CHAPTER 56
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room where Sorayael and Krios sat curled together on the cushioned floor.
A plate of half-eaten pastries lay forgotten between them, and Krios was mid-laugh, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth as he recounted something ridiculous a merchant had said at the plaza earlier.
Sorayael chuckled, the sound low and real. "Did you buy it?"
She raised a brow. "Did you now?"
He grinned. "Well. It's not untrue."
There was a stillness in the air after that-gentle, comforting. One of those rare, quiet moments that felt suspended in time. Outside, the wind rustled softly through the trees. The stars were out. Everything was calm.
But not for long.
Sorayael leaned her head on Krios's shoulder for a breath longer, then gently pulled away. "Go get some sleep," she said. "You've talked my ear off."
Krios narrowed his eyes at her, suspicion blooming. "You're staying up."
She smirked. "Only a bit. I need to sort through some old maps. Nothing exciting."
She pressed a hand to her heart, mock-wounded. "I have never had that look."
She leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. "I'll be fine, Krios. Promise."
He wanted to argue. She saw it in the way his mouth opened and closed, but sleep was already tugging at him. "Just.. don't get hurt, okay?"
Her voice softened. "I won't."
Once he was tucked into bed and the house had gone still, Sorayael moved quickly.
She had already packed what she needed-just the essentials. A satchel of healing salve, a map of the western reaches, her mother's dagger, and the cloak Reinhold gave her moons ago.
The coordinates Deimon decrypted had haunted her for nights.
Blackveil Ridge in the West. Three days ago.
Reinhold hadn't made contact since. And that silence, from him, was as unnatural as it was worrying.
Something was wrong.
And Sorayael had never been one to wait for answers to come to her.
The moon rode high by the time she crossed the border of the estate's lands, moving with soundless urgency under the veil of trees. Her boots kissed the forest floor, and her senses stayed open-sharp and humming. A part of her hoped this was nothing. A mistake. A false trail.
But the wind that howled from the west carried no peace.
It carried warning.
And the closer she drew to Blackveil Ridge, the more the air thickened. Like it knew something had changed.
Like it was holding its breath.
When the morning comes.
The scent of toasted bread and citrus jam drifted through the hallways, sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains. Zarethian, still tousled from sleep and barefoot, made his way to the kitchen with the single-minded hunger of someone who'd skipped dinner and regretted it.
He opened the cupboard, reached for a mug, and paused.
Something felt off.
He stood there for a moment, brow furrowed, then turned toward the casual presence seated at the dining nook.
The Grand Duke, still in his robe, legs crossed, was scrolling through something on his phone with the usual calm detachment of a man who had seen the rise and fall of empires..
and was now simply catching up on breakfast gossip.
The Grand Duke didn't look up immediately-just swiped one last time before glancing over the rim of his glasses.
Zarethian blinked. "That's all?"
The Grand Duke finally lowered the phone, meeting his gaze. "She left you a message. That means she trusts you'll understand."
Zarethian's jaw tensed. "Can't that wait?"
Zarethian didn't answer. But the irritation in his stance said enough.
The Grand Duke took another sip of coffee, then offered a half-shrug. "She'll be fine. If anything happens... she'll handle it before we ever reach her."
'I said that but I am also worried for that child. How on earth she's going to this and that with that small figure? Ha..'
Zarethian stared at the window for a long second, then sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "She better come back with both arms."
.........
Sorayael stepped inside the modest roadside restaurant, her hood already pulled back, silver hair loosely tied, and her satchel slung over one shoulder. The place was quiet, tucked between two trading posts along the old highway, frequented mostly by travelers and locals.
She took a corner seat by the window and quietly observed.
Her golden eyes scanned everything-the placement of doors, exits, the worn wood of the floorboards, the way the cook disappeared behind the hanging curtain every few minutes. She wasn't looking for food.
She was looking for signs, patterns, movements, or if anyone was watching.
Still, her cover had to hold.
The elderly manager at the counter-gray-haired, with round cheeks and a voice that had probably soothed generations-eyed her curiously from behind his register. A moment later, he made his way over with a gentle smile and a steaming plate in hand.
Sorayael blinked. "I didn't order-"
She offered a faint smile, deciding to play into the image. "I suppose I am."
He winked. "Well, adventurers need to eat. And you look like an adorable one."
Sorayael murmured a thank you, but her eyes never stopped flicking between the glass reflection and the figures outside. She lifted the spoon, casually stirred the soup, and continued watching.
Because somewhere nearby, Reinhold's trail had to start.
And if anyone had seen something-or someone-they wouldn't expect a girl calmly eating stew to be a seeker of truths.
She took a bite.
'This isn't that bad.. thank you, grandpa.'
She waited.The bell above the restaurant door chimed softly as Sorayael stepped back into the cool western air, the wind tousling her silver strands and tugging at the hem of her cloak.
Her belly was warm, but her instincts were colder than ever-restless beneath her skin like a tide waiting to break.
She moved quietly down the cobbled path, weaving past market stalls and the scent of dried herbs and metal. It was supposed to be a straight route toward the last known trail of Reinhold.
But something caught her eye.
Her steps faltered as she noticed a figure perched atop a slanted rooftop across the street-draped in a cloak darker than shadow, unmoving and alert. Not a vendor, not a guard. They're watchful and have an intent.
Sorayael followed the figure's gaze.
Down below, walking along the narrow alley with curious, tentative steps, was a boy. No older than thirteen-his lilac hair tied in a noble's ribbon, cloak embroidered with a small crest at the shoulder. He didn't seem lost. But he didn't look aware of what lingered behind him, either.
Another shadow shifted.
They weren't merchants. They weren't locals. And they weren't ordinary.
'Who are they?' Sorayael wondered.
Sorayael's fists clenched at her sides. Her first instinct was to turn away, to not get involved. She had a goal. Reinhold. Blackveil Ridge. Emperor. She didn't need distractions.
But her feet wouldn't move.
Her conscience bit back harder than her reason.
What if that boy was someone like Krios?
She muttered under her breath, voice sharp and quiet,
"Aish! Whatever!"
Her boots pivoted on the stone. "Let's just go and finish this."
And like that, she veered into the crowd-eyes fixed, magic suppressed, and every step inching her closer to the danger she told herself not to chase.
Because sometimes, walking away was easier. But it wasn't who she was.
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