The sun dipped slowly beyond the horizon, casting its orange glow over the ashen remains of a forest that stretched beyond sight. The light bathed the massive walls of Naso, a city encased by the very woods it seemed to stand in defiance of.
“So that’s it... and we don’t know where he is?” Lucetta asked, leaning casually against the stone wall of one of the watchtowers. Her gaze shifted to Artair, who stood beside her, quietly taking in the view. He shook his head in response, his expression neutral but his eyes weary.
“The slavers have probably taken him off the continent already.” Artair said, lifting a wooden mug to his lips and taking a slow sip of coffee. “Could be Ilythyrra. Could be Krior. Who knows?”
“But why would they go to all this trouble?” Colla chimed in, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the wall. His question lingered, forcing a thoughtful silence among them. “And why her nephew of all people? He can't be any special.”
Artair let out a low sigh, his brows knitting together as his eyes remained fixed on the setting sun. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But for the boy, this can’t mean anything good. Gods don’t always treat their incarnations kindly.”
Lucetta frowned, twisting one of her braids between her fingers. “What makes you so sure he’s meant to become an incarnation in the first place?” she challenged.
“There’s no certainty,” Artair said with a shrug, his tone as pragmatic as ever. “But better safe than sorry. If he is, then we could be looking at the next Guardian.”
“Or another Archbishop,” Lucetta muttered under her breath, the disdain in her voice unmistakable.
Artair pushed away from the parapet, straightening his coat as he made his way toward the stairs. “Come on,” he called back. “We’ll find out soon enough, one way or another.”
Lucetta followed with a soft scoff, gesturing for Colla to join them as she trailed after Artair. “Let’s hope you're wrong.” she murmured, just loud enough for the others to catch, her tone dripping with cynicism.
The trio descended from the walls, stepping onto one of the side streets of the city. The narrow lane was lined with crates brimming with goods, waiting to be sold in the shops or traded in the bustling markets. The faint scent of spices and wood lingered in the air, mingling with the distant hum of the city's evening rhythm.
“So now we just... wait?” Colla asked, trailing behind the other two, his voice tinged with frustration.
“Exactly. Unless you’d prefer to go looking for him yourself.” Artair replied, finishing off the last of his coffee and tossing the empty mug into a nearby bin with a practiced flick of his wrist.
Lucetta groaned. “Great. So why even bother knowing if we can’t do anything about it?”
She already felt the weight of the day’s events, ran a hand through her braids and let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly... What’s the point? We learn something big, and all we can do is sit on our hands. It’s infuriating.”
She shook her head, her expression a mixture of annoyance and resignation as they continued down the dimly lit street.
“For now, you can deal with that other issue alongside the council. They’re probably furious that you walked out on them,” Artair said, coming to a stop at a three-way intersection of streets.
Lucetta rolled her eyes. “I’d almost forgotten how much you irritate me... see ya.” she muttered, walking ahead without a glance back. Ignoring that the others had paused, she strode purposefully toward the administrative building looming further down the street.
“See you around, oh mighty councilwoman!” Artair called after her with a casual wave. He chuckled to himself as she disappeared around a corner, leaving him alone with Colla.
Turning to the young man, Artair grinned. “Fancy a walk?”
Colla raised a skeptical brow. “Why so sudden? Weren't you going back to the library?” he asked, his suspicion evident.
“What?” Artair shrugged with an exaggerated innocence. “Can’t I have a little one-on-one chat with my assistant?”
With that, he gestured to the leftmost street and started walking, his steps light and casual.
“How’s it going? Are your wounds healing up alright?” Artair asked, his tone casual but betraying a hint of concern as he glanced at the younger man.
“Yeah, they’re fine now. I still need to keep the bandages on, but everything’s healing properly,” Colla replied with a faint smile, appreciating the professor’s attempt at nonchalance. “And you? How are you holding up?”
As the last traces of sunlight vanished behind the horizon, the mana orbs hanging from the street lamps flickered to life, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the cobblestone streets. Artair took a moment to study the light before responding.
“I suppose I’m fine... Just waiting for Diemut to finish repairing my staff. She’s been holding onto it for weeks now,” he said with a small chuckle.
“That’s not what I meant…” Colla started, his voice hesitant. “Linn mentioned—”
Before Colla could finish, Artair cut him off by placing a hand over the younger man’s mouth, shaking his head firmly. “It’s nothing,” he said with a forced smile, lowering his hand. “I’m fine now, really. No need to worry.”
His smile lingered just long enough to appear convincing as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face, his expression briefly shadowed by something unspoken.
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As the two stepped onto the main street leading from one of the city gates, their attention was immediately drawn to a mysterious figure leaning heavily against the doorframe of the gate.
The figure, short and cloaked in shadows, seemed barely able to hold herself upright. At the sound of their footsteps, her head turned slightly, her eyes locking onto them with a desperate, pleading gaze. Then, her body slumped forward, collapsing to the ground in an ungraceful heap.
“Please... help us....” she murmured, her voice faint and trembling with exhaustion. Though weak, it was unmistakably feminine, tinged with an urgency that sent a shiver down both their spines.
Colla rushed to the figure, his steps quick and purposeful as concern flashed across his face. Dropping to one knee, he leaned closer to assess her condition and offer aid.
The girl turned her head slightly, her movements sluggish and weak. Silvery hair cascaded over her face, but what caught Colla’s attention were the small, delicate gills on the sides of her neck, faintly fluttering with each labored breath.
“Please... help me... please...” she choked out, her voice trembling with desperation. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached out, clutching at Colla’s tunic with trembling hands. “I beg you...”
Her words, though fractured and faint, carried a profound weight that made Colla’s heart clench. He glanced back at Artair, who was already stepping forward, his expression darkening with concern.
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The mana globes encased in the room’s lamps cast their soft, bluish glow over the scene. Artair, Colla, Saelwen, and Ceana stood together, their gazes fixed on the mysterious girl wrapped in a deep red blanket. She sat on the edge of the couch, her shoulders hunched as though shielding herself from invisible threats.
“So... who are you?” Saelwen asked, her voice gentle but edged with curiosity as she lowered herself onto the cushion beside the girl.
“Shalyn...” the girl replied softly, her hands wrapped tightly around a steaming cup of tea offered by Ceana. “My name is Shalyn.” Her silver hair caught the light as she glanced up, her golden eyes meeting Saelwen’s elven ears. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked. “Are you... Saelwen?”
The question caught Saelwen off guard. Her brows lifted, and she exchanged a quick glance with Artair. “Yes.” she said, nodding slowly. “But how do you know that?”
Shalyn’s hands trembled slightly as she tightened her grip on the teacup. “You have to help me... please. They’ve taken Sylleth.” she stammered, her voice breaking. The words hung heavy in the air.
Saelwen froze, her chest tightening as the name struck her like a physical blow. Her heart raced, and her mind spun in frantic circles. “What... What are you saying?!” she demanded, her voice a mix of disbelief and rising fear. “You know Sylleth?! Where is he!?”
“Saelwen.” Ceana interjected, her tone calm but firm. She moved to sit on the other side of Shalyn, her presence grounding the moment. “Let her explain. Shalyn, can you tell us what happened? Take your time,” she added gently.
Shalyn nodded shakily, her breaths shallow as she tried to steady herself. Her exhaustion and fear were palpable, etched into every movement. “It was the slavers...” she finally said, her voice trembling. “They took him. They—” She faltered, her hands trembling so violently that tea sloshed over the rim of her cup.
Ceana reached out, placing a steadying hand over Shalyn’s. “You’re safe now. We’ll listen. Just breathe.” she said softly, her calming presence beginning to ease some of the girl’s distress.
“I met him... when they attacked his village...” Shalyn said, her voice unsteady as she fought to maintain composure. Her exhaustion was evident, her body trembling slightly as she recounted the memory.
Saelwen froze, her breath catching in her throat as her face drained of color. “Attacked... They attacked Valentia?” she whispered, the words barely audible, heavy with disbelief.
Shalyn nodded, her movements sluggish as the weight of her memories bore down on her. “We were trying... trying to get here, to find you, to ask for your help. But then...” Her voice faltered, trailing off as her mind replayed the harrowing events she had lived through.
The memories of Lazare—events that had unfolded only days prior—brought a fresh wave of fear crashing over her. Her hands, still trembling, gently set the cup of tea down on the table. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face against her legs as though trying to shield herself from the weight of her own words.
“They caught us and took us to Naora... and when we almost escaped, he let himself be caught... to save me,” Shalyn murmured, her voice muffled as she buried her face against her knees. Her words were heavy with guilt and sorrow, the weight of the memory pressing down on her small frame.
“Oh, gods...” Saelwen muttered, her hands flying to her head as she leaned back against the sofa for support, the shock evident in her wide eyes.
“I’m... I’m so sorry...” Shalyn whispered, her voice trembling as tears threatened to spill over. Her apology was choked with the kind of guilt only survivors carry, her fragile composure teetering on the edge of collapse.
“It’s okay... it’s going to be okay,” Ceana said gently, wrapping her arms around the girl in a comforting embrace. Shalyn hesitated for a moment, then leaned into Ceana’s side, seeking solace in the offered warmth as quiet sobs began to shake her shoulders.
“Well, at least we have a lead now,” Artair interjected, his tone pragmatic as he observed the scene from where he stood, hands casually in his pockets. His calmness provided a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil that filled the room.
“If they took you to Naora, then it’s either Ilythyrra or Hoterra they’ve gone to next,” Colla said, standing beside Artair, his brows furrowed as he pieced together the clues. His tone was even, but there was an underlying tension as he processed the grim possibilities.
The room hung heavy with the unspoken implications of their conversation, the faint hum of mana lamps the only sound breaking the silence as each person wrestled with what they’d learned.
As the tension in the room slowly ebbed, Ceana glanced down at Shalyn, her arms still wrapped protectively around the trembling girl. Shalyn’s silver hair shimmered faintly in the light of the mana lamps, her tear-streaked face pressed against Ceana’s side.
The woman turned to Saelwen, her pleading eyes filled with a silent request.
Saelwen sighed, stepping closer to Shalyn. Her earlier frustration softened, replaced by a mix of guilt and understanding. “I’m sorry... for how I reacted,” she said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Shalyn’s shoulder. “I was just... overwhelmed.”
“It’s okay. I don’t blame you,” Shalyn replied, her voice quieter now, tinged with weariness but no resentment. Still nestled against Ceana’s side, she seemed to be calming down little by little, the tension in her body easing.
“Shalyn,” Ceana asked softly, stroking the girl’s hair in a soothing motion, “do you have anywhere to go? Somewhere you can return to?”
Shalyn shook her head, her silvery hair brushing against the blanket draped over her shoulders. “No... I don’t.”
Saelwen hesitated for a moment, then knelt down to meet Shalyn’s gaze. “What would you say... to staying here? At least for a while?” she offered, her tone careful and kind.
Shalyn blinked in surprise, her voice barely above a whisper as she responded. “If... if I could... I’d like to stay here,” she murmured, almost as if afraid of being overheard.
Ceana smiled gently, her hand continuing to stroke Shalyn’s hair. “Then it’s settled. You’ll stay. This can be a place for you to rest and rebuild. And I’ll help you every step of the way.”
Shalyn’s eyes welled with fresh tears—not of fear or sorrow this time, but of gratitude. She nodded silently, her grip on the blanket tightening as she let out a shaky breath.
“You’re safe now,” Ceana added, her voice warm and reassuring. “And we’ll make sure it stays that way.”
Saelwen gave a small smile of her own, her earlier distress giving way to resolve. “We’ll figure this out together, Shalyn. You’re not alone anymore.”