The Lodge was quieter now.
But the underlying fear. Of the Whisperwood. Lingered.
Malrik had returned to his room. After the tense pre-dawn encounter. With Elara.
The morning routine resumed. Its familiar. If strained. Rhythm.
He practiced Nexciva. He maintained the facade.
He was seated by his window. Watching the light. Slant across the clearing. When the messenger arrived.
Hoofbeats echoed. In the courtyard. Faster. More urgent. Than a standard supply wagon.
Kaelen's voice was sharp. As he received the rider below.
Malrik didn't need mana sense. To feel the shift. In Kaelen's energy. Surprise. Then. Deference.
Something important. Had arrived. Something official. From the Capital.
A short while later. Kaelen appeared. At Malrik's door. He held a heavy. Rolled parchment. Sealed with the Duke's crest.
"My Lord Malrik," Kaelen said. His voice formal. "A messenger from the Capital. An urgent dispatch. From your father."
Kaelen presented the parchment. Malrik took it. His movements slow. And deliberate. As always.
His eyes. Visible above the mask. Registered the Duke's familiar seal.
He broke the seal. Unrolled the parchment. His gaze scanned the script within.
It was an invitation. A summons. Formal. Unexpected.
An invitation to attend. A family ceremony. In the Ducal Capital. Aethelburg.
A ceremony all direct descendants. Were expected. To participate in.
The "Bloodright Ceremony". The parchment called it.
A trial held within the ancient. Secret place. Known as The Crucible of Ancestors.
The purpose: to test the worthiness. Of the bloodline. And. For those found capable. To awaken. A special. Latent. Bloodline ability.
He was summoned. Despite his exile. Despite the hatred. And disdain.
He was still a direct descendant. By blood. By name.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: A summons? Now? After the ogre. The knights. The heightened tension? The Bloodright Ceremony. A latent bloodline ability? My father. Remembering I exist. It seems. Or perhaps. It's just protocol. A formality. That includes. Even the exiled shame. A duty he cannot avoid.)
A cold. Familiar surge. Of resentment. Tightened in his chest.
The Capital. Aethelburg. The place of his humiliation. The place where Elian. Paraded his 'superiority'. The place where his father's disappointment. Was a constant. Heavy cloak.
But the parchment. Also mentioned. A bloodline ability.
A new source. Of power. Latent. Waiting to be awakened.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: A bloodline ability. Something inherent. Something not reliant on a mana core. Or forbidden techniques. Something... else. Potential. Unforeseen potential. A path to power. Outside the usual avenues.)
The summons was a disruption. An inconvenience. It would mean leaving the Lodge. Leaving his training. With Elara. Leaving the developing situation. With the ogre. And the ongoing threat. From whoever targeted Elara.
But it was also an opportunity.
Access to the Capital. To Aethelburg. To the heart of the Duchy's power. A chance to observe. To gather information.
A chance to assess Elian's position. Directly. To understand the scope. Of his influence. And the possibility. Of unlocking. A new. Valuable ability.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: A risk. Yes. The Capital is a nest of vipers. My enemies are there. They believe I am broken. Weak. But the potential reward. Outweighs the risk. The Ceremony. The Crucible. The possibility of a new power. And the data to be gathered. The leverage to be gained.)
He looked at Kaelen. Who watched him. With his usual mixture. Of vigilance. And subtle curiosity.
Kaelen knew. The significance. Of such a summons. He was waiting for a reaction. Waiting for instruction.
Malrik gave a slow. Deliberate nod.
He would go.
The messenger was dispatched. With his silent affirmation. Preparations were made.
The Lodge staff moved. With a new sense of purpose. Breaking from the fearful monotony. Of the past few days. A journey to the Capital. Required a retinue. Guards. A more comfortable carriage.
That night. Under the cloak. Of the Whisperwood's darkness. Malrik sought out Elara.
He found her near the cabin. Tending to her herbs. Under the faint moonlight. Anya and Celine were likely inside. Asleep.
Malrik approached silently. Elara turned. Sensing his presence. With her usual. Unnerving ease. Her eyes met his. Cool. And questioning.
He stood before her. Raised a hand. The fiery script formed. In the air. Stark against the night.
Summons. From my father.
To Capital. Aethelburg.
Bloodright Ceremony. Trial.
For bloodline ability.
Elara watched the shimmering words. Form and dissipate. Her expression remaining carefully neutral.
Her gaze lingered on the phrase. "Bloodright Ceremony". And. "bloodline ability".
She remained silent. For a long moment. After the script faded.
"The Bloodright," she finally said. Her voice low. "An old tradition. Rarely spoken of now. A trial of spirit. And blood. They say. To see if the old power. Still flows true."
She looked at him. Her eyes assessing.
"It is a risk," she stated. Matter-of-factly.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Risk acknowledged. State the obvious. What is your assessment? The value? Does this interfere with your plans?)
He traced another question.
Value? For training? For plan?
Elara seemed to consider this. She walked slowly around him. Her movements fluid. Even in the dim light. Observing him from different angles.
"The Crucible of Ancestors," she murmured. As if testing the name. "A place of power. Ancient. Untainted. By the recent chaos. If the legends are true. It tests the very core. Of a person. Their lineage. Their will."
She stopped before him again.
"Your father," she continued. "And your... sibling... will be there. Your enemies. It is a den of vipers."
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Vipers. Confirmed. But snakes. Can be killed. Or turned. Or used to bite each other.)
"Yet," Elara said. A subtle shift. In her tone. "A bloodline ability... if it is significant. If it is something unique. To your lineage. It could be a valuable asset. A different kind of power. One they do not expect you. To wield."
She paused. Letting the implications settle.
"And the Capital," she added. "Information flows there. Secrets are bought and sold. It is the heart. Of the web."
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Heart of the web. Yes. Data points. Leverage. The watchers. Kaelen's buyer. Elian. All tied back there. A central node.)
Elara looked at the ground. For a moment. Then back at him.
"Your training. In Shadow Weave... it is just beginning. It requires consistent practice. Leaving now will set you back."
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Setback acknowledged. A necessary cost. This opportunity. Cannot be ignored.)
He traced the decision. He had already made.
I go.
Elara met his gaze. Her expression unreadable. There was no argument. No attempt to dissuade him. She simply accepted his decision.
"Very well," she said. "The Capital is... different. The shadows are deeper. But they are also more crowded. More eyes. More ears. Your Veil Step will help. But it is not enough."
She stepped closer. Her voice dropping. To a near whisper.
"Be wary. Of mirrors," she cautioned. "And of those. Who offer easy smiles."
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Mirrors? Easy smiles? Cryptic warnings. More blind spots? More specific threats? Reflections. Deception. Traps.)
"This will accelerate. Your need. For the next forms," she continued. "How to cloak your intent. How to move without a trace. How to sense those. Who hunt the unseen."
She looked towards the path. Leading away from the cabin. Towards the distant lights. Of the Capital.
"Go," Elara instructed. "Learn what your blood. Can offer. Learn what the Capital. Can teach you. Survive the vipers. And when you return... our training. Will resume. With a new urgency."
Malrik nodded. His gaze settled. On the dark path.
Aethelburg. The Capital. His most hated place.
The center of his past humiliation. And potentially. The next battleground. For his future ascent.
The Lodge would handle the arrangements. A modest retinue. A formal departure.
He would play the part. Of the summoned exile. Returning. To participate. In a pointless. Noble ritual.
But he wasn't going back. For ceremony.
He was going back. For power. For knowledge. For leverage.
He was going back. To the heart. Of the vipers' nest. And he was ready. To strike.
The journey to Aethelburg. Would begin. At dawn.