Leaves flew through the air at an unforgiving pace, dancing around trees and buildings like a startled flock of birds. The trees groaned and scraped as they bent under the weight of the wind, their branches whipping like arms caught in a storm.
Each step Elara took pressed gravel into gravel, the crunching sound swallowed by the howling wind. Her hair and coat thrashed wildly around her, but her expression stayed steady. Her steps were firm, each one placed without hesitation.
She raised a hand to brush a few loose strands of hair from her face.
'It must be close now.'
Her eyes shifted forward.
A stone path stretched ahead, framed by trimmed trees planted in perfect symmetry, lining both sides. It seemed to go on forever, swallowed by the gray horizon.
As she walked, her thoughts began to slip in, uninvited. And with them, her jaw tightened. Her eyes turned red at the edges.
She had no recollection of what had happened, nor how she had woken up in one piece.
After she came to, she wandered aimlessly in a haze, disoriented and unsure of where she was or why she was alive. Confusion clouded her thoughts, and it wasn't until much later, after the trembling subsided and her breathing slowed, that she managed to gather herself enough to think clearly again.
That was when she activated her sensory motes.
And in an instant, everything became crystal clear.
Information flooded her mind like a dam breaking. She saw it all.
The crater, soaked in blood and soaked again with the memory of violence. The ground bore the remnants of a brutal battle, shattered terrain, and lifeless bodies.
She saw Sylas, a single gaping wound punched clean through his forehead. His body was crumpled where it fell, still and pale.
She saw Adam. Or what was left of him.
She could hardly recognize the mess of flesh lying in that pool of blood and torn tissue. The golden rod had ripped through him like he was paper. He looked more like discarded cloth than a man. Limbs out of place. Pieces missing.
And then she saw Rielle.
'Oh, Rielle... my sweetest Rielle.'
Elara tilted her head toward the sky, refusing to let the tears fall just yet.
Rielle might have looked peaceful, her expression soft in death, if not for the gaping hole in her forehead. If not for the missing arm.
Elara wiped her cheek with her coat sleeve. When she looked down, she saw it: dark streaks staining the fabric, where her tears had soaked through without her realizing.
And then it hit her.
The sobs came without warning, rough, broken, stuttering through the silence. She couldn't stop them. Couldn't push them down this time. Her legs kept moving, but her chest tightened with every step.
Tears streamed freely now, warm against her wind-bitten cheeks, her breath catching between each broken sound that escaped her lips. The wind howled around her, but it was her own grief that roared louder than anything.
Time lost all meaning, but still she walked, step after step, breath after breath, until, without even realizing it, a structure began to emerge on the horizon.
A gate.
Elara drew a slow breath, forcing herself to calm down. She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve, straightened her back, and kept walking.
The metal gate loomed larger with every step. Massive and imposing, but Elara's expression didn't waver. Her gaze moved steadily over its iron frame, taking in each detail.
It was made from thick, blackened iron bars, and easily stood more than twice her height. Yet the most striking feature rested right at its center.
A crest.
Crafted with meticulous precision, it depicted two lions locked in vicious combat, their bodies tangled in thorned vines. The craftsmanship was exquisite, too perfect to be anything less than the work of a master.
Elara stared at it in silence.
She didn't need to wonder whose crest it was. Everyone in Velthoria knew.
'The Valthorne family.'
Her fingers moved almost on their own, brushing gently across the emblem. She could feel the fine lines carved into the iron, the curve of a mane, the edge of a thorn.
For a moment, she stood there, uncertain.
Then, with no better option and nowhere else to turn, she raised her hand and knocked on the gate. Two sharp taps echoed through the iron frame. A metallic clang rang out across the wind-swept path before fading into silence, replaced only by the hollow voice of the autumn wind.
She waited.
After a while, a figure emerged from the side, just beyond the iron bars. An old man shuffled forward slowly, leaning heavily on a worn cane with every step.
He came to a stop and turned toward her, both hands resting on the head of the cane.
"What do you want, young lady?"
He said with a rough voice.
Elara hesitated. Her throat felt tight, and it took more effort than she expected to push the words out.
"I'm not sure who," she said softly, "but… I need to speak to someone."
The gatekeeper narrowed his eyes, watching her in silence for a long moment. Then he let out a sigh, turned, and began the slow walk back toward the small wooden chair he had come from.
"I'm sure you know, young lady, this is a noble house," he called over his shoulder. "They don't make time for unimportant matters."
His voice was tired, not cruel, just matter-of-fact. But the dismissal still cut.
Elara watched him go, her heart beginning to race.
"I have information," she said, her voice louder this time, cracking slightly. "About Kael Sinclaire. And the Eireindaile."
It hurt to say his name. Even more to offer him up.
But what hurt more was the truth she'd started to accept, while Kael's feelings for her may have been an illusion, hers for him were not. And the more she understood that, the more she hated herself for it. The ache in her chest was deeper than she wanted to admit.
The old man's steps faltered. He paused, then turned back toward her and shuffled to the gate, unlocking it with a slow, unhurried motion.
"Head down this road," he said, gesturing toward a distant mansion with a trembling finger. "Tell them your reason for visiting. If anyone gives you trouble, say Old Neil let you in."
Elara offered a sincere thank-you before stepping past the gate and heading down the path.
She couldn't help but be struck by the sight. The gardens were immaculate, unlike anything she'd ever seen. Every hedge was trimmed to perfection, and colorful autumn blossoms lined the path like brushstrokes on a canvas. Gardeners worked all around her, pulling weeds and tending to the plants.
But despite the beauty, the atmosphere was heavy. The staff looked uneasy, their expressions tight, their movements stiff.
'Must be because of everything that's happened…'
Elara lowered her gaze, letting out a slow breath.
The tension wasn't without reason. Everyone in Velthoria knew of the long-standing hatred between the Valthorne and Eireindaile families. But things had seemed to improve in recent years, new trade routes, business deals, and even shared festivals had softened the animosity. At least on the surface.
Then, everything changed.
A few months ago, tragedy struck. The Eireindaile were accused of murdering a Velthorian woman and her child, what made it worse was that they were kin to the Valthorne heir himself. In response, the Eireindaile claimed the act was retaliation for a failed assassination attempt on their own heir, Syleena. But that explanation remained highly contested within the city.
Tensions rose even higher when the murdered woman's brother, who had begun publicly speaking out against the violence caused by the Eireindaile, was also killed. His body was strung up for all to see, displayed at the city's grand library like some horrific warning.
Elara's fists clenched at her sides.
'No wonder people are furious.'
She raised her eyes to the mansion looming ahead.
The Eireindaile hadn't made any public statements. And the Valthorne family had yet to retaliate. The silence from both sides only fueled the unrest. The people of Velthoria felt abandoned, betrayed even. And as whispers of past wars resurfaced, so did the fury in their hearts.
It had started in the mortal district.
At first, it was just protests, angry voices echoing through narrow streets, windows hastily boarded up, shops closing early out of fear. But slowly, like a creeping poison, it began to seep into the Luminaire district. Most tried to ignore it, to carry on with their lives as if nothing was happening. But not everyone could look away. Some were furious. Others, afraid.
And then came the latest blow.
Velthorian Luminaires had begun attacking Farkath trading caravans. Supplies were raided, merchants beaten, some even killed.
Elara clenched her teeth.
"Ugh, how can people be so stupid," she muttered through gritted teeth, her voice a whisper of restrained anger.
"Do they really not understand what kind of consequences this could lead to?"
She genuinely couldn't make sense of it.
To attack Farkath's caravans so openly, to kill their people, it was no longer protest. It was a provocation.
Eireindaile wouldn't ignore something like this. They couldn't. Depending on how they chose to respond, this could spiral into something far worse than unrest. It could turn into war. Real war. One that wouldn't just claim Luminaires on a battlefield, but families, children, and entire city blocks.
Hundreds could die. Maybe more.
And all because of reckless emotion and blind rage.
She caught herself when she noticed a nearby gardener eyeing her with concern.
'I can't let it get to me.'
She exhaled slowly and steadied her breath.
Halting her steps, Elara looked ahead. A set of tall double doors appeared before her, the Valthorne family crest embedded in the polished wood.
She stepped up to the entrance and pushed the doors open. A wave of warm air rolled over her, thick with the scent of freshly laundered fabrics and something else, dignity, wealth.
The moment she stepped inside, a maid appeared, greeting her with trained politeness. While Elara wasn't of noble blood, she was still a Luminaire, and the maid, only a mortal. Elara explained her reason for visiting, carefully choosing her words. The maid simply nodded and led her up a flight of stairs, down a corridor, and finally to a pair of dark, ornately carved wooden doors.
"Lord Vael is currently in a meeting," the maid said, bowing with practiced grace. "But once the room is available, you'll be allowed to enter."
Then she turned and left, her footsteps fading into the silence.
"Lor—Lord Vael?"
Elara's face paled.
She hadn't expected this.
In her hazy state, when she first decided to come to the Valthorne estate, she hadn't thought it through. She didn't even know if anyone would let her in. Her hope was simply to speak with someone, anyone who could pass along what she knew about Kael and the Eireindaile.
But now?
She was being told she'd be speaking to Lord Vael himself.
The weight of that reality crashed into her all at once.
'I'm supposed to talk to Vael?'
Her hand shot out, steadying herself against the wall as the corridor spun around her. A rush of lightheadedness followed, stronger than anything she'd felt in years.
'The head of the Valthorne family. The only known Rank Five in all of Velthoria…'
She didn't even realize she had sat down until she felt the cold floor beneath her.
Clutching her head, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe.
She'd come this far. There was no turning back now.