High Elder Velor Crain sat in the warmth of his grand study, a thick book resting on his lap as he reclined in his chair. The amber light from the hearth flickered over the deep lines of his face—lines that suggested wisdom but not the weariness of age. Despite his youthful appearance, Velor was several centuries old. His body, however, resembled that of a man no older than forty, a testament to the incredible longevity of around a millennium granted to him by his status as a Tier 4 Soulweaver.

A quiet knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. A servant entered, bowing deeply. “High Elder, your sister, Countess Elara Crain, and Countess Cassandra Shone await you in the Guest Hall.”

Velor sighed, placing his book on the table beside him. “Thank you. I’ll attend to them shortly.”

As the servant bowed and left, Velor stood, smoothing his robes as he strode through the grand halls of his manor. The weight of the Crain family’s legacy hung heavy on his shoulders, though his sharp mind never faltered. Reaching the Guest Hall, he paused, taking a moment before pushing the doors open.

Inside, Countess Elara Crain and Countess Cassandra Shone sat on velvet chairs, the room’s lavish decor accentuating the elegance of their surroundings. Elara looked up with a faint smile, her face etched with deep lines that made her appear far older than her brother, Velor. Despite being the younger sibling, time had not been as kind to her. Where Velor still possessed the vigour of a man in his prime, Elara seemed trapped in her twilight years. Her once-dark hair was now streaked with silver, framing a face worn by age and experience.

It had taken her over a century to ascend to the rank of Tier 3 Soulweaver—a feat most would envy—but her hard-won power had come at a steep cost. Though her rank granted her centuries of extended life, it did little to preserve her youthful vitality. Elara had spent decades to reach the pinnacle of Tier 3. By then, she was already too old to gamble on the perilous journey of forming a Tier 4 contract. To attempt it at her age would almost certainly mean death, a risk she could no longer afford to take. The strength she had gained was bittersweet, a reminder of how unforgiving the passage of time could be, even for the powerful.

Cassandra Shone sat beside Elara, her gaze cool but interested. She had come here on Elara’s invitation and was interested in the High Elder’s opinion on the current circumstances.

“Big Brother,” Elara greeted warmly, though her voice had a faint strain.

Velor smiled and took his seat across from them, motioning for the servants to leave the room. Once they were alone, he relaxed slightly and addressed the women. “It’s good to see you both. It has been too long, Elara.”

Elara chuckled softly. “I wish we had more time for pleasantries, Velor, but things are too urgent”

Velor’s smile faded as his sister’s tone shifted to one of seriousness. His eyes flickered between her and Cassandra before he nodded, settling deeper into his chair. “Go ahead then, Elara. What is it you wish to discuss?”

Elara exchanged a look with Cassandra before speaking again. “I’m sure you’ve heard whispers—rumours about what’s happening within the kingdom. We need your opinion on what’s to come.”

Velor leaned back, his expression calm but his thoughts racing. “The Elders’ Council and the royal family are working to keep things under control, but we both know how fragile that balance is,” he said, his voice carefully measured.

Elara leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t have to keep secrets from us, brother. Cassandra is my friend, and you can trust her. I need to know what you truly think is going to happen.

He hesitated, glancing toward Cassandra, who sat quietly, her gaze unflinching. After a long pause, he sighed deeply, the weight of the truth bearing down on him. “I think there will be a war soon.”

Cassandra, who had remained silent, broke the stillness with a calm question. “Do you have any idea who’s behind the killings of the nobles?”

Velor nodded slowly but hesitated again, clearly wrestling with his thoughts. “I have a guess… at least, I hope it’s them.”

Elara’s eyes darkened. “Them?”

Velor’s gaze turned sharp as he looked between the two women. “I’m not sure. But... If my suspicions are correct, this is a prelude to a greater conflict. Should this escalate, many of the nobles may raise their blades against Leifstein Remington.”

At this, Elara’s breath caught, and Cassandra’s brow furrowed. Velor’s face hardened as he continued, his voice low and steady. “I too will stand against Leifstein if it comes to that.”

The silence in the room became palpable. Elara’s expression grew sombre as she met Cassandra’s gaze. The two women shared a glance that conveyed volumes of unspoken worry.

“You’re confident in this mysterious power, then?” Cassandra asked, her fingers tapping the armrest—an unconscious tick that betrayed her composed exterior.

Velor shook his head, a dark smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Confidence is irrelevant to me. I’m not doing this for some political agenda, I’m doing this for friendship. Even if not for my personal reasons, I can’t stand by and watch this kingdom fall into chaos. If it comes to that, standing against Leifstein will be the only way to keep order. Besides... If the day truly comes, it won’t be a fight—it will be a massacre.”

His cold certainty sent a chill through the room. Elara and Cassandra exchanged another look, but Elara spoke first.

“I want our family to join the fight,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute. “We can’t remain neutral if the kingdom plunges into chaos.”

Cassandra nodded. “Neither can my people. Remaining on the sidelines won’t be possible. We’d rather choose the winning side.”

Velor’s expression softened for the first time since the discussion had started. He sighed, shaking his head as though he were scolding children. “You two shouldn’t involve yourselves in these murky waters.”

Elara’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Brother, you forget—I’m the head of the Crain family now. You may be a High Elder, but you no longer hold political sway over our family. We will fight, and besides…” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You seem quite confident.”

Velor laughed softly and reached out to pat his sister on the head, a rare gesture of affection. “You cheeky girl.” His smile lingered, though a hint of sorrow shadowed his features. “Fine. I’ll let you know if I uncover any more information.”

With that, the tension in the room eased slightly, and after a few more brief exchanges about the current state of affairs, Elara and Cassandra rose to take their leave. Velor walked them to the door, his mind already shifting to the complexities of the battles to come.

As the door closed behind his sister and Cassandra, Velor stood alone, the echo of their departure settling in the silent hall. His expression softened for a fleeting moment, a mixture of melancholy and contemplation. Then, a sigh escaped his lips, his mask of confidence faltering in the privacy of his empty study.

He hadn’t told them everything.

Velor knew that Elara, sharp as ever, had likely seen through his partial truths. Cassandra, too, with her perceptive silence, would have picked up on the hints left unsaid. Neither would be foolish enough to rush into an uncertain war—not without clear lines drawn or a guarantee of victory. Only the naive or desperate would choose to plunge into these murky waters without knowing precisely which side they rooted for, let alone the real odds of success.

But Velor was neither naive nor desperate. He was an old fossil who had endured centuries of observing and mastering the intricacies of politics, and he knew better than to reveal his entire hand. Even if Elara and Cassandra could be trusted without question, some truths were better left buried, guarded from even his closest confidants.

He had given them no lies; his intentions were indeed bound to friendship, a loyalty rare for a man of his age and rank. Truth be told, he fully believed that should a confrontation with the Remington Clan arise, their enemies would be utterly overwhelmed by the power he had seen developing within their own ranks. His prediction of a ‘massacre’ was, if anything, an understatement. At least, if only the Remington clan was being considered…

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

And yet, he hadn’t voiced this certainty to the women, not out of mistrust but because he sensed that such knowledge would only add fuel to their determination. He didn’t want them marching into the battle expecting to emerge unscathed, confident that victory was inevitable. War was unpredictable, after all, and even if their side held every advantage, caution was a necessary ally.

With one last look toward the closed door, Velor allowed his confident expression to fall completely, his shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken truths. Some battles were won in silence, in the spaces between words. And he, as ever, would bear the burden of these silences alone.

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The Dragonstone Tavern’s top floor buzzed with warmth and laughter as Silas, Rowan, Layla, and Luther settled into their private space, the rich aroma of roasted meats and hearty dishes filling the air. Luther had spared no expense, spending three gold coins to book the entire top floor for the night, much to the astonishment of Silas and Rowan. The sum, a small fortune in their eyes, seemed extravagant for just one evening. But Luther shrugged it off with a carefree grin, telling them it was his treat.

“Don’t sweat it, young ones. Three gold coins? Just a drop in the ocean. Besides… With whatever the fuck is going on lately, we all need a break,” Luther said, raising his glass of wine and laughing.

Silas and Rowan exchanged glances, both marvelling at the ease with which Luther spent such wealth. The tension that had lingered from their travels slowly ebbed away as they dove into lively conversation. Goldie, meanwhile, explored the corners of the room, curiously sniffing at stray crumbs on the floor, while Trickster lazily coiled himself near the hearth, his glittering scales reflecting the flickering firelight.

As the chatter around him faded into the background, Silas swirled the wine in his glass, watching the deep red hues flicker in the candlelight. His hands unwittingly touched the strange amulet around his neck and his thoughts began to wander, drifting back to the secrets he carried.

His eyes clouded as memories of his father’s revelations began to resurface. The mark on his forehead, hidden beneath the cloth, seemed to burn with a significance he had yet to fully grasp. His mother—Salvia Lonestar—and the weight of her death pressed heavily on his mind. The questions he’d been carrying for months gnawed at him, and under the influence of alcohol, he began contemplating again.

‘If everyone has two faces,’ he thought bitterly, ‘then I must have one too—a face that hides, doubts, and withholds.’

He had kept so much from his friends. Even now, as they sat around the table, laughing and sharing stories, he wondered if he could truly trust them with this secret. The loneliness of bearing such a burden gnawed at him, and for a moment, he resented it all. ‘Why do I have to carry this weight alone? If only father had told me what he knows. If only he stopped being so impassive and indifferent about it all...’

Rowan’s voice broke through his thoughts. "Oi, Silas! You’ve barely touched your plate. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Silas blinked, shaking his head as if to clear the fog. He forced a smile. “Sorry. I was just… thinking.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Layla, however, studied Silas intently, her sharp gaze catching the subtle tension in his posture. “You’re thinking too much again. That only happens when you’ve had a bit too much to drink,” she said with a teasing smile.

Silas chuckled, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… maybe.”

Yet, the thoughts lingered. Despite the months that had passed since learning the truth about his mother, Silas still had no real answers, not a single one. His reliance on his father’s and Uncle Chen’s connections had come to bite him back, as he couldn’t rely on them anymore. He had no resources, no network of his own. All he had were his friends. And now, he had to make a decision—either remain in ignorance or trust them enough to share his burden.

But the thought of telling them, of putting his truth in their hands, made his heart race. What if they can’t help me? What if they get hurt because of me? Or worse... what if someone among them sells me out?

His gaze swept across the room, pausing on each of his friends. Rowan’s carefree grin, Layla’s concerned gaze, even Luther’s nonchalant posture—none of them knew the storm inside him.

As he looked around the room, Silas recalled all the times since their childhood Rowan had stood beside him, Layla’s unwavering support, even at the toughest moments and even Luther’s courage and boldness that he had shown in battle.

...And it hit him all at once. He was dishonouring their friendship, doubting them without cause. He wasn’t just keeping them out but belittling their loyalty and care, even after all they had been through. His final thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, ‘Why am I acting like father, who can’t even trust his own son?’

Somehow, this thought irritated him much more than it should have, but it also strengthened his resolve. ‘I can’t keep doubting them for no good reason.’

"I... I’ve been keeping something from you." Silas’s voice wavered, his hand shaking as he reached for the cloth tied around his forehead. "I don’t know if I should... but I can’t keep it to myself anymore."

Rowan and Layla exchanged glances, already knowing what was coming. Luther, on the other hand, straightened in his chair, frowning in curiosity as Silas undid the cloth, revealing the intricate black crescent moon marking his skin.

“This mark,” Silas began, staring at the table as if the words would come easier if he didn’t meet their eyes, “belonged to my mother.” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing.

“Her real name wasn’t Aeliana Kutac, like I was told. It was Salvia Lonestar. And… she wasn’t from Solarisynth. She came from somewhere outside.”

Luther’s frown deepened as his eyes widened. “Outside Solarisynth? That’s... impossible, isn’t it?”

Rowan and Layla were speechless, their faces mirroring the same shock that had frozen their thoughts.

“I...I don’t know,” Silas admitted, his voice raw. “All I know is that she died trying to protect me when I was still an infant. And I’ve been trying to figure out who was responsible... but I don’t have anything. No leads, no answers, nothing.”

Rowan put his glass down, his expression serious. “What...? And when did you learn of this and who told you?”

Silas’s bitterness seeped into his words as he glanced at Rowan. “My father told me, not long ago. He knows more—he knows who was responsible. But he refuses to tell me anything. And now, I don’t even know where to start looking. It’s like I’ve hit a wall.”

Layla’s gaze softened as she reached across the table, her hand gentle as it rested on Silas’s arm. "Silas, why didn’t you tell us sooner? You didn’t have to carry this all on your own."

Rowan, too, leaned forward, his normally lighthearted expression replaced with concern. “Man… that’s a hell of a thing to go through by yourself.”

Guilt twisted in Silas’s chest, almost too tight to breathe. He looked at them, his closest friends, and saw nothing but care in their eyes. “I didn’t want to burden you,” he admitted, his voice thick. “I thought… I could handle it. And part of me, truth be told, doubted you. My father said this mark and my mother’s name are… taboo in Solarisynth. I didn’t want to put you in danger because of something I wasn’t sure I even understood.”

Rowan’s gaze sharpened as he flicked Silas’s forehead. "Huh..? Are you dumb? I mean… I know that you are… But still, think about it. We’ve been through so much bullshit together… You should know by now—we’re here for you, no matter what.”

Rowan’s crude words did manage to earn a chuckle from Silas.

Meanwhile, Layla nodded with a smile, her hand still steady on his arm. “We’re friends, Silas. Whatever this is, we’ll face it together. Don’t shut us out again.”

Luther snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little hurt you didn’t trust me with this secret. But hey, I guess I’m used to being underestimated. If I can help, I will,” he added with a raised finger, “but... sorting this out will have to wait until things calm down in Amberfell. With all the unrest, it’s hard to get reliable information.”

Layla nodded in agreement. “Luther’s right. We’ll keep an ear out, but with the current situation, we need to be careful. The last thing we need is more chaos.”

Silas’s throat tightened, but eventually, he quietly said, “Thanks,” his voice thick with emotion. “I appreciate it. Really.”

For the first time in a long while, his chest didn’t feel so tight. The weight of his secret was still there, but now... it wasn’t crushing him. He wasn’t alone in this anymore. And somehow, that made the uncertainty a little easier to bear.

As the conversation drifted back to lighter topics, Silas found himself thinking of the future. He couldn’t afford to keep secrets from them anymore. If he was going to find the answers he sought, he needed to trust his friends completely. No more hesitation. No more doubts.

For now, though, he would let the night continue, basking in the warmth of their companionship.