Alain pushed open the door and stepped into the corridor. His steps were steady, sure, the adrenaline fading from his bloodstream as Kindle cooled beneath his skin.
Behind him, Lia lingered.
She glanced one last time at the ruined room — the splintered desk, the broken beam, the faint smell of miasma that refused to dissipate — and swallowed her unease before following him.
"Alain, wait—"
She stepped through the doorway.
And Alain was gone.
The space where he had been standing was empty, air still faintly disturbed from his passing. Lia froze, breath catching in her throat.
"Alain…?"
Then—
A sound like the world inhaling.
Alain dropped into existence three steps ahead of her— stumbling forward as if shoved through a door she couldn't see. He hit the wall with a forearm, gasping hard, sweat streaking down his face.
"Alain!" Lia rushed to him. "What— what happened? Are you hurt?"
He didn't answer immediately.
His pupils were blown wide, chest heaving like he'd sprinted a mile. His hair clung to his forehead, drenched in cold sweat. His hands trembled with something deeper than exhaustion.
"Baldr…" he rasped.
Lia blinked. "What?"
He pushed off the wall, nearly losing balance. "He… it happened again. I saw it. The courtyard. I was there."
Lia stared, face tightening in confusion and fear. "Alain, we haven't even left the west wing—"
"I know what I saw." His voice cracked. "The arrow was already flying. I couldn't move. I couldn't stop it. I—"
He swallowed hard, jaw trembling.
"It wasn't a memory," he whispered. "It was now. Or… the Revelation's version of now."
"My feet were on the courtyard stones. I saw the blood. Lia..I was there."
Lia placed a hand on his arm, steady but trembling. "You're saying it sent you forward? Without me?"
Alain nodded, barely.
"It skipped time," he said quietly. "Dragged me into the moment of his death."
Lia's heartbeat quickened. "Why would it do that?"
He stood up too quickly, but tried masking the shake in his legs. It felt targeted. Personal. Like the Revelation was correcting him for something he'd done.
"Let's keep moving," he said. "We're… losing time."
Lia watched him carefully, eyes narrowing with worry. "Alain… are you sure you're alright?"
He nodded—a stiff, poorly timed gesture that didn't match his expression.
"Yeah. Just— keep close."
Alain paused, just for a moment, turning his head towards her.
"And Lia… I'm sorry. I should've listened to you."
She winced at the statement. On one hand, she wanted to say, 'I told you so.' and be mad at him. But on the other, he was probably the same as her, frightened and just trying to find a way out of this mess.
***
They walked until the corridor opened into one of the manor's smaller courtyards. The air outside felt heavier than before, a faint mist curling across the flagstones like breath that refused to disperse.
Alain slowed, the sudden shift made Lia bump into him.
"Ouch! Hey, what gives!" Lia rubbed her head in petty anger.
"He said something," he murmured.
She looked over. "Who?"
"The envoy. I kept thinking about something he said."
Alain stopped, repeating the words exactly as he remembered them.
"The clan believes mistletoe wards off ill intent."
The sentence hung unfinished between them, as if the rest had been swallowed by the Revelation.
He exhaled through his nose. "I brushed it off then. Maybe I shouldn't have."
Lia frowned lightly. "What would mistletoe have to do with this?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
They crossed the courtyard toward the outer pavilions where the northern envoys had been quartered. The guards posted there turned their heads when Alain approached, uncertain whether to salute or retreat. He raised a hand in cautious greeting.
"I'm looking for anyone from the envoy's delegation," he said. "Jotnar attendants, aides — anyone who knew him."
The guards exchanged a glance before one nodded toward a narrow hallway. "There are a few left," he said. "They've been… quiet since the incident."
Lia caught Alain's eye. "You're sure this is safe?"
"No," he admitted. "But we can't keep guessing."
They followed the guard into a dim chamber where a handful of Jotnar sat around an extinguished brazier. Their pale eyes tracked Alain and Lia with the dull focus of people caught between fear and exhaustion.
Alain stopped a few paces away. "We're not here to accuse anyone," he said gently.
"I just need to understand something about the weapon your envoy brought. The mistletoe arrow."
Silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.
Finally, an older attendant spoke, voice coarse from disuse.
"Mistletoe?" he repeated. "It's an old thing. A charm for safe travel, mostly. Our people have tied it to spears, to ship masts, to doorframes… for as long as anyone remembers."
Alain frowned. "Why?"
The old man gave a slow, helpless shrug. "No one really knows. It's just what's done. You hang it to keep ill will away."
Lia tilted her head. "Superstition?"
"A tradition," the man corrected softly. "Older than we are. My grandfather said his father did it, and his father before that. Said it keeps the heart honest."
The phrase caught Alain's ear. "Honest?"
The man nodded vaguely, searching for words. "When you carry it, you're meant to think kindly. Speak kindly. Some say it listens. Others say it reminds you."
"Reminds you of what?"
Another attendant, younger and sharper-eyed, spoke up. "Of how you felt when you made it. That's all. It's just… how it's always been."
The fire cracked softly — a weak, colorless flame.
Lia frowned, folding her arms. "So no one really knows where it came from."
The elder smiled faintly, lines deepening around his eyes.
"You don't question a roof that keeps out the rain, girl. You just keep fixing it when it breaks."
Alain nodded, though his mind was already elsewhere.
'My clan believes mistletoe wards off ill intent…'
The envoy's words returned, clearer now.
Ward off ill intent. Keep the heart honest. Think kindly.
If no one remembered the reason… then maybe the tradition wasn't about belief at all. It might be a special property that the mistletoe plant had.
Alain stared into the weak fire for a long moment before speaking again.
"Do you still have any mistletoe on you?"
The attendants exchanged uncertain looks. One of the younger men stood hesitantly, reaching beneath the folds of his cloak. He pulled out a wood charm, wrapped with a thin layer of mistletoe leaves.
"May I?" Alain asked.
The man hesitated, then nodded, pressing the charm into Alain's palm.
The plant felt cool, almost damp, despite the dry air. Tiny veins glimmered faintly along the stem, the same shade as the envoy's arrow wood.
Lia shifted beside him. "Alain—what are you doing?"
"Testing something." He crouched beside the brazier, holding the mistletoe just above the coals.
The Jotnar stirred uneasily. "You shouldn't—"
But Alain had already closed his eyes. He had a theory, if a plant that was supposed to be used as a charm suddenly had lethal properties, the cause had to be someone's tampering…or the plant itself.
He steadied his breath, letting the memory rise, and pushed a single thought through the warmth of Kindle.
Nothing happened at first.
Then, faintly, the mistletoe shimmered. The air around it rippled, bending the brazier's flame sideways for a heartbeat before it steadied again.
A murmur passed through the attendants.
Lia's eyes widened. "It reacted."
Alain opened his hand. "I was right, the plant is sensitive to emotions. To intent—the envoy told the truth."
Turning the stem slowly in his finger, he raised a question to the room. "What happens if the emotion changes?"
He extended it toward Lia. "Here—think of something you'd protect with your life."
She hesitated but took it carefully. For a moment, nothing stirred. Then the mistletoe's pale veins brightened, threads of gentle silver running through the leaves. The brazier's flame rose higher, warm instead of harsh.
The attendants watched in silent awe.
Alain nodded once, then retrieved it from her hand. He clenched his fist and thought of the envoy's scream, of his own anger when he pressed him too far.
The mistletoe's glow fractured. Silver turning to red, edges darkening as if burned from within. The air in the room thickened, temperature dropping sharply. Lia stepped forward, grabbing his wrist.
"Alain, stop."
He opened his hand. The glow vanished instantly, the plant wilting to dull grey. Nearest to the brazier, the Jotnar crossed themselves in their own fashion, muttering old words under their breath.
Alain stared down at the dead sprig, breathing hard.
"Sorry."
He looked up at the elders. "How long have you been carrying these?"
The old man swallowed. "All our lives."
With a small bow, Alain thanked the Jotnar group and promptly made his way out of the guest house.
They stepped back into the courtyard. The air felt a bit cleaner now, as if the Revelation had suddenly decided to help them out.
Lia rubbed her hands together. "That was… something."
Alain nodded, still holding the wilted charm. "At least now we know where we went wrong last time."
They walked side by side beneath the dim lanterns. It was cold, not the type that bit into your skin, but more the type that made you want to walk together with someone.
After a while, Alain spoke again. "Hey."
She glanced over. "What?"
"When you were holding it. When it turned silver."
He looked down at the charm, then back at her. "What did you think about? What did you want to protect?"
Lia blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"You already know, idiot."
The night held still for a while.
Before Alain could reply, the air around them rippled, forming letters that stopped them in their tracks.
[Second Truth Identified: Progress 2/3]