The inn was quieter than it had been just a few hours ago. The chaotic energy that had gripped the market square finally faded into the background, leaving a lingering unease that settled into the bones of those who had witnessed the grotesque scene. Silas, Rowan, Layla, Trickster, and Goldie sat around the small wooden table in their room, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on their faces.
Rowan spoke first, his voice low and serious. “Well... this isn’t something we can ignore. Two Remingtons dead… that’s not just random. Someone’s making a point.”
Layla nodded, her eyes narrowing in thought. “And if it’s about targeting nobles, we need to get back to Amberheart as soon as possible. This is beyond just us; it could have consequences for the entire kingdom.”
Silas leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest as he processed the gravity of the situation. The trial had already proven dangerous, and with the noble killings escalating, it felt like they were on the cusp of something much larger. “I agree,” he said finally. “I think Amberheart will be a lot safer than the other cities. We’ll need to return and report on the trial’s result as soon as we can.”
“That means we need to drop the original plan of collecting those materials in the big cities for you, Layla,” Rowan added, his voice tinged with disappointment. “We need to take the shortest route back to Amberheart.”
Layla’s gaze softened as she looked at him. “I’m not opposed to that,” she said quietly. “Honestly, after we report in, I was planning on heading back to Clifden anyway.”
Rowan’s brow furrowed as he nodded, “I see... Are you going back to your family?”
“Yes, my mother’s estate is there,” Layla explained, her voice steady but with an underlying tone of worry. “With everything happening... the noble killings, I’m worried about her. I want to make sure she’s safe.” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Rowan’s face, searching for his reaction.
Rowan’s disappointment was palpable, though he tried to hide it behind a forced smile. “Of course. I understand,” he said, though the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to say more and ask her not to go, but he knew better. Layla was fiercely independent and wouldn’t stay idle if her family was in danger.
Seeing his internal struggle, Layla reached over and took Rowan’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I know,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his with a mix of affection and resignation. “I’ll come visit as soon as I can.”
He nodded, though the sadness in his eyes lingered. Sensing the mood in the room, Trickster slithered up to Layla’s arm, rubbing his smooth scales against her shoulder in what could only be described as a comforting gesture. Goldie, sitting beside Rowan’s feet, let out a soft “Wow,” his round eyes gazing up at them with something akin to sympathy. Layla smiled and patted Goldie and Trickster on the head.
Rowan’s fingers itched to reach out again, but the weight of unsaid words hung heavy. He glanced at Layla, seeing the same quiet resolve in her eyes that he had seen in Ironvale. There was no room for protest, no space for asking her to stay—only understanding.
Silas, sensing the heavy atmosphere settling around them, clapped his hands together. “Alright,” he said, cutting through the tension. “We should get some rest. We’ll need to leave early tomorrow.”
The others nodded in agreement, the weight of the decision settling on them. They moved to their respective beds in silence—Silas, Rowan, and Layla taking the three beds lined up against the far wall while Trickster and Goldie curled up together on the fourth.
The room grew quiet as they all settled in, but sleep didn’t come easily. The events of the day played over in their minds—images of the severed head, the bloodstained pike, and the ominous message scrawled on the tattered cloth flashing before their eyes. Layla, lying on her side, stared at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting to her mother in Clifden. She couldn’t shake the sense of dread that something terrible might be coming.
Rowan, lying beside her, glanced over, watching her silently. He could feel the distance between them growing with each passing thought, but he didn’t know how to bridge it.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook them all, and they drifted into an uneasy sleep one by one.
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The next morning, the group woke before dawn. The sky was still dark, but a faint light on the horizon signalled the approaching sunrise. Silas stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stood and pulled on his coat. Rowan and Layla moved silently, their minds still weighed down by the previous night’s conversation.
Meanwhile, Goldie waddled over to Trickster, who flicked its tail in what looked like irritation. Layla chuckled softly, the sound breaking the tension for a brief moment.
Once they had packed their belongings, the group made their way to the stables, where their horses were kept. The stable boy, a lanky youth with wide eyes, handed over the reins with a nod, still half-asleep himself. Silas checked his saddle one last time before mounting, ensuring everything was in order for the long journey ahead.
Just as they were about to leave, they heard snippets of hushed conversations from a group of townsfolk gathered near the stable entrance. The people’s faces were grim, and their voices trembled as they spoke in hurried tones.
“Did you hear? It’s confirmed… Count Orthel… his entire family is dead.”
Silas’s hand froze on the reins as he listened, his heart sinking at the words. He exchanged a glance with Rowan and Layla, who had overheard the same whispers. The people nearby continued their voices, now barely above a murmur.
“They say it wasn’t just him. His men too—every Soulweaver and guard. It was a massacre in cold blood.”
“And the killers… no one knows where they’ve gone.”
Rowan’s stomach tightened. Silas’s jaw clenched visibly, his eyes scanning the horizon as if the threat lurked just out of sight. “A complete massacre again…” Layla’s voice was barely above a whisper, her hand instinctively tightening around the reins. Trickster shifted uncomfortably on her shoulders, sensing the unease in the air.
Silas turned to them, “This is bad.”
Layla nodded, her eyes shadowed with worry. “It’s not just bad—it’s dangerous. If the killers aren’t found soon, this could lead to chaos.”
Rowan let out a slow breath, his mind racing. “We should still head to Amberheart, but this changes things. They’ll be tightening security all over, and we need to be careful about how we move.”
Silas led the group toward the city gates, where the tension in the air seemed tangible. The guards had been doubled, their eyes scanning every person with suspicion. Normally, the Sterling gate guards were more relaxed, but now, every person entering or leaving the city was being thoroughly checked.
A line had formed at the gate, with each individual subjected to intense scrutiny. The guards inspected belongings, asked questions, and searched carts with unusual thoroughness. Merchants and travellers protested a few times, but the guards remained resolute.
As Silas and his companions approached the checkpoint, a burly guard stepped forward, his face stern. “State your business,” he said, his tone sharp, though not unfriendly.
“We’re leaving for Amberheart,” Silas replied, keeping his voice calm.
The guard’s gaze swept over them, lingering on Trickster draped over Layla’s shoulders, and Goldie huddled beside Rowan on his horse. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t comment on the odd companions. Instead, he waved over another guard to begin inspecting their saddlebags and supplies.
The guard’s hands moved deliberately through their belongings, lifting items with too much care, his eyes narrowing as if waiting to find something. Silas resisted the urge to shift under the scrutiny, reminding himself they had nothing to hide.
“Is it true?” Layla asked the guard quietly, her voice low. “About Count Orthel Remington and his family?”
The guard gave a curt nod, his expression grim. “It’s true. The whole castle was a bloodbath and their treasury seemed to be looted. We don’t know who did it, but the killers vanished into the night. We’re checking everyone leaving the city, but between you and me,” he lowered his voice, “they’re probably long gone. Still, we have to keep up appearances, for public confidence.”
Silas glanced back at the people in line. Everyone looked shaken, some whispering prayers to whatever deities they believed in. It was clear the massacre had rattled the city, and the heightened security was as much about reassuring the people as it was about catching the killers.
Their inspection took longer than expected, but eventually, the guards found nothing suspicious. The burly guard handed Silas back the reins of his horse, giving him a nod. “You’re clear to go. Be careful on the road. If you see anything… suspicious, report it to the nearest outpost.”
“We will,” Silas promised, mounting his horse again. Rowan and Layla did the same, and after a final glance at the city gates, they spurred their horses forward.
As they rode out of Sterling, the cool morning air was a welcome relief, but it did little to soothe the tension that still clung to the group. Silas kept his eyes on the road ahead. His thoughts mingled with the knowledge of the massacre and its implications for Amberfell. If someone had the power and audacity to wipe out a noble family, no one was safe.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Rowan rode beside him, silent but clearly deep in thought. Layla followed just behind, her hand occasionally brushing Trickster’s smooth scales as if seeking some small comfort from the serpent’s presence.
The road ahead was long and uncertain.
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After two long weeks of travel, Silas, Rowan, Layla, Trickster, and Goldie finally reached Amberheart. The city was a familiar sight, but the atmosphere had changed significantly. At both the Eastern and Western gates, there were more guards than before, and their inspections were far more thorough. Silas noted the tension in their faces and how they held their weapons a little tighter than usual, starkly contrasting the usual welcoming atmosphere.
Despite the increased security, Silas and his friends passed through without any issues. Some of them recognised Layla and Silas, who nodded to them in silent acknowledgement. However, the usually lively streets of Amberheart had a sombre feel. The vibrant hustle and bustle of city life had dimmed, replaced by heavy patrols of guards moving through the streets, their watchful eyes scanning every corner. Conversations were quiet and hurried, and an unmistakable air of unease hung over the city.
“Looks like things are getting worse,” Rowan muttered as they passed another group of soldiers.
Layla gave a slight nod, her lips pressed together in concern. Trickster, coiled lazily around her shoulders, flicked his tongue out as if tasting the tension in the air. Goldie trotted alongside Rowan, his ears perked as though even he sensed the heavy atmosphere.
After a while, they reached the point where they would need to part ways. Rowan turned to Silas, his hand resting lightly on the reins. “We’ll head to my house. Make sure everything’s okay there and catch up with my family.”
Silas nodded, understanding Rowan’s unspoken concerns. “I’ll head to Lonestar Manor. We’ll meet up later and figure out our next steps.”
Layla offered him a small smile. “Take care of yourself, Silas. And don’t keep your father waiting too long.”
“I won’t. You two be careful,” Silas replied, his eyes softening at the sight of his friends.
With a final wave, Silas turned his horse towards Lonestar Manor while Rowan, Layla, Trickster, and Goldie made their way in the opposite direction toward Rowan’s home.
The path to Lonestar Manor felt both familiar and distant, the weight of the past few weeks settling heavily on Silas’s shoulders. As he rode closer to the manor, he spotted a familiar figure standing near the stable, her sharp eyes already locked onto him. Kaede stood tall, her long black hair tied in a high ponytail. She smiled brightly as Silas rode closer.
“Well, well, look who’s finally back,” Kaede called out, walking briskly toward him. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”
Silas dismounted, a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s good to see you, instructor.”
“And you,” she replied warmly, but her sharp eyes quickly shifted to the cloth tied around his forehead. Her brows furrowed with concern. “What happened to your head? Are you hurt?”
Silas chuckled softly, though there was a wryness to it. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain later.”
Kaede shook her head, her smile full of exasperation. “It’s always one ’long story’ after another with you. One of these days, Silas, you’re going to give your instructor a heart attack.”
As they walked toward the manor, the familiar sight of the towering structure came into view. Upon entering, they were greeted by two maids, Aisha and Minerva, who were both delighted to see him.
“Young master Silas,” Aisha said warmly, though a faint worry lingered in her eyes. “It’s good to see you safe. The manor hasn’t been the same without you.”
Minerva, the older of the two, added, “We were beginning to worry about you.”
Silas smiled at them. “It’s good to be back. Where’s my father?”
“In the study,” Minerva replied. “With Master Kael and Master Chen. They’ve been there for most of the morning.”
Silas gave a grateful nod. “Thanks. I’ll go see them.”
Silas exchanged a few glances with Kaede, who had kept quiet but stayed close by. He could feel the unspoken concern in the air—everyone was on edge, just like the city outside. It felt like home, but not entirely.
Silas and Kaede then made their way toward the study through the grand hallways of the manor. As Silas entered, his father, Sullivan, sat behind his large oak desk, conversing with Kael Sanguis and Lian Chen. The three men turned as Silas stepped in, and their expressions immediately softened with relief.
“Silas,” Sullivan said, his voice carrying warmth and concern. “You’re back.” But then, his eyes quickly focused on the cloth tied around Silas’s forehead. His expression shifted to one of worry, the same as Kaede’s earlier. “What happened? Why are you wearing that?”
Silas let out a sigh, realising there was no escaping the question. With a tired smile, he untied the cloth and revealed the black crescent moon mark on his forehead. As the fabric fell away, the room fell silent.
Sullivan’s eyes widened in shock, his usual composed expression faltering. Lian Chen’s sharp gaze locked onto the mark, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. Kaede’s breath hitched as she stepped closer, clearly startled.
Only Kael remained unaware of the significance, glancing between the others with a puzzled look. “What… what is that?”
Sullivan’s eyes flickered with a quiet intensity, and after a brief, uneasy silence, his voice hardened. “No one else hears of this. Leave us.”
The command was quiet but firm. Kaede, Kael, and Lian Chen exchanged a glance before silently leaving the room, though Kaede gave Silas one last look of concern as she closed the door behind her.
Sullivan’s gaze stayed locked on the black crescent moon mark as he approached Silas, his expression unreadable, but the tension between them was palpable. The room felt heavier, as if the air carried the revelation’s weight.
“When did the mark appear?” Sullivan asked, his voice low and controlled, though Silas could hear the tremor beneath it.
Silas shifted uneasily, his mind flashing back to the attack in Amberwood Grove. “It was after we were ambushed,” he began, his tone uncertain. “We were attacked by three assailants—Tier three Soulweavers or above. They didn’t just want to kill us… I don’t know what their goal was, but after the fight, they left us alive for some reason.”
Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing darker as Silas spoke. “Is that so…” His words were measured, almost too calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
Silas hesitated for a moment, watching his father’s face. There was something Sullivan wasn’t telling him, and the weight of that secrecy gnawed at him. “You’re not telling me something,” Silas muttered, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can tell that you know something, but why won’t you explain it?”
Sullivan’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something. His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he turned away, his hands resting heavily on the edge of his desk. Silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy.
“I…” Sullivan began, then paused as if reconsidering his following words. Finally, he turned back to Silas, his expression hardening. “There are things you don’t need to know right now.”
Silas frowned, unresigned. “But this mark—”
“Keep it covered at all times,” Sullivan interrupted, his tone final. “This mark… it’s a taboo of sorts in Solarisynth. If others see it, there will be questions—dangerous questions. For now, it’s better that you don’t know the full truth.”
Silas opened his mouth to protest, but the fierce resolve in his father’s eyes silenced him. After a moment, he let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” he muttered, though the resentment lingered in his voice. “I’ll keep it covered.”
Sullivan nodded, though the tension between them remained thick. “Good,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction. “You’ve had a long journey. Get some rest.”
Silas looked at Sullivan for a moment longer, searching for some crack in the impenetrable wall Sullivan had put up. But there was nothing more to be gleaned. With a heavy sigh, he turned and left the study.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, the cold mask on Sullivan’s face cracked, revealing the depth of his worry. His brows knitted together, and a helpless smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he murmured to himself. “Fate, huh...”
He moved swiftly to his desk, pulling out a sheet of thick parchment and dipping his quill into the inkwell. The familiar scratch of pen on paper filled the room as he composed his letter, keeping his words cryptic and measured.
An unexpected event has transpired—a mark incomplete, a good fortune—yet its timing is unfortunate. The wheel must be set in motion sooner than we anticipated.
Sullivan hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he considered the following lines. How much to reveal? He couldn’t afford to be too explicit—not yet.
I believe it’s time we meet again. There are details best discussed in person, far from prying eyes. You will know where. The threads we’ve long watched are beginning to weave.
Satisfied with the ambiguity, Sullivan folded the parchment with precise care and sealed it with deep red wax. A strange crest—an intricate design of a phoenix being beheaded with a sword—was pressed into the warm wax, solidifying the weight of the message.
Rising from his desk, Sullivan crossed the room and pulled the cord hanging near the door. A moment later, the door creaked open, and Aisha, one of his most trusted maids, stepped inside.
“You called, my lord?” Aisha inquired, bowing her head slightly.
Sullivan held up the sealed letter. “I need you to go to the market. Find a Pixiu seller and bring me one of their finest. Here’s enough to cover the cost.” He handed her a small, gleaming gold coin, its edges worn but still valuable.
Aisha nodded and took the coin. “As you wish, my lord,” she replied before swiftly departing.
Hours later, just as the afternoon sun began to dip, Aisha returned, carrying a cage with a majestic Pixiu inside. Its feathers shimmered, vibrant and colourful, with an otherworldly glow. The bird cocked its head, gazing curiously at Sullivan as Aisha set the cage down on a small table. With that, she returned the remaining amount of money.
“Thank you, Aisha,” Sullivan said. “You may go now.”
Once she left, Sullivan approached the cage. He retrieved a small bundle from within a hidden drawer, a tightly stashed cloth bound with twine. Slowly, he unwrapped it, revealing a few strands of dark, coarse, and unmistakable hair. He gingerly gathered the strands and fed them to the Pixiu.
The creature chirped once, its eyes glowing faintly as it devoured the hair, memorising the scent and essence of the target. Then, with a soft whistle from Sullivan, the bird spread its iridescent wings and flew swiftly through the open window, the letter clutched tightly in its talons.
Sullivan watched as the Pixiu soared into the twilight sky, carrying his message toward its intended recipient. His mind lingered on the cryptic words he had penned. He only hoped the person on the other end would understand the urgency hidden beneath the vagueness.
As the Pixiu disappeared into the distance, Sullivan turned back to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. There was little more he could do now, but wait. Fate, once again, was moving faster than anticipated.