silent momentarily as Luther basked in the attention, clearly enjoying the sound of his voice. The Tier Two Soulweaver, who had been standing quietly by the window, stepped forward, his expression calm and professional.

“Dean Alden,” he introduced himself, his voice steady and measured. “I’ve seen more than my share of combat and dangerous situations. I’m a Tier Two Soulweaver with a contract with a Greater Spirit and two minor spirits. I’ve fought in similar scenarios, and we’ll need to remain disciplined if we want to pull this off without attracting too much attention.”

The three Tier One Soulweavers accompanying him nodded in agreement, one of them speaking up next. “We’re each contracted with two minor Soulbound Spirits as well. We’ve worked with Dean for years now, so we can handle ourselves in a fight.”

Rowan exchanged a quick glance with Silas and Layla before he stepped forward. “I’ve got a contract with a minor spirit as well. I recently fought some other Soulweavers, but I’ve got somewhere between nineteen to twenty hours of usage remaining this month, in my contract.”

He paused before adding, “I also have two companions—Trickster, a snake, and Goldie, a bear cub. They’re currently guarding the hostage back at the inn, but Trickster... well, it can use many different magical abilities in battle, you’ll see. Goldie can use a roar attack that can temporarily disorientate the enemies.

At the mention of Trickster and Goldie, a few surprised and curious looks passed between Dean and the Tier One Soulweavers, clearly impressed that Rowan had additional assets at his disposal. Layla, who had been quietly standing next to Rowan, spoke up next, her voice firm and confident.

“I also have a contract with a minor spirit,” she said. “Like Rowan, I’ve had a fight recently as well, but I’ve also got close to twenty hours remaining.”

The room went silent as the others registered what she had said. A hushed murmur passed between the Tier One Soulweavers before Dean nodded slowly, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Two people with perfect contracts in one group. That’s... unprecedented.”

Then, all eyes in the room then turned to Silas, who remained silent for a moment, feeling the weight of their attention. He took a deep breath, knowing that with the upcoming battle, they would find out about his abilities soon enough. There was no point in hiding the truth any longer.

“I’m not a Soulweaver,” Silas sighed and said. “But I am an elemental magic user. I can use Wind, Fire, and Earth magic.”

There was a stunned silence. Dean’s calm facade cracked, his brow furrowing in confusion. One of the Tier One guards, usually silent and expressionless, shot a startled glance toward Silas. Luther’s smug grin froze halfway, disbelief and something like fear flickering across his face.

Dean spoke first, his voice edged with curiosity. “Elemental magic? ...What? But... You’re a human not a sprite.”

Layla and Rowan, who already knew Silas’s abilities, remained quiet but amused at the others’ reactions. Rowan, especially, gloated at Luther’s dimmed expression and gave Silas a silent thumbs-up.

With the introductions complete, Dean straightened, refocusing the group’s attention on the task at hand. “Now that we understand each other’s strengths, we can move forward. Our priority is the ruin. It’s where the captives are being held. Hitting the official outposts or the gates first will only alert the rest of the slavers, and we can’t afford that right now.”

He paused, glancing around the room to ensure everyone was following. “The Caravanserai should also be left for later. There are too many moving pieces there, and we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves before we’ve rescued the hostages.”

Rowan nodded, his gaze sharpening. “The two Soulweavers in the ruins and their guards shouldn’t be a problem, given our numbers. But the real challenge will be freeing the captives and silencing anyone who could alert the main slaver base that we’re coming.”

Dean gave an approving nod. “Exactly. Once we strike, we can’t afford any loose ends.”

The Countess, who had been quietly listening, voiced her concern. “But how do you plan to attack without being noticed? Surely the slavers will have scouts or guards watching for any suspicious activity.”

“We’ll attack at night,” Dean responded confidently. “It’ll minimise the chance of being spotted, and the darkness will give us the element of surprise. The ruins are far from the city, so we’ll need to hire a caravan to get us most of the way, but we’ll ditch it when we’re close. That way, no one sees us approaching.”

Silas leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but sure. “I can provide aerial surveillance. We’ll know all of their movements on the outside.”

Dean gave Silas another look of surprise, clearly impressed by his versatility. Before he could speak, Layla stepped in with her own suggestion. “We should split into two teams. One team—Silas, Rowan, Victor, and I—will handle the infiltration and the heavier combat inside the ruins. We’ll focus on taking out the Soulweavers and the guards while rescuing the captives.”

She gestured toward the others. “The second team—Luther, Trickster, Goldie, and the three Tier One guards—will stay outside to eliminate reinforcements and prevent anyone from fleeing.”

Luther, who had been enjoying his moment in the spotlight earlier, didn’t seem too thrilled about being placed on a secondary team. “I should be inside with you,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m more useful there.”

Dean’s expression remained steady, his tone patient but firm. “We need you outside, Luther. It’s just as important to stop anyone from escaping as it is to rescue the captives. There can’t be any reinforcements, or this mission fails.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Luther sighed and nodded. “Fine. But don’t expect me to sit around doing nothing.”

Dean turned toward the others, his expression growing more serious. “Now, that brings us to the main base,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “It’ll be an uphill battle. The slaver’s outpost is where they keep the real muscle. If our intel is correct, there’s bound to be a Tier Three Soulweaver—Ariyeh Dam—along with at least two Tier Two Soulweavers. There may even be a few more Tier Ones scattered around.”

Silas, Rowan, Layla, and the others exchanged uneasy glances as the weight of Dean’s words settled over the group. Tier Three Soulweavers were rare, and someone at that level was no easy opponent. It would be a dangerous encounter, just like the one at Amberwood Grove.

Dean continued, eyes flicking to each of them. “I’ve got an unconventional idea. I’ll challenge Ariyeh to musāmaḥa—a duel. It’s about demonstrating bravery and honour, no matter your standing. It’s an old Solaran tradition, and if he’s still following those customs, he might just take the bait.”

There was a brief pause, the air heavy with tension as the group digested this. Dean glanced at them before adding, “The duel will keep Ariyeh occupied while the rest of you focus on rescuing the hostages and dealing with the other Soulweavers and guards.”

Luther, who had been leaning back casually, suddenly sat up straight, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Dean, you won’t last long against a Tier Three Soulweaver—he’s got the moniker’ Blood Lion,’ for crying out loud!”

The rest of the group shared Luther’s concern, clearly unsettled by the idea of Dean facing such a formidable opponent alone.

Dean’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his voice remained calm. “I’ll keep him busy as long as possible. Just make sure you’ve done your part by the time I’m through.” Silence followed his words, the weight of the task settling in. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking—that holding off a Tier Three was a death sentence.

Silas, who had been quietly listening up until now, suddenly spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. “Dean,” he said, his tone measured, “do you follow the tradition of musāmaḥa yourself?”

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Dean turned to Silas, an eyebrow raised. “No,” he replied. “It’s not my tradition. I’ve just lived in Ironvale long enough and met enough people from Solara to know their customs well.”

Silas’s expression shifted slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. “Good,” he said. “Then I’ll stay with you outside during the duel.”

The others turned toward him, confused by his statement.

Silas continued calmly but with a quiet intensity. “Given the correct circumstances, I have enough power to crush a Tier Three Soulweaver,” he said, the certainty in his tone shocking the room into silence. “But I don’t have absolute control over it. I won’t use it until the hostages and everyone else—Dean included—are a safe distance away.”

The group fell into stunned silence, their disbelief evident. Luther opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Countess Elara said, “Silas, Tier Three Soulweavers, are stronger than you expect them to be.”

Luther nodded and said, “Exactly, brat you won’t stand a-”

Before he could finish, Rowan and Layla, who were contemplating, blurted out, “Like the one in the forest?”

They exchanged a quick glance, remembering the immense power Silas had unleashed when they were sleeping in their tents.

Silas nodded, his expression serious. “One attack just as strong as that one. And two more that are a bit weaker.”

Rowan and Layla both sucked in a breath, their eyes widening in realisation. Rowan, his voice shaky with a mixture of awe and apprehension, muttered, “You... you fucking monster.”

Still recovering from the shock, Layla shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Just leave it to Silas,” she said, turning toward the others. “He’s got this.”

The rest of the group exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure of what exactly had transpired in that forest and what Silas was truly capable of. But seeing the confidence in Layla’s and Rowan’s expressions, they nodded, albeit warily, trusting Silas’s words even if they didn’t fully comprehend his power.

Still composed despite the revelation, Dean gave Silas a slight nod of acknowledgement. “I guess that settles it,” he said, his tone steady. “We’ll go with the plan. I’ll challenge Ariyeh to the duel, and the rest of you will rescue the captives and defeat the others. Silas and I will handle Ariyeh together when the time is right.”

With the plan laid out, the group began to prepare. Silas, Rowan, and Layla excused themselves, citing their exhaustion from the previous night’s efforts in tracking and capturing the slavers. Dean agreed. “Get some rest. We leave at nightfall.”

As Silas turned to leave, Dean called after him, and handed him a communication stone. “I’ll arrange for the caravan. We’ll meet outside the city, be ready when the sun sets.”

The weight of the upcoming mission settled over them all, but there was a sense of shared determination in the room. They knew the risks, the dangers, and the cost of failure, but with their combined strengths, they felt the faint stirrings of hope.

For now, though, it was time to rest.

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

The sun had set and darkness had crept into the sky, when Silas felt the familiar vibration of his communication stone. Dean’s voice crackled through the connection.

“We’re ready. Almost half a league away from the Eastern Gate, right near the official trade route,” he said, his voice steady.

Silas tucked the stone away and turned to the two slavers bound on the floor of their cramped inn room. Bloodied from earlier, one of them glared up at Silas through swollen eyes. He had called Silas a ‘doll,’ mocking him, and in response, Silas had shown no mercy.

Rowan slipped out into the hall with a smirk, heading for the front. Moments later, his voice echoed from the inn’s entrance, keeping the innkeeper occupied.

Silas moved quickly, grabbing his sword and slinging his bow across his back, ensuring a quiver of arrows hung at his side. He crouched and yanked the slaver to his feet by the collar. The man groaned, sagging under his grip, but his lips curled into a sneer as he tried to twist out of Silas’s grip.

“Think you’re still clever?” Silas muttered, his voice low. Without warning, he slammed his fist into the man’s stomach. The man folded, gasping for breath, but Silas wasn’t done. Another punch, harder this time, caused the man’s body to go limp. He slumped in Silas’s grip, finally unconscious again.

“Much better.” Silas tightened the ropes binding him, then moved to drag the other slaver out, who was trembling but still silent, eyes darting around as though looking for an escape route.

Rowan’s voice came from the inn’s front entrance. “Oh, no need to trouble yourself! We’re just packing up for a trip, won’t be a minute!” he said, jovially keeping the innkeeper occupied.

Silas pulled the two slavers out the back, where Layla waited with Goldie and Trickster. Trickster had coiled himself in his smallest form, a crimson python draped around Layla’s arm, while Goldie sat on her shoulder, his little ears perked up with curiosity. Soon, Rowan caught up as well.

“Everything good?” Layla asked, her sharp gaze flicking over the unconscious slaver. “You guys showered this one with plenty of love, didn’t you?”

Silas glanced down at the slaver. “This fucker deserved it.” He stepped back and raised his hand, calling Breeze.

Goldie and Trickster looked curious, but Layla had already briefed them about the plan.

“Everyone ready?” Silas asked.

Everyone, including Trickster and Goldie, nodded.

A gust of wind swirled around them, cool and refreshing. Silas turned to the group. “Don’t be afraid,” he said calmly.

Goldie tilted his head in confusion, and Trickster looked around in surprise. Layla gripped Rowan tightly, but her eyes were steady, trusting the air currents as Breeze took control. The currents shifted, swirling around them with growing strength. Breeze lifted them gently, carrying Layla, Goldie, Trickster, Silas, Rowan, and the bound slavers into the sky. The unconscious slaver’s head lolled back while the other’s eyes bulged wide in disbelief, his body stiffening in terror.

The air currents guided them along the Eastern trade route, a rather rough ride due to Breeze’s lack of control. Silas and Rowan each held their monoculars, scanning the ground as they flew over the vast desert terrain.

“There!” Rowan said, after some time, pointing toward a caravan ahead, stopped on the route below. Several figures stood outside it, talking.

Silas narrowed his eyes through the monocular, spotting familiar faces. “Looks like them, I think?”

“Let’s get lower for a better look,” Rowan suggested, and Silas nodded.

Breeze obeyed, lowering them raggedly toward the caravan. Silas recognized Dean, Luther, and the rest of their group as they descended. Once they were close enough to land, Breeze let them down softly, the wind dissipating as they touched the sand.

Silas tossed the two slavers into the back of the caravan without ceremony. Luther, who had been standing nearby, let out a groan as he climbed into the cramped vehicle.

“This caravan’s worse than a death trap. Seriously uncomfortable,” Luther grumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

Layla settled into the caravan with a sharp retort. “Do you think we’re going for a picnic? Shut up!”

Rowan, grinning, shot Luther a smug look. “Guess you aren’t used to this kind of travel. Merchant’s son here—this is normal for me.”

Luther rolled his eyes but said nothing more as the caravan jolted into motion, carrying them off the main trade route.

The conscious slaver guided them through the desert, his voice muffled through the gag whenever Luther tugged at the ropes. The terrain grew rougher as they left the smooth roads of the official route behind, the path leading them deeper into the remote desert lands. The light was fading fast, the stars beginning to twinkle faintly in the darkening sky.

After what felt like hours of tense silence, the slaver raised his bound hands and pointed ahead. He mumbled something behind his gag, and Luther pulled it off roughly.

“We’re close,” the slaver croaked.

Dean gave the signal, and the caravan came to a stop. Silas, Rowan, Layla, and the rest of the group dismounted, their boots crunching against the desert sand as they looked around. The air was still, the desert eerily quiet.

“What about him?” Layla asked, nodding to the unconscious slaver still tied up in the back of the wagon.

Dean glanced at the unconscious slaver, his eyes narrowing in thought. “We need him alive. He’ll testify against the officials and the other people involved in this slave trade.” He paused for a moment, his tone colder. “But we can’t risk him getting away. We break his arms and legs. That’ll keep him from escaping.”

Silas stepped forward, his expression grim. “I’ll handle it.” His grip tightened on the slaver’s arm, a rush of satisfaction bubbling up—retribution for every innocent soul this scum had taken. He didn’t need to enjoy it. But he did.

Dean nodded, crouching beside the slaver and holding him in place as Silas crouched down. Rowan and Layla stood back, watching in silence.

Silas inhaled slowly, his fingers curling around the slaver’s arm, feeling the man tense beneath his grip. “Let’s end this quickly” he whispered, his voice devoid of warmth. The sharp snap of bone followed, echoing in the desert silence. One arm. Then the other. He followed with the slaver’s legs. Everything was completed with steady hands and efficient movements.

The unconscious slaver twitched slightly, but there were no screams—his body was too far gone in its battered state to react.

Dean stood up, watching with a neutral expression as Silas finished the job. “That should keep him from going anywhere. Let’s move on.”

Silas rose to his feet, wiping his hands. Layla gave him a brief nod, her face neutral, while Rowan’s jaw was clenched, but he said nothing.

They left the unconscious slaver in the caravan, bound tightly, and dragged the conscious one along as their reluctant guide. The mission had to continue.

With their captive in tow, the group pressed on, forcing him to lead the way. The group moved cautiously, their senses on high alert.

As they crested a small dune, the outline of the ruin appeared in the distance—a massive stone structure shaped like an eagle, its wings spread wide in a menacing display. Even from a distance, it loomed over the surrounding landscape, casting long shadows as the last light of dusk faded.

Rowan let out a low breath, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Silas nodded. “Yeah, it should be the place.”

Tension rippled through the group as they stared at the ruin. Their mission was about to begin.