Soren slowly extended his hand and opened his palm. A ring lay in the center.
"May I see it?" Lienne asked.
Soren nodded. He couldn't afford to look guilty. Calmly, he allowed her to take it.
Pinching the ring between her thumb and forefinger, Lienne brought it close to her eye. She examined it carefully—inspecting its surface, its weight, and the metal it was made of. She sensed nothing unusual. No magical aura. Just metal. Strong, yes, though she couldn't quite place the material.
She handed it to Master Kael.
The old man checked it in much the same way. His expression remained unchanged. He, too, found nothing suspicious.
Behind his calm facade, Soren felt a wave of relief. The tightness in his chest began to ease.
Kael passed the ring back to Lienne, and Lienne returned it to Soren.
"Young man," Kael said, voice casual but eyes still sharp. "You mentioned your home is nearby, yes? Would you mind if we stopped by for a moment?"
He glanced at Lienne. "My throat's a bit dry. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to ask for a drink of water."
It was a blatant excuse. Someone of his strength should have no trouble going days without water. Clearly, they were still suspicious—and now wanted to take a closer look, especially since Soren had already said his home was close by.
Soren exhaled quietly, barely audible.
Hosting them wouldn't be difficult. The ring had already been examined, and they found nothing. That was what mattered most.
"I'll gladly take you to my house, but before that… I have to ask. May I know who you are?"
Soren's voice remained calm, though there was a firmness beneath it. "No offense intended. It's just… my little sister is home. I can't bring strangers near her without knowing who I'm dealing with."
A beat of silence passed. His stance wasn't defensive, but protective. Reasonable.
Lienne seemed to realize it too. "That's fair," she said.
She placed a hand on her chest. "I'm Lienne, Field Operative under the Dawnveil sub-division."
"Dawnveil?" Soren echoed.
Before she could elaborate, Kael spoke.
"My name is Kael, young man. Archmage of the Mage Tower."
Soren blinked, stunned. The name Kael wasn't familiar, but the title was. Archmage! That was no small name—it was a seat of power. And not just magically, but politically too. Not someone you refused lightly.
Dawnveil... now that rang a bell.
A clandestine branch under the Bureau of Magical Affairs, Dawnveil handled operations that required silence, precision, and discretion. Their agents were trained for espionage, extraction, and the kind of things that never made it into official reports. That someone from Dawnveil and an Archmage had both shown up…
He straightened unconsciously.
"I… see. Then I suppose I should be honored that you came to speak with me in person."
Kael gave a light nod. "We won't stay long. A glass of water, and we'll be gone."
Soren hesitated for just a second longer, then let out a breath.
With a courteous smile, he gestured for them to follow. "Of course. Please, this way."
---
They walked through the woods in a steady silence, the path slightly overgrown but familiar under Soren's feet. Shafts of light filtered through the canopy above, until finally the trees opened up into a wide clearing.
There, nestled at the edge of the glade, stood a small two-story house. It was modest, but well-kept—its wooden frame sturdy, its windows clear, and flowerbeds running along the edges of the porch. The kind of home that exhaled warmth and quiet comfort. A place that welcomed, rather than impressed.
Soren felt a familiar weight stir in his chest. Peace. Home.
Even before he reached the door, he could feel her—his sister, struggling to her feet again, trying to greet him like she always did.
When he opened the door, her soft voice met him.
"Welcome home, Brother," Lyra said, smiling gently.
Then she froze, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of two strangers standing behind him.
"They're not bad people," Soren said quickly. "They're guests."
"Oh," Lyra gasped softly, flustered. She fumbled to smooth her hair and adjust her blouse, clearly caught off guard. "I… I see."
"Relax," Soren said with a light chuckle. "It's fine."
He stepped aside to let the visitors in. The house smelled faintly of herbs and sunlight—an inviting warmth that wrapped around them like a blanket.
"Please, come in. Make yourselves comfortable," Soren said, motioning toward the sitting area.
"I'll make some tea," Lyra offered brightly, already moving toward the small kitchen corner.
But Soren reached out and gently held her arm.
"No. Just rest today," he said softly. "Sit, alright?"
She hesitated, then nodded and obediently made her way to the sofa opposite the guests'.
"My name is Lyra," she said politely, offering a shy smile.
The old man returned her smile with a kind one of his own. "Young lady, I am Kael, and this is Lienne."
The two guests sat gracefully, their eyes flicking briefly toward Lyra with a kind of understanding. It was clear she was frail—her movements slow, her skin pale. Even her voice carried the weight of long illness.
Soren, meanwhile, busied himself preparing the tea.
The scent of warm tea filled the room, mellow and calming. Kael took a careful sip from the ceramic cup, then let out a soft hum of appreciation.
"This is delightful," he said. "I must admit, I feel like a guest visiting an old friend."
Soren offered a polite smile. "It's just a simple herbal blend. We grow some of the ingredients ourselves."
"Simple, yet soothing," Kael mused. He leaned back, seemingly at ease. "A home like this… it carries the kind of peace I imagine in retirement. Perhaps I've been spending too much time in towers."
Lienne, quiet until now, looked between Soren and Lyra. Her gaze lingered a moment longer on the younger girl—pale, delicate, bundled under a blanket.
They don't seem like a threat, she thought. One is sickly, the other blind. If anything, it's pitiful. But…
Her eyes drifted toward the windows, the quiet forest beyond, the faint aroma of herbs.
…they seem to be living in peace. That's something.
"Well," she said finally, placing her empty cup down. "We won't stay long. Thank you for your hospitality."
Soren nodded. "Of course. Thank you both for understanding."
Kael rose slowly, adjusting his cloak. "If fate is kind, we maybe cross paths again. But should it happen... I hope it's over tea."
They exchanged brief nods, and Soren escorted them toward the door.
Just as Kael stepped past the threshold, his hand paused against the frame.
"…By the way, Soren," he said, almost conversational. "Your sister… she's been unwell for a long time, hasn't she?"
Soren froze for half a breath. "…Yes."
Kael gave a vague nod. "I see."
Then, without another word, he stepped outside.
Lienne followed him, giving a faint nod to Lyra before the door closed behind them.
As silence returned to the house, Lyra looked to her brother.
After the two guests had left, silence returned to the house, broken only by the whisper of the night wind and the rustling trees.
"…Did something happen while you were out earlier?" Lyra asked softly, her tired eyes watching Soren with quiet concern.
Soren offered a small smile. "Nothing important. Just a long day."
It wasn't a satisfying answer, but Lyra was too exhausted to press further. She nodded faintly and quietly returned to her room.
Soren lingered in the living room a little longer, sitting in the dim glow of the lamp, lost in thought. His fingers absently brushed against the ring in his pocket. The weight of the day was heavy on his shoulders.
Eventually, he stood up and retreated to his room. As he lay on the bed, the familiar creaks of the old house and the rhythmic chirping of crickets lulled the world around him into calm. Yet, something inside him stayed tense—coiled. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly.
But for Soren, the night was just beginning.
He jolted awake hours later, breath ragged, drenched in cold sweat. His head throbbed, but worse—much worse—was the burning heat radiating from his left eye.
That eye.
The one he hadn't been able to open since twilight, since that encounter.
Soren bit down hard, stifling a groan. Carefully, he stepped out of his room, past the living area where Lyra was fast asleep. He couldn't risk making a sound.
He stepped outside.
Into the night.
The cold air did little to soothe the fire surging beneath his skin. His pace quickened as he pushed deeper into the woods, farther and farther, until the house was long behind him—out of earshot, out of sight.
Then, he stopped.
His knees buckled. His breathing hitched.
"Ghh—argh!!"
Pain exploded from the left side of his face like a searing brand. He dropped to his knees, clutching his face, clawing at the burning eye—
—and slowly, the eyelid creaked open.
What greeted the world was a crimson glow.
Soren couldn't see it, but if he could, he would've seen that his left eye now glowed with a deep, living red—like molten fire spinning in slow circles, as if something ancient had awakened inside.
And the air… shifted.
It was being pulled, sucked into a growing pressure around him.
Then—release.
FwwWMMMM—A deep, otherworldly pulse tore through the clearing.
The forest in front of him vanished.
Trees were uprooted and obliterated, sucked into a void-like force that tore the clearing into a perfect circle. Grass, roots, soil—gone. The earth trembled, leaves scattered like ash, and a shockwave rolled into the night air.
When it was over, a hollow scar remained where the forest had once stood.
Soren's vision blurred. His limbs gave out, strength draining all at once. The world tilted, spun—
—and then, darkness.
He collapsed onto the barren ground, unconscious.
The night held its breath.
And the silence returned.