A calm and respectful conversation unfolded between Darken and King Toras, ending with a renewed sense of trust between them. Despite everything, the king was tense—haunted by a deep-seated worry he could no longer ignore. His doubts weren't born merely from suspicion, but from the heavy burden of responsibility and a past marred by betrayal.
Possessing eyes capable of detecting lies, King Toras began questioning Darken in a subtle, indirect manner—carefully probing into the heart of his intentions without appearing intrusive. By the end of their exchange, he had uncovered a glimpse of Darken's past… a tangled history veiled in shadow. That realization brought the king a strange sense of relief—alongside something deeper, something he couldn't bring himself to name.
After the conversation ended, Darken followed King Toras, walking behind him toward an unknown destination. They exited the room and made their way toward a polished wooden staircase, seamlessly carved into the trunk of the great tree. The steps wound upward, as if embracing the sky itself, leading to a summit that overlooked the breathtaking lands of the elves—lands that, to Darken's eyes, resembled paradise.
He ascended in silence behind the king, his gaze drifting to the right. He saw simple homes of varying shapes—some suspended between branches, others settled on the forest floor, and a few hollowed directly into tree trunks. Yet none of those trees reached the height of the one they now climbed.
Children ran and played with innocent joy, while parents chatted and laughed in peace and harmony. A strange calm began to seep into Darken's soul—as if, for the first time in ages, something within him began to settle. It was a scene he had always longed to witness, though he had never admitted that desire aloud.
"Do you like what you see, boy?" asked King Toras, without turning his head.
Darken replied in a quiet voice, "You could say that… It calms my nerves in a strange way."
The king smiled faintly and added, "It's simple… You're happy because they're living a better life than the one you had."
Darken paused, a hint of confusion crossing his face. "What do you mean?"
The king continued walking as he spoke. "You'll understand soon enough… or perhaps someday, you will truly grasp my words. Just be patient, boy."
The cryptic remark left Darken in a whirlwind of thought. He pondered the king's words: Happy because they live the life he was denied? What kind of irony was that? Of course he wished for a life like theirs… but he had never felt joy over others having it instead. So why did the king see that in him? Or… was there a part of himself he had yet to recognize?
Lost in thought, they finally reached the top of the tree, where a spacious and elegant wooden structure rose among the branches, almost as if it had grown there naturally.
The king stopped at the entrance and said in a curt tone, "Follow me."
He stepped through a silk curtain, similar to the ones below. Darken took a deep breath and passed through as well, eyes closed for a moment. Then he opened them slowly—only to find Prince Azreth standing near a closed wooden door.
King Toras stood beside Prince Azreth, speaking in a low voice. Both of their expressions were etched with discomfort and pain. And the moment Darken saw the look in their eyes, he knew—without needing to hear it—
Eryl was inside.
The queen was surely present, and so was Princess Eve. For a brief moment, an urge stirred within him—to step inside and take just one look at Eryl. But he hesitated. A storm of conflicting thoughts surged through his mind.
What right do I have to see her? I should just remain silent… I can't bear to look into her eyes after…
He fell silent inwardly, steadying himself.
No… Not now. I have to focus.
He walked forward with composed steps, stopping just close enough to be noticed. Both the king and the prince turned their gazes toward him.
Prince Azreth's face showed no sign of welcome. It was clear he wasn't pleased by Darken's presence. Meanwhile, King Toras tried his best to stay composed, distancing emotion from his words.
Finally, Darken broke the silence. "How is the princess?" he asked in a low voice, his tone calm on the surface—but hiding a storm within.
Azreth's expression tightened, but he didn't respond. Yet even in silence, Darken could feel the prince's unspoken words hovering at the edge of his tongue—words laced with rage and bitterness that he chose to withhold. Instead, the king answered.
"Eryl is in critical condition…" he said quietly, his voice heavy with concern. "It appears… she was poisoned."
Poisoned?
The word struck Darken like lightning. He hadn't expected that. His mind raced—searching through Carl's diery to verify such a possibility. Yet… no clear details came to mind. All he could recall were vague hints—fragmented words, barely legible.
Suddenly, he remembered—there had been an obscure mention of poison. Scattered phrases he had dismissed at the time, due to the poor handwriting, unclear phrasing… and of course, the mental breakdown he had suffered that day.
Now, fury rose inside him like a wave of fire—stronger than ever before. A scorching wrath took hold of his soul. He was furious at himself—for not reading more carefully, for failing to notice the signs, for arriving too late. Because of him… the poison had time to take full effect.
Then, Prince Azreth spoke—his voice low, but laced with bitter anger.
"It's a paralytic poison… extracted from a rare flower that grows deep within the Veiled Forest, among the bushes. Its scent is sweet and musky, but it holds a deadly toxicity. According to Sage Lobo… Eryl received four direct doses. No filtration. No dilution."
Azreth spoke steadily, but his voice carried a restrained fury—thick with silent anguish.
The king turned toward him and asked, "Is Sage Lobo inside now?"
"Yes…" Azreth replied, exhaling deeply. He looked away, as though the weight of silence was too much to bear. "But… he can't do anything. We need the antidote, and we need it fast. Eryl is barely holding on… Time is not on our side!"
Darken said nothing, unable to form a single word. Inside, he was consumed by a maelstrom of rage, regret, and self-hatred. Every time he heard how dire Eryl's condition was, those feelings only grew stronger.
Carl… I treated him with respect…!
That bastard poisoned her, destroyed her… and I… I preserved what was left of him…!
An instinctive urge took hold of him—a burning desire to dig up Carl's grave, to burn his corpse, or defile it in the most despicable ways imaginable. For a brief, irrational moment, he even considered chasing his soul into hell itself… if that were possible.
But he was unbalanced. Incapable of action. All he could do was stand there, frozen in a cage of raw fury and self-loathing.
Then, breaking the silence like a whisper against stone, the wooden door creaked open from within, and an aged elf stepped out.
He was tall, his features calm yet weary. A long beard framed his face, marked by the passage of years and the weight of wisdom. He wore plain, unremarkable clothing—but his presence was heavy, commanding.
Over his shoulder hung a gray bark satchel, etched with ancient runes. He was… Sage Lobo. He stepped forward slowly, his expression unmistakably filled with disappointment—plain even to those who didn't know him.
"Your Majesty," he began quietly, "I've done everything in my power… but this goes beyond the limits of potions and natural remedies. What we need now… is the blood of the Direwolf King."
Darken raised his head toward Sage Lobo, stunned by what he'd just heard. But he quickly realized that "Direwolf" was likely the name of a certain race on this continent. Still, he noticed something strange in the eyes around him—a silent look that spoke volumes. This wasn't a simple request. It bordered on the impossible.
Blood of a direwolf? I don't know much about them… but I'm ready to do anything. So why do they all look as if we've hit a dead end? Are they truly that difficult to face?
Darken's mind spun with questions. He said nothing, but his thoughts boiled over. That's when King Toras turned to him suddenly, locking eyes with a gaze that pierced deeper than words—measuring not his words, but his very soul.
He then looked back at Sage Lobo, who stood tensely with his hands clasped before him, as though waiting anxiously for the king's verdict.
Toras finally spoke in a low voice, barely audible: "The direwolves… and the Great Wolf King, Kazler. I just hope… he's in a good enough mood to negotiate."
Then he turned to Darken again, his gaze now intense, unwavering. "You said you wanted to help? Then… it's time to prove it."
Darken responded without hesitation, his voice steady despite the anxious tremor within: "I'm ready for anything."
The king gave a silent nod and gestured to the sage, who stepped forward until he stood face-to-face with Darken. Though slightly shorter, his presence outweighed his stature—carrying the weight of wisdom and years.
"Young man, we truly appreciate your willingness. But what I'm about to ask… is extremely dangerous. And in the worst-case scenario, you may not return alive."
His voice was cautious, as though warning him of what was to come.
Darken nodded firmly. "Don't worry. I won't back down. Just tell me what I need to do."
At that moment, King Toras studied Darken's expression—serious, unwavering, eyes filled with resolve. For a few seconds, he sank into his thoughts.
This boy… Just as I expected. Even after everything he's been through, that pure light is still in his eyes.
Then the king frowned slightly, a heavy thought crossing his mind.
But how could someone like this have grown up outside that land? He said he's from Vingard… Something doesn't add up. Threads are moving in the shadows… and I hope I'm wrong.
Meanwhile, Sage Lobo took a breath, gathering his courage. What he was about to request, he would do in his own name—and the king's—all for the sake of saving the princess.
Finally, he spoke: "First, you need to understand something. The Veiled Forest… isn't ours alone. Yes, we elves dwell here, alongside harmless creatures and wildlife, but we are not its only inhabitants."
He paused to ensure Darken was listening, then continued:
"There's another race… the Direwolves. Powerful beings, brave to the point of savagery. They do not fear death—they fight until their last breath. They are a secluded race, rarely interacting with others. When they must, they send those known as White Wolves."
He added, lowering his voice: "They possess immense physical strength. They thrive under extreme climates without faltering. Unnaturally fast. Their bodies are massive—yes, even the females. The shortest among them stands nearly seven feet tall… They are among the most feared races on the continent."
He paused again, preparing Darken for what came next.
"Our focus is on their leader—the Direwolf King, or as we call him… the Alpha. He is said to possess a unique ability to resist, even purge, the deadliest of poisons entirely… or so the stories go."
Darken replied firmly, "So what you want… is his blood, correct?"
Sage Lobo was surprised by the quick deduction, but nodded. "Yes. That's what we need. I only wanted you to understand what you're getting into. We never send anyone there without full awareness of the risk."
After the confirmation, Darken sank into deep thought. He reviewed the information he'd just received, spinning strategies in his mind.
I need a multi-layered plan… to avoid unnecessary conflict.
But this is their Alpha. There's no way he'll be alone. Taking him down will be nearly impossible.
While he was absorbed in thought, King Toras's voice suddenly cut through the silence like a blade.
"You won't be taking him down. He's stronger than you. You stand no chance of harming him."
The king spoke with stern authority—as though reading Darken's thoughts.
Did he… READ MY MIND? HOW?
Darken's shock was clear on his face.
The king's voice softened, but remained just as resolute: "Rather than throw yourself into a pointless battle, try using words. The problem is… our monthly agreements with them ended just a week ago. We no longer have the right to open formal negotiations."
At that moment, Prince Azreth's voice cut in sharply, unable to contain his rising panic:
"We don't have time! Eryl will die if we stand here doing nothing!"
The king replied, calm but under pressure: "I'm well aware of that. That's why I'm trying to find a solution that doesn't lead to a conflict we can't win. We're not strong enough to face the savagery of the Direwolves head-on. We need a precise plan… one that brings results, not corpses."
But Azreth couldn't hold back anymore. He exploded in anger: "Then why not just use this outsider?! He looks strong enough! Let him be the shield if something goes wrong!"
The prince's words struck Darken like a blade—but he said nothing, hiding his emotions behind a mask of silence.
The king, however, showed clear irritation—even if his face remained composed.
He replied, his tone soft but sharp: "Azreth… Since when do we send others to die for us? Have you gone blind to what's happening around you?"
It was the voice of a father—not a king.
Azreth exhaled heavily, then shouted, voice raw and shaking: "You're the one who's blind! My sister… she was kidnapped, assaulted, poisoned—and now she's dying! And you act like nothing's happening! Have you forgotten she's my sister? Have you forgotten she's… your daughter?!"
Tears welled in his eyes despite his raised voice. His fury masked an unbearable grief.
Darken stepped forward, trying to calm him. "Azreth, please–"
But he was cut off.
"Shut up! Don't speak!"
Azreth's voice was filled with venom.
"I'm still certain you're behind everything that happened to her! You just pretend to be innocent! How dare you stand here like nothing happened?! You hypocritical human!!"
He turned to the king again, shouting:
"Your reign must be over, Father! Trusting the man who hurt Eryl?! You've truly—"
Before he could finish, the sound of a sharp slap rang through the air.
The queen Erlsya had emerged silently from the room—only the king, Darken, and Sage Lobo had noticed her presence. Azreth hadn't.
The slap struck his left cheek. He gasped, hand flying to his face, then turned, stunned. "W-What…?"
The queen's eyes were still wet from crying—but now, they burned with anger and poise.
"Perhaps I spoiled you too much," she said coldly. "How dare you speak like that in front of your father? Have you no shame?"
Azreth, shaken, tried to protest. "Why would you do that?! Everything I said wasn't a lie–!"
But the queen Erlsya interrupted, voice firm and frigid: "It was hollow."
She looked him straight in the eye and said, "Your father said this young man is not the culprit. Your sister detected no scent matching the attacker on Darken. And I, too, confirmed it wasn't him. So how did you come to your own conclusion?"
Despite her grief and steel, her eyes bore a beauty much like her daughter's. In that moment, Darken saw clearly—Eryl had inherited much from her mother. And the realization alone tightened something in his chest.
Azreth fell into a humiliated silence. He had nothing left to say. He turned and walked away, footsteps heavy with a mix of regret and rage. As he passed Darken, the latter's eyes followed him.
For a moment… he felt like his presence here was a mistake. As if he were only adding to their pain.
I never had parents… so I can't truly understand what he's feeling. But the way he spoke to his father… was wrong. Completely wrong.
The queen Erlsya broke his thoughts, speaking gently but firmly:
"I apologize on behalf of my son. He's just… very sensitive when it comes to his sister. That's why he sees guilt in you—because you remain so calm while everything around us is falling apart. That calmness… it can lead someone without clarity to the wrong conclusions."
But Darken wasn't surprised. He responded calmly: "It's alright… At one point, even I doubted myself."
Then his tone turned firm: "But that doesn't matter anymore. I've made my decision… and I already have a plan."
The queen Erlsya blinked. "A plan?"
Even Sage Lobo looked surprised. The king, however, said nothing. He merely closed his eyes for a moment… as if he'd been waiting to hear those very words.
With steady breath, burning eyes, and a will forged in guilt and resolve, Darken said:
"I will go… to the lands of the Direwolves. I will bring back the blood of the Wolf King. And I will take full responsibility for whatever happens there."
It was the moment he solidified his choice—not just in word, but in soul. He knew what lay ahead… and still, he was ready.