Thorian and Taron walked through the dense forest, their steps silent but purposeful. The air was thick with the aftermath of battle—the scent of sweat, blood, and something else that hung between them. The Furybeasts were behind them, but neither man had fully dropped their guard. They moved in sync, their senses still heightened, but now, the adrenaline had simmered into something quieter, something unspoken.

“So, you always make such a dramatic entrance, or was I just lucky today?”

Thorian smirked, not bothering to turn his head.

“If you’re asking whether I saved you out of kindness, I’d be flattered. But no, today was just your lucky day.”

Taron chuckled.

“I’ll take it.”

There was a comfortable silence between them after that, one that felt more natural than the tension of before. They walked side by side, neither rushing nor slowing, as if both knew exactly where they were headed, but neither was in a hurry to get there. The forest around them pulsed with a strange kind of magic, though it had calmed since the Furybeasts had fallen.

Then, breaking through the stillness, a voice called out—urgent, but with a hint of relief.

“Taron!”

It was Aria. Her voice echoed through the trees, firm but laced with concern.

Taron shot a glance at Thorian before quickening his pace. Thorian followed, his eyes sharp, scanning the trees. Within moments, they broke through the final stretch of the forest to find the rest of Taron’s team.

The clearing was a mess—evidence of a hard-fought battle. The bodies of creatures lay strewn about, some dead, others barely clinging to consciousness. Aria stood near the center, her fingers still faintly glowing from whatever magic she had just finished weaving. Nearby, Maelor, with his commanding presence, surveyed the scene with sharp, discerning eyes.

The clearing was a disaster zone—scattered with the remains of a brutal fight. Creature corpses littered the ground, some lifeless, others barely twitching in a fading struggle for breath. Aria stood at the center, her fingers still glowing faintly from the magic she’d woven to subdue the chaos. The air around her was heavy, almost crackling with the remnants of power.

Nearby, Maelor stood like a statue, his presence commanding as always, eyes sharp and calculating as he assessed the damage. He didn’t need to say a word—his mere gaze seemed to keep the team alert.

To the side, Zephyr leaned against a tree, breathing hard, wiping the sweat from his brow, but still managing a smirk. “Well, that was fun,” he muttered, the sarcasm barely masking the exhaustion in his voice.

Ignis wasn’t far off, his hair wild, smoldering embers flickering around him as he cracked his knuckles. “I swear, if another one of those things pops out of the woods, I’m setting the whole damn forest on fire.” His words were harsh, but the fire in his eyes was already dimming, the aftermath of battle catching up to him.

Riven was pacing, his hands faintly glowing with the eerie red of blood magic, eyes scanning the treeline as if daring another beast to appear. His fingers twitched, ready to summon more of his deadly power, a predator looking for its next target. “I’d say we did alright,” he said, though his tone was flat, more a statement of fact than pride.

The group was scattered but not broken, each of them catching their breath in their own way.

Thorian watched them closely, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. These weren’t amateurs. They were a well-oiled machine, scarred but standing, and the way they had handled the battle was evidence enough.

He’d heard whispers of Maelor’s strength before, the stories always tinged with reverence. But seeing the man in person, standing tall amidst the wreckage, the reputation made sense.

Taron stepped forward, his presence a welcome relief to the group, though their focus quickly shifted to Thorian, standing silently behind him. Their expressions shifted from exhaustion to guarded curiosity.

“Taron, where have you—” Aria started, but her eyes caught on Thorian. “Who’s that?”

Taron glanced back at Thorian and gave a half-smile. “This is Thorian. He saved me from a particularly angry Furybeast or two. Figured I should return the favor and bring him back to meet the team.”

Thorian nodded slightly, offering a guarded smile. “One beast or two... give or take a few more.”

Taron smirked, not missing a beat. "Details, details."

Taron stood calmly before Maelor, though every muscle in his body was braced for the response he knew would come. He wasn’t a fool; bringing someone like Thorian into their fold, into Aether, was no small ask. But he wasn’t backing down, either. He had weighed this in his mind—this was the right move.

Maelor, however, wasn’t so quick to show his hand. His eyes, deep and steady like the earth itself, flicked between Taron and Thorian. There was an undeniable weight to his presence—one that came not just from his stature but from the grounded strength of his race, those deeply connected to the forest and the soil beneath it. Every decision he made was rooted in experience, in calculation, in the careful consideration of consequences. And this? This was no ordinary decision.

"Why him?" Maelor finally asked, his voice measured, deliberate. He didn't sound dismissive, but there was an undercurrent of skepticism.

Taron didn’t hesitate. “Because Aether has always been about more than just the magic we’re familiar with. We value power, talent—no matter its origin. Thorian’s proved his worth today. And let’s be honest, we need more people like him if we’re going to survive what’s coming.”

Maelor’s gaze flickered to Thorian, assessing him with the kind of scrutiny that could crack stone. It wasn’t distrust, not yet. But it was caution—the kind only years of leading, of watching others make fatal mistakes, could instill. "Aether welcomes many," Maelor said slowly, "but we don't invite every stray into our ranks just because they can swing a blade or cast a spell."

Thorian smirked faintly, but he kept quiet. This was Taron’s fight—he’d see how far the Arcanist was willing to go.

Taron remained unruffled. “You know as well as I do, Master, that this isn’t about swinging blades. His magic is... different, yes. But Aether is built on understanding magic of all kinds. You said it yourself—we don’t turn away those with power. We need strength like his.”

For a moment, Maelor said nothing. His gaze drifted to the forest around them, as though he were listening to something only he could hear. The Durath had always been deeply connected to the land, and Maelor embodied that connection. When he finally spoke, his words were heavy, like the weight of stone being moved.

“Different, you say,” Maelor murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What kind of ‘different,’ Taron?"

Taron glanced toward Thorian, but there was no hesitation. "He's a Shadow Celestial."

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The shift was immediate. It was as if the very air between them thickened, growing taut. For a heartbeat, no one moved, no one spoke. Thorian stood motionless, his expression unreadable, but he could feel the weight of every gaze in that clearing on him. The reveal landed like a stone dropped into deep water—the ripples spreading fast and wide.

Zephyr's smirk vanished, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered, stepping back instinctively, though his hands twitched toward his weapons. His usually easy demeanor shifted to something more cautious, more alert.

Ignis stiffened, his fiery aura flickering around him in response to the tension. He didn’t speak, but the tightness in his posture said it all. He was ready for a fight if it came to that.

But Riven… Riven had a different reaction entirely. His eyes grew wide, not with fear, but with fascination. He took an eager step forward, grinning like a child on Solstice morning. “No way! A real-life Shadow Celestial?” His excitement was palpable, even as the rest of the team tensed. “I mean, we’ve heard stories, but—” He practically bounced forward, cutting through the tension like only Riven could. “Can we keep him? Like—just look at him! Can you imagine the things we could do with—”

“Riven,” Maelor’s voice was sharp, cutting through Riven’s rambling with a single word. The bloodmage halted mid-sentence, blinking, but he didn’t lose that wide-eyed, awestruck expression. He still looked as if he wanted to wrap Thorian up and take him home in a neat little box.

Thorian raised an eyebrow, giving Riven a long, bemused look. "I don't do well with cages, if that's what you're thinking."

Riven grinned wider, clearly undeterred. “Oh, I wasn't thinking cages. More like... wrapping you up in a bow, maybe.”

Thorian just shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the situation.

But Maelor hadn’t moved, his expression unreadable as he took in Thorian once more, the gears turning behind his gaze. "A Shadow Celestial,” he repeated, slower this time, as if tasting the weight of the words.

Aria, who had been silent, shifted uneasily. Her eyes flickered between Taron and Thorian, a mix of concern and curiosity written on her face. She stepped closer to Taron, her voice quiet but firm. "Taron, are you sure about this? A Shadow Celestial... that’s not something Aether will just ignore."

"I’m sure, Aria. He saved me, and I trust what I’ve seen. We need him."

She studied his face for a moment, searching for any sign of doubt. When she found none, Aria shook her head, her expression serious. “We’re grateful he saved you, Taron, truly. But it can’t be that simple. It could be a trap.” Her voice was quiet but pointed, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Maelor nodded in agreement, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to Thorian. “We don’t stumble across a Shadow Celestial by chance in these parts, not without a reason. So, how did you find Taron? And why help him?”

Thorian’s gaze didn’t waver. He knew this moment was coming. "I was in the Western Wilds for my own reasons. I felt the magic shift when the artifact was activated. It stirred the beasts, corrupted them. I was nearby when I saw the Furybeasts attack your man."

Maelor raised an eyebrow, his posture never shifting, but his voice edged with skepticism. "And you decided to help out of the kindness of your heart?" There was no accusation in his tone—just a leader's caution, every word carefully placed to push at the cracks.

Thorian let the question linger, his smirk barely noticeable. “I don’t operate on kindness, Master. But I know when I see an unnecessary fight. The Furybeasts weren’t after him because of who he is—they were manipulated, twisted by the magic of that artifact. I stepped in because there was no point in letting someone be torn apart for nothing.”

Maelor’s sharp gaze flicked to Taron, then back to Thorian. “Convenient, isn’t it? Right place, right time.”

Thorian shrugged, his voice steady. “If I wanted to set a trap, it wouldn’t have involved saving his life.”

Aria’s brows furrowed as she chimed in, her tone cautious. "But you were already here before the artifact was activated. Why?"

Thorian’s eyes narrowed, but he remained unfazed. “I’ve been tracking disturbances in this area for weeks. The artifact’s power isn’t the first sign of chaos stirring in the Wilds. I was here to investigate, and your team just happened to cross paths with me when everything went sideways."

Maelor crossed his arms, his presence looming as he took in every word. He was careful not to reveal too much, his intelligence showing through the measured way he approached the conversation. "And you had no idea it was the artifact that caused the beasts to attack?”

“Not until I saw the aftermath,” Thorian replied smoothly, “but when I felt the surge of magic, it wasn’t hard to piece together. You’ve been hunting that artifact, haven’t you? Whatever it is, it’s more dangerous than you think.”

Maelor’s eyes flashed with something unreadable—a hint of curiosity buried beneath layers of caution. “You seem to know a lot for someone who just happened upon this situation.”

“I know enough to see that it’s affecting more than just the Furybeasts,” Thorian countered, his gaze sharp. “The artifact is corrupting the land. If you don’t dismantle it completely, you’ll have more than just beasts to deal with.”

The air between them grew heavier, the tension palpable as Maelor’s suspicion clashed with Thorian’s calm resolve. Both men were clever, careful with their words, each calculating the next move.

“Then why follow us back here? Why not walk away once you did your good deed?” Maelor pressed, his voice low, challenging.

Thorian’s smirk returned, faint but present. “Maybe I’m curious. Maybe I want to see how Aether handles a problem it’s never seen before. And maybe,” he added, his voice dropping just slightly, “I want to make sure you don’t make things worse.”

Maelor’s jaw clenched ever so slightly, his sharp mind still working behind his guarded expression. Finally, he spoke. “You’ve got answers. But I’m not convinced. Not yet.”

He stepped forward, his presence unmistakably commanding. “Aether doesn’t welcome easily, Thorian. We have eyes and ears in every corner of this world. So tell me—where are the rest of your kind? Why would a Shadow Celestial, who likely despises everything Aether stands for, want to come straight into the heart of the place that exiled him?”

The question hung in the air, thick with tension. Thorian’s smirk returned, sharper now. “Your eyes and ears missed that detail? I thought Aether’s spies were supposed to be better than that.”

Maelor’s jaw tensed, but the slightest hint of a smirk ghosted across his lips, barely noticeable. He suppressed it quickly, his expression once again unreadable. “They don’t miss much,” Maelor replied coolly, his tone low and cutting. “Especially not what’s happening in Shadowstorm Vale.”

The moment Maelor mentioned Shadowstorm Vale, the air around them shifted. The team visibly tensed, shock flashing across their faces. Before anyone could react, Maelor raised a hand, silencing them, his gaze never once leaving Thorian.

The name was like a blade slipped between words, calculated and precise—a subtle test. Thorian’s eyes flickered for just a second, registering the name, but his smirk didn’t falter.

“Ah, so you are keeping an eye on us,” Thorian said smoothly, voice dripping with casual arrogance. “Good to know you haven’t forgotten.”

Maelor’s gaze was unwavering, still studying, still testing. “Forgotten? No. But I’d wager we understand that place better than you think. The storms brewing there—let’s just say we’re paying close attention.”

Thorian's smile remained, the atmosphere had taken on a new edge. Maelor’s words were a warning, thinly veiled behind the pretense of conversation.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other—two men who knew the weight of words and the power of silence. And though no one else spoke, the entire group could feel the undercurrent of challenge between them.

Taron stood in palpable tension, his gaze flicking back and forth between Thorian and Maelor. He could sense the weight of the moment, the decisions being made in silence, the friction between two powerful minds. The entire clearing felt like it was suspended in a tense stillness.

“This is a bad idea. We don’t bring him in. Shadow Celestial? It’s suicide.” Zephyr broke the silence.

Ignis crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Agreed. We have enough problems without adding him to the mix.”

Riven, however, was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Are you serious? A Shadow Celestial in our midst? Do you realize the potential here? This could change everything."

Maelor said nothing as the opinions flew around him, his expression calm but focused. Then, with a final glance at Thorian, he made his decision. “Enough.” His voice was steady, pragmatic. “Thorian will come with us. But,” he added, before anyone could protest further, “he will be subject to an audience with the Council. They will have the final say.”

The reaction was immediate.

Zephyr let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You’re seriously taking him to the Council? This is insane.”

Ignis shook his head, his frustration clear. “No way this ends well.”

Riven grinned, excitement lighting up his face. “The Council? Oh, this just got even better.”

Aria, standing quietly to the side, looked worried, her fingers twitching as if she could already sense the chaos that decision would bring. “Master Maelor... are you sure about this?”

Maelor nodded, his expression resolute. “I am. The Council will decide.”

Thorian, who had remained silent throughout the exchanges, finally spoke, his voice low but unmistakably confident. “The Council, huh?” He smirked, the faintest edge of arrogance in his tone. “I’ll try not to disappoint them.”

Taron exhaled quietly, a subtle look of relief crossing his face. He gave a small, almost triumphant smile. “Well, at least getting you this far wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

Thorian glanced at Taron, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Keep up, and it won’t be.”