King Rowan stood at the head of the chamber table, his youthful face marred by lines of worry. The weight of his crown seemed heavier than ever, his fingers lightly tracing the hilt of his sheathed rapier as if seeking solace. “I’d like to give you a longer break, but…” He sighed deeply, the exhaustion in his voice mirrored in his posture.

The Champions exchanged uneasy glances. They had only just returned from their last mission, their wounds—physical and emotional—barely beginning to heal.

Caelus was the first to speak. His voice was steady, though his expression betrayed his understanding of the gravity of the situation. “We understand.”

Rowan nodded, his youthful face set with an expression far too grave for his years. His gaze locked with Caelus’s, steady and resolute, though shadows of worry lingered in his eyes. “This situation may be perilous—not just for me but for all of Helia,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his responsibility. Each word seemed carefully chosen, as if he understood that the kingdom’s survival might hinge on how he conveyed this truth.

Seraph, who had been quietly studying the room, broke her silence, her melodic voice edged with concern. Her ethereal golden eyes narrowed, catching the torchlight and flickering like embers. “Someone with that kind of power… spying on the King? That’s not just bold; it’s… dangerous,” she murmured, her usual calm demeanor tinged with unease.

Rowan’s shoulders sagged, the mantle of leadership visibly weighing him down. He exhaled slowly, his brow furrowing as if grappling with the enormity of the decision he was about to make. “Five days,” he said at last, his tone firm yet laced with quiet regret. “In five days, you will embark on another mission.”

His words hung in the air like the tolling of a distant bell, signaling urgency. Though the time offered was short, the finality in his voice made it clear there would be no room for negotiation.

“Five days?” Riven muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. A skeptical brow arched high, and her lips curled into a faint smirk. “Not bad, but not exactly great either,” she added, her voice dripping with wry humor.

“When you return, I’ll make it a priority to give you a long and well-deserved break,” King Rowan said, his voice softer now, carrying a rare vulnerability. He took a step closer to the champions, his youthful features weighed down by guilt and responsibility. “I know it’s unreasonable to keep sending you on mission after mission, especially when I’m the one who summoned you here—tore you away from your world.”

His amber eyes swept over them, lingering on each champion as if silently measuring their resolve. “Your Levels and Stats have risen significantly, and they’re more than sufficient for the challenges you’ve faced so far. But I also recognize that this constant demand for your strength is not sustainable. When you return from this mission, I’ll personally work with each of you. I’ll teach you ways to improve your Levels, hone your abilities, and optimize your Stats. I’ll ensure you grow stronger at a pace that doesn’t jeopardize your well-being.”

Rowan’s expression hardened, a shadow of urgency darkening his gaze. “But this mission… this one is different. It’s urgent—time is not on our side. Myrkos’s influence spreads like a disease, and if we don’t act now, we may lose more than just a foothold in Helia. The consequences would be catastrophic.”

The champions exchanged glances, their unspoken thoughts passing silently between them. Despite the weariness etched into their faces, they stood tall, a united front. Each of them nodded in turn—Caelus first, his blue eyes steady, then Magnus, serene and unyielding, followed by Elira’s fiery smirk, Seraph’s quiet determination, Darius’s resolute nod, Riven’s sharp and knowing gaze, and finally Lorian, who clutched Cheese close to his chest as if drawing strength from the little slime.

“We understand,” Caelus said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of their shared resolve. “This is what we were called here for. We’ll see it through.”

Rowan’s expression hardened, the slight slouch in his posture vanishing as he straightened with purpose. His blue eyes swept over the room, sharp and resolute. “For your next mission, you will journey to Kur’thar, the Orc kingdom,” he declared, his tone cutting through the faint murmurs like a blade.

That name landed heavily in the room. The lively energy of banter and unease faded instantly, replaced by a collective silence that pressed against the air. Everyone’s attention snapped to Rowan, their reactions varied—some wide-eyed with curiosity, others with brows drawn in quiet apprehension. The flickering torchlight seemed dimmer, the mention of Kur’thar casting a shadow over the room as the implications settled.

“Kur’thar?” Magnus asked, his soft voice carrying a note of curiosity as he tilted his head, emerald-green hair shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly, searching Rowan’s expression for deeper meaning.

The king nodded, his tone steady and deliberate as he continued, “Yes. There, you will gather information to locate Soren.” He paced slowly across the room, each step measured, as though the gravity of his words needed space to settle. “From what we’ve uncovered, he is likely to be in the area. Soren’s shop is no ordinary merchant’s stall. It’s said to hide in plain sight, disguised as a humble traveling cart or tent. Yet, its true nature is far from simple.”

The champions leaned in closer, captivated. Rowan’s voice dipped, laced with intrigue. “It is said to be magically enhanced—larger within than without—and often tucked away in discreet alleys. An entire realm of wares could be concealed within its unassuming walls. He sets up in discreet alleys or unremarkable corners, blending seamlessly into his surroundings. To the unaware, it’s just another merchant’s cart. But for those who know the right signals... only they can uncover its secrets.”

The description hung in the air, painting vivid imagery in the minds of his audience. The idea of such a cunning illusionist working so brazenly in public yet remaining untouchable sent a ripple of unease through the room.

As Rowan continued, Pip suddenly scurried up Magnus’s arm with determined urgency, perching on his shoulder. The small creature leaned in close, chittering in its rapid, high-pitched language. Magnus’s expression shifted, his emerald eyes widening as the words sank in. He blinked, then turned to the group, his voice carrying a note of astonishment.

“Wait—Pip’s been to Kur’thar before,” Magnus declared, his disbelief evident as he slowly processed the revelation. “He says some of the wood from his home forest was taken there... and he’s seen Soren’s shop.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, every gaze snapping to the diminutive chipmunk-like creature. Pip, sensing the weight of its sudden importance, puffed out its tiny chest with pride. It stood tall on Magnus’s shoulder, its bright eyes darting between the astonished faces of the champions. Then, with a fervent squeak, it gestured wildly, as if eager to elaborate on its discovery.

Rowan’s gaze sharpened as he stepped closer, his eyes settling on the small creature perched on Magnus’s shoulder. His voice was calm yet deliberate. “Pip, was it?” he began, his tone carefully measured. “Am I correct in thinking you hail from the Elderwood, near Ashenbrook?”

Pip froze for a moment, its beady eyes wide with recognition. Then, with an emphatic nod, it began bobbing its tiny head furiously, its entire form quivering with energy.

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A flicker of sorrow crossed Rowan’s features, softening his otherwise resolute expression. His voice dropped, carrying a note of genuine regret. “I see. The Elderwood… its timber has become a sought-after resource in Kur’thar in recent years. It is a forest steeped in ancient magic, sacred to many. I am truly sorry to hear it has been ravaged by such unchecked greed.”

The pipmunk’s exuberance faltered. Its small ears drooped, and its tail curled slightly around Magnus’s neck, as though seeking comfort. It chittered softly, the sound less like its usual quick chatter and more like a mournful sigh.

Magnus raised a gentle hand, stroking Pip’s back with a soothing touch. “You’re not alone now,” he murmured. “We’ll make sure your voice is heard.”

Rowan observed the exchange in silence, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Your loss is not forgotten, Pip,” he said softly. “But your knowledge may save countless others. That forest’s magic… its legacy, lives on through you.”

Pip’s eyes brightened slightly at the king’s words, though its tail remained coiled, a reminder of the lingering pain of its loss. Rowan straightened, his focus shifting back to the group, but his expression remained heavy with contemplation. The moment of vulnerability was brief, yet it hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the unseen cost of their struggles.

Rowan’s brow furrowed, his gaze steady as he addressed the small creature perched on Magnus’s shoulder. “If I may ask,” he said, his tone both calm and curious, “what did Soren’s shop look like?”

Pip perked up, chittering in a flurry of high-pitched squeaks. Its tiny paws gestured wildly, as if trying to convey the scale of what it had seen. Magnus leaned in, his green hair falling like a shimmering curtain as he listened intently. He nodded along, occasionally murmuring to Pip in a soothing tone, before finally raising his head to translate.

“He says it’s a mobile shop,” Magnus began, his voice thoughtful. “From the outside, it looks plain—just an unassuming cart or a small tent tucked into an alley where no one would think twice about it. But inside…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words to describe the wonder Pip had conveyed. “It’s something entirely different. The space is… impossible. Far larger than the exterior, as if the walls themselves bend to accommodate an entire realm of treasures.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the revelation settling over the group. Seraph’s golden eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. Lorian shifted uneasily, one hand absently resting on Cheese, who rippled with a nervous silver sheen. Even Riven, usually quick with a quip, remained quiet, her sharp gaze flicking between Rowan and Magnus.

Rowan’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as understanding dawned. “That’s him,” he said at last, his voice low but resolute. “Soren of the Veil.”

The room erupted into a cacophony of mixed reactions. Seraph inhaled sharply, her golden eyes widening ever so slightly, while Lorian glanced at Cheese, who rippled into a brilliant gold hue, reflecting his surprise.

“Wow!” Elira grinned, leaning forward in her chair with an almost mischievous glint in her eyes. “Guess this little guy is full of surprises! Who would’ve thought Pip would turn out to be the star informant?”

Darius, towering above the rest, crossed his arms skeptically. He narrowed his gaze at the pipmunk, who stood on Magnus’s shoulder with its chest puffed out in pride. “Useful? This squeaker?” he rumbled, reaching out to poke its tiny cheek. The touch was light but teasing.

Pip froze for a moment, then huffed in indignation, its tiny body bristling. With a speed that defied its size, it lunged forward and clamped its tiny teeth around Darius’s finger.

“Ow!” Darius yelped, jerking his hand back and shaking it as if to dislodge the sting. His golden scales shimmered in the light as he glared down at the pipmunk, who now stood on its hind legs, paws on its hips, looking victorious.

“Alright, alright! Point taken!” the dragonborn grumbled, flexing his hand and shooting the tiny creature a grudging look of respect.

Pip let out a high-pitched squeak, its tail flicking sharply, as if to say, That’ll teach you! Magnus stifled a laugh, one hand coming up to gently pat the pipmunk’s head. “I think Pip’s earned the right to be smug,” he said with a smile.

Rowan’s laughter broke the tension in the room, a low, warm sound that felt out of place against the gravity of their discussion but welcome nonetheless. His usually serious demeanor softened for a brief moment as he inclined his head toward Pip. “Thank you, Pip. You’ve been a great help,” he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. The pipmunk puffed out its chest again, basking in the acknowledgment, its tiny tail flicking with pride.

The king’s expression sobered as he turned his attention back to the group. His voice dropped, taking on a weight that commanded respect. “From what we’ve managed to gather, Soren is a phantom in plain sight. He moves frequently—almost like clockwork—traveling to a different kingdom every week. He’s elusive, his presence so subtle it blends into the mundane. Finding him will be anything but simple.” His sharp gaze swept over them. “But I believe in your abilities. If anyone can locate him, it’s you.”

Caelus stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed and his brow furrowed deeply in thought. “You managed to learn all this in, what—one or two days?” he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief. There was no hint of mockery in his voice, only genuine admiration for the sheer efficiency.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Rowan’s mouth, though his eyes still held the weariness of a ruler burdened by countless secrets. “I have my ways,” he replied simply, the faintest note of humor laced into his otherwise composed demeanor.

The Champions exchanged glances. Magnus tilted his head slightly, as though trying to decipher the enigma that was Rowan. Riven leaned back in her chair, her lips curling into a smirk. “Well, look at you, King of Mystery,” she quipped, earning a light chuckle from Elira.

Rowan allowed the brief levity to linger before straightening, his tone regaining its solemn edge. “All humor aside, this mission will be one of the most dangerous you’ve undertaken. Prepare yourselves well in the time you have. Soren isn’t the kind of man you confront without meticulous planning. Helia’s safety depends on it.”

Rowan’s gaze shifted to Lorian and Elira, his expression unreadable yet purposeful. “In the meantime, we’ll be reinforcing the magical barriers around Helia—securing the castle, the town, all of it. No corner will be left vulnerable.” His voice was firm, underscored with the weight of responsibility. “Lorian, Elira, I’ll also make arrangements to replace your damaged artifacts. You’ll be ready for what’s to come.”

Lorian nodded silently, his eyes briefly meeting Rowan’s in quiet acknowledgment. His hand instinctively moved to rest protectively over Cheese, the small slime coiled contentedly in his grasp, its soft body vibrating with a gentle hum of satisfaction. The creature wobbled slightly in his grasp, gurgling contentedly as its gelatinous form shifted to a soft shade of blue. It was as if the quiet comfort of Lorian’s touch eased away the lingering traces of tension from their last harrowing mission.

Elira, too, gave a small nod of thanks, her expression grateful but hardening with the same resolve that had been building in the group. Her fingers drummed lightly against the table, the rhythm quickening with the anticipation of the task ahead. But for a moment, there was a flicker of relief—a brief acknowledgment that, despite the looming danger, they would be better prepared for what lay ahead.

The king observed them with a quiet intensity, his gaze lingering on the bond between Lorian and Cheese. He could see the quiet strength in their unity, in the way the champions had come together through every challenge, each one carrying their burdens but never faltering in the face of it all. Rowan’s lips parted as if to say something more, but he stopped, choosing instead to let the silence fill the room with its unspoken meaning. They were ready.

Rowan’s gaze lingered over the Champions, his eyes scanning each of their faces. Their expressions were a mosaic of conflicting emotions—some wary, others resolute, but all of them unified by one undeniable trait: determination. There was no denying the weight of the task ahead, but they wore their resolve like a second skin, unwilling to let fear or uncertainty dictate their actions.

The king’s lips quirked into a faint smile, a quiet sense of pride swelling within him. He had seen leaders crumble under pressure, but this group—these warriors—had faced the darkest of challenges and come out the other side stronger. He felt the weight of their trust, and he couldn’t help but admire the quiet power they exuded.

“Good day,” Rowan said, his voice softening just enough to carry a note of warmth, though the underlying authority remained. His words lingered in the air for a moment, before he rose from his seat with measured grace. The movement was deliberate, dignified, a king in command of his realm.

As he stood, the two guards at the door moved in sync, bowing in respectful unison before pulling the heavy doors open. The sharp sound of the wood creaking against its frame reverberated in the room, signaling the end of their meeting. Rowan cast one final glance over his shoulder, his eyes briefly meeting Caelus’s before the door swung shut behind him with a soft thud.

As the door shut behind him, silence blanketed the room. The Champions looked at one another, their minds already racing ahead to the mission that awaited them. Five days. It wasn’t long, but it was enough time to prepare—for Kur’thar, for Soren, and for whatever lay ahead.