...
The sprit guard led Si-Woo down the dimly lit hallway, their footsteps echoing softly against the smooth, amber-hued floors. Si-Woo clenched his head slightly, the dull throb of his headache making it hard to focus.
The guard finally stopped before a simple wooden door. "The restroom is here," the guard said in a low, monotone voice, then gestured for Si-Woo to enter.
"Thank you," Si-Woo replied, his voice strained. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The restroom was as intricately designed as the rest of the mansion, with polished wooden panels and a sink carved from a single slab of glistening amber stone.
Si-Woo moved to the sink and turned the faucet, letting the cold water flow. He splashed his face, hoping the chill would ease the pressure building in his temples. For a brief moment, he leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands as droplets of water slid down his face. But the headache didn’t subside—it sharpened, stabbing into his mind like a jagged blade.
“Ugh…” Si-Woo groaned, gripping the edges of the sink. The room spun around him as the pain intensified. Then, like a clear note piercing through a cacophony, a voice rang in his head.
“Danger.”
Si-Woo’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping open. “Z?” he whispered in a gasp, the recognition immediate. His bond’s voice wasn’t one he heard often, but he knew it as surely as his own.
Si-Woo bolted out of the restroom, his breath ragged and heart pounding.
The hallway he stepped into wasn’t the same one he’d entered from. The ornate amber walls and softly glowing crystals were gone, replaced by dark, unfamiliar corridors. The guard who had escorted him earlier was nowhere in sight.
Panic began to creep in as Si-Woo glanced around, trying to make sense of where he was. The air was heavier here, the silence almost suffocating. Shadows flickered strangely along the walls, their movements unnatural, as if the very space around him was shifting.
Then, just ahead, he saw it—a jagged, translucent tear in the air itself. The shimmering edges of the rift pulsed faintly, casting a soft glow onto the floor. Through the rift, Si-Woo could see Ondur’s forest on the other side, its towering trees and vibrant greenery unmistakable.
His breath caught. “Danger,” Z’s warning echoed in his mind, pushing him forward despite the apprehension gripping him.
The rift seemed to call to him, its shimmering edges alive with energy. Si-Woo hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer. His heart raced as he reached out, his hand brushing the edge of the portal. It felt cool, like water without substance, rippling softly under his touch.
His instincts screamed at him to stop, but something about the tear pulled at him. Z’s warning still echoed in his mind, urging him forward. He hesitated only for a moment before stepping through.
The world shifted in an instant. Si-Woo found himself standing in a dense section of Ondur’s forest. The turquoise sky peeked through the canopy of towering trees, but the atmosphere was far from serene. It was unnervingly quiet, save for the faint rustling of dead leaves.
Around him were small stone sculptures, each carved with delicate care and inscribed with intricate engravings. Si-Woo’s stomach tightened as recognition dawned. These were sprit ceremonial tombstones. He remembered reading about how sprits honored their dead, crafting tombstones inscribed with ancient language that captured the essence of their loved ones.
A sharp chirp broke his thoughts, and Si-Woo’s eyes darted to his bond. Z stood a few feet away, his white scales gleaming faintly in the dim light, but his stance was rigid, his wings slightly spread. The wyvern’s sharp gaze was fixed on one particular tombstone that stood apart from the others.
The stone had a deep red hue, almost pulsating as if alive. Si-Woo felt his body tense, a chill running down his spine. He slowly approached, his eyes locked on the ominous hue emanating from the stone.
“Z…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The wyvern didn’t move, his body coiled as if ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Whatever this tombstone was, it wasn’t ordinary.
Si-Woo’s headache faded, replaced by a gnawing unease. Something about the tombstone felt wrong, its energy foreign and unsettling. He reached out instinctively, not quite touching it, as if drawn to the mystery before him.
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Oapa stiffened, the weight of the words sinking in immediately. “What?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief and alarm.
Sartah leaned forward slightly, her expression serious yet calm, as she elaborated. “At first glance, the victims have primarily been lesser sprits. While it’s not uncommon for lessers to face conflicts with neighboring habitats or other creatures, this pattern is different. It’s enough to raise alarms.”
She paused, glancing toward Quorge and Isah, before continuing. “The corpses initially appeared to be the result of enraged behemoths—large creatures defending their territories or reacting violently to perceived threats. But upon closer examination by our forensic specialists, the details don’t add up.”
Quorge’s expression darkened, his sharp features accentuated by the tension in the room. Sartah pressed on.
“The wounds are too clean, too precise. They lack the chaos and raggedness typically associated with behemoth attacks. Furthermore, some of the bodies weren’t found where they originally died. Evidence suggests they were moved post-mortem.”
Oapa’s brow furrowed, his hands clenching at his sides. “Moved? Why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Sartah replied, her tone grave.
“There’s no clear motive yet, but the deliberate nature of these actions—both the method and the relocation—points to something, or someone, operating with a calculated purpose.”
Isah finally broke his silence, his deep, commanding voice cutting through the room. “These are not isolated incidents. If the lesser sprits are being targeted, it may only be a matter of time before higher sprits are at risk.”
Oapa felt a chill run through him. This wasn’t just a matter of natural predation or territorial disputes; it was something far more sinister. “How long has this been happening?” he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within.
“Over the past month,” Sartah answered. “The incidents have been scattered, making it difficult to establish a pattern or determine a central cause. But with each passing week, the frequency has increased.”
Quorge leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Oapa’s. “This is why your presence at the academy is critical. You’ve seen how fae and sprit dynamics unfold firsthand. If there’s even the slightest chance this could spill into Yohen or be connected to their anomalies, we need to act quickly. You’re our eyes and ears beyond the kingdom.”
Oapa nodded, his resolve hardening. “I understand,” he said firmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help uncover the truth.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone present. Even the once-playful energy of the children and bonds outside seemed distant, muffled by the enormity of the threat hanging over them.
Oapa’s brow furrowed deeply as he considered the implications. He finally spoke, his voice heavy with concern. “Do you think the fae are involved in this?”
Elder Valun, a stoic figure with silvery fur streaked with black, shifted in his seat, his ancient gaze falling on Oapa. “We cannot ignore the possibility,” he began, his voice low and deliberate. “But direct involvement seems unlikely given the treaty that was established.”
Sartah interjected, her tone measured yet tinged with caution. “The peace treaty was a monumental agreement, ensuring fae cooperation during our migration to Yohen. It has held strong, fostering collaboration between our people. However, such alliances can often conceal underlying tensions. If there are factions among the fae who oppose our presence, they may act in ways that violate the treaty without implicating the broader community.”
Quorge nodded in agreement, his piercing gaze fixed on Oapa. “The treaty was built on mutual necessity, not trust. While the ruling families and King Morey have upheld their end of the agreement, we cannot account for every individual’s actions or intentions. If rogue fae, or even splinter groups, are operating in secret, they could be responsible for what’s happening to the lessers.”
Oapa’s expression hardened. “And if they are?”
Isah, who had been silent for much of the discussion, finally spoke. His golden eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. “Then we will remind them why the sprits should not be trifled with.”
The air in the room grew heavier, Isah’s ominous words reverberating through the study. Elder Mira, her white fur shimmering faintly in the light, raised a hand with serene authority, her tone calm yet firm. “Enough,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a clear bell. “Let us think rationally before implicating the fae. Are they not a species we have known for eons? Beings who live by their word and honor?”
Her gentle gaze swept across the room, her words carrying weight. “King Morey is no foolish ruler. His actions clearly reflect the trust he has placed in our community, allowing Oapa to attend their academy and ensuring his safety. Not only that, but he has allowed our younger generation to join their ranks as well. These are not the actions of a kingdom seeking to harm us.”
Isah’s gaze faltered momentarily under Mira’s reasoning, though his expression remained unreadable. Sartah nodded, her calm demeanor returning. “Mira is right. We must not lose ourselves to fear and suspicion.
The fae have shown themselves as allies thus far. Our focus should remain on uncovering the true source of this threat without endangering our alliance.”
Quorge glanced at Oapa, his gaze sharp but thoughtful. “This is why your role is so crucial, Oapa. Continue to observe and report. Should you discover any signs that may connect the fae to these occurrences, bring them to us immediately. But until then, we tread carefully.”
Oapa nodded slowly, his mind racing with the weight of his assignment. “I’ll do everything I can.”
Elder Mira’s serene expression softened as she looked at him. “And remember, you are not alone in this. We stand with you, as does King Morey. Keep that trust in mind as you navigate these challenges.”
Oapa’s piercing green eyes bore into Quorge, a mixture of frustration and determination radiating from him.
“But that doesn’t explain the boosted security in the kingdom,” Oapa pressed, his voice steady yet edged with concern.
Quorge’s black-furred ears flicked slightly as he met Oapa’s gaze. His expression was grave, his usual calm demeanor overshadowed by the severity of the situation. “That brings me to the other point,” Quorge began, his voice low but commanding. “There are signs of infiltration in the heart of the sprit kingdom.”