Tiberius sifted through the old records in his office, scanning for any sign of recent weaknesses in the barrier. Nothing recent appeared, but he did notice repeated breaches from the past, each one linked to multiple deaths in Nahara village. Eventually, the farmers had stopped farming and blocked the routes to the temple, and only then had the barrier been restored.
The frequency of the breaches was alarming. It seemed almost impossible that the barrier had been fully repaired each time without outside intervention.
Tiberius suggested Davian, sending an informant to the village to monitor the border and gather firsthand information.
As planned, Davian sent a small team to Nahara Village, perched on the kingdom's northern border.
The cold hit the north first, sharper than anywhere else in the kingdom, biting at exposed skin. Snow clung stubbornly to the cliffs, and the towers above the walls jutted out like stone hawks, carved in white. Their runes pulsing faintly in the pale light.
Arson adjusted the invisibility cloak around his shoulders, eyes fixed on the colossal wall rising above the jagged rocks where he crouched. The silver shimmer of the barrier stretched into the horizon. Beyond the first inner wall lay the monsters that were hunters of anything that moved.
Arson was neither soldier nor noble. He was the kind of man nobles hired when they wanted no names attached.
Beside him crouched two others. One was lean, wiry, with sharp eyes. The other was broad and silent, but big enough. Both scanned the patrols of temple guards.
They had tested the wall and barrier with every tool Tiberius had provided. One device tracked the smallest breaches in the shield, which could widen if monsters attacked, but they found nothing.
Arson's jaw tightened. He had spent over two weeks investigating and still found no fault in this stretch of the wall.
"The Duke's going to be furious," he muttered, rubbing his temple.
The larger man snorted. "Then you'll handle it."
Arson let out a weary sigh. "I suppose we have to accept that the temple actually did some work properly… for once."
Disappointed and tense, they pressed on, walking for hours until they reached the rear of the temple. They couldn't get too close, or the temple's wards would sense them, but surprisingly, no guards patrolled this side.
"We should leave before we're spotted," the third man muttered.
The large man nodded, already moving toward the mountain. "Yes… I miss my wife."
"You don't have a wife. You're a womanizer," Tall man jabbed back lightly.
but Arson's eyes never left the temple entrance. He was considering slipping inside, but he wasn't given orders to do so.
As they climbed higher on the mountain, Arson glanced back at the temple one last time, and froze.
A hidden trail had appeared along the temple wall. Moments ago, it had been solid stone. Now, a path led inside.
"Wait," Arson said, pulling out his spyglass.
The other two raised theirs as well, scanning the sudden change.
Four covered wagons approached and soon went inside the gate. Thick canvas wrapped each one, escorted by three guards on horseback. No royal sigil marked them. It was strange. The temple always announced arrivals publicly.
The cold wind shifted, catching the canvas from the last wagon, for a fraction of a second. Arson's blood ran cold.
Inside the wagon, cages meant for monsters clinked and rattled. But the occupants weren't beasts. People were shackled inside, their mouths sealed with rune marked strips, wrists bound with freezing fire cuffs that numbed magic.
Those cuffs were only used for one kind of person.
"Witches," Arson breathed, disbelief and horror in his voice.
Witches' aether made normal mana-infused chains useless but these cuffs held them. The tracker on Arson's wrist glowed faintly, confirming the unnatural magic.
The wagon rolled disappeared in the hidden side gate, and in a blink of eye the wall formed again as if there was no path a second agao.
The three men stayed frozen for a long moment.
"There's no barrier breach," the taller man whispered.
"But this…" Arson finished quietly, his eyes dark. "This is far worse."
"Are you noting all details down?" Arson said breatheless, his hands trembled.
The two men exchanged tense glances.
A week later, Arson stood in Davian Draevin's study, the faint hum of wards reminding him to choose words carefully. The space was neat, papers were stacked, fireplace crackling low. The cold had spread to the rest of Valkathra as if it had travelled with him.
Davian sat behind his desk, sharp brown eyes fixed on Arson.
"Witches," Davian repeated, voice colder than northern air, gaze on the paper arson handed him earlir. "In cages, were being smuggled into temple."
"Yes," Arson confirmed. "It was a hidden route, from side wall hidden by magic by making a fake wall illusion to fool outsiders. Temple guards were involved too."
Davian leaned back, fingers steepling.
"There was no barrier fault indeed but…" Arson hesitated.
"But this is a fault also," Davian finished, tapping his finger on the paper. "One they can't seal with spells and pretty words."
Arson inclined his head. "Do you want me to move on it?"
Davian's eyes drifted toward the window, sunlight faint behind curtains.
"I'll handle it. Your work is done here." He stood up walking past Arson but stopping just behind him and patting his back, "out of this office, you don't know me."
"Yes, My Lord."
Davian remained where he was until Arson stepped out of the office. Only when the door shut did he move.
He wasted no time. Within the hour, he was on his way to Ferendia.
Ferendia lay to the northwest of Alderwyn, connected by a narrow road carved straight through the forest. It was the fastest route, though not the safest. Even so, the direct path cut the journey short.
By carriage, it took him only six hours to reach Ferendia.
It was past sunset already when Davian arrived at the Draevin estate. He didn't wait for courtesies and ignored everyone.
Cessalie sat on her bed, legs curled beneath her, book in her lap. Candlelight caught faint glimmers in her hair.
As the door creaked, she turned, her turquoise eyes widening and then narrowing.
"Judging by your face, I'm guessing the border trip wasn't a romantic getaway," she said, closing her book.
Davian didn't smile. He stepped inside, shutting the door. "The barrier's stable," he said. "But we found something better."
"Go on."
Davian relayed everything about the caravan, the cages, the witches, every detail Arson reported.
Cessalie listened in silence.
Shock settled heavily in her chest. No one would ever expect the temple to commit something so vile, so unforgivable. It twisted her stomach just thinking about it.
How many witches had they taken?
And for what purpose?
The questions came in waves and didn't stop.
"So they're smuggling them in," she muttered, fingers scratching her chin blankly. "They weren't criminals. There were no trial, no decree, no sanction from the crown. They were simply… disappearing them."
Davian nodded, jaw tight.
"It wasn't an official temple decree," he clarified. "The High Lunarch had no knowledge of it."
He paused, jaw tightening slightly. "But some of the guards… lower-ranking officials… they're involved."
His lips curved in a humorless smile. "Rot like this doesn't stay on the surface. It runs deep."
Cessalie tapped her book, thoughtful. "And you sent word to Tiberius."
"Of course," Davian replied. "This kind of rot should be cracked open."
A slow, dangerous smile curved her mouth. "And let the whole kingdom see the mess."
Davian didn't smile, but approval flickered in his eyes. "Exactly."
She stood, padding across the room to him.
"Good," she murmured. "If we're tearing the Temple down… we do it properly, not with half measures only."
Davian's brow lifted faintly. "You really don't do anything halfway."
"Would you?"
For a moment, the sharp political game between them faded. Neither moved to name it.
Davian gave a slow nod. "I'll update you when the northern temple falls."
"It already has," Cessalie turned, stepping toward the window. Her reflection shimmered faintly as she added, "The moment they caged those witches, they lost. We're just… helping everyone else notice."
Davian didn't argue.
The first real fracture beneath Valkathra's surface had begun.
The sitting room on the second floor of the High Lunarch's tower was warm and quiet. the fire crackling in the hearth.
Tiberius sat comfortably in a cushioned chair, his long hair loose over his shoulders. A glass of wine rested in his hand as he watched Davian with assessing eyes.
With a faint sigh, he swirled the wine and said, "Alas. Again, no sign of your secret hand. I thought they would have shown themselves by now."
Davian did not react. He took a slow breath, composing himself, silently promising that Tiberius would never meet Cessalie. He poured himself a drink, straight liquor this time, and replied calmly, "That person is not foolish enough to reveal themselves."
Tiberius raised a brow. "That is disappointing. I prefer to know the faces of those who interfere in my affairs."
"You will meet them when the time is right," Davian answered, leaning lightly against the table.
A short silence followed.
Tiberius set his glass down and glanced at the papers of observation in northern borders, spread across the table.... His expression grew serious. "This will not stay hidden for long. If the Temple hears even a whisper, they will bury it."
"That is why we will not whisper," Davian said evenly.
Tiberius looked at him with interest. "Then what do you suggest?"
"We release it everywhere at once," Davian replied. "The capital, the border towns, the markets. The news must travel faster than they can silence it."
"Through newspapers?" Tiberius asked.
"Through newspapers, and through tavern talk, merchants, and travelers," Davian said, his gaze darkening. "By the time the Temple understands what is happening, the whole kingdom will already be speaking of it."
A faint smile touched Tiberius's lips. "So you want a scandal."
"A controlled scandal," Davian shook his head, lifting his finger. "We reveal only what we choose. Enough to cause outrage and force action, but not enough to lose control."
Tiberius thought a moment. "Can your people handle it?"
"They've already started," Davian nodded. "By the time it hits the capital… it'll be too late for the Temple to hide it."
Tiberius chuckled, shaking his head. "You're more dangerous than you look."
Davian didn't smile, just raised his glass slightly. "And you're exactly as dangerous as you look."
Tiberius's eyes gleamed with approval. "Good."
The plan had been set carefully over weeks of preparation. Those who carried the rumours did so cautiously, sharing them first with trusted merchants, then with travelers, then with scholars who knew how to repeat a story without seeming to repeat it at all.
At first, the Temple dismissed the whispers as nothing more than marketplace gossip. Scandals surfaced every season and faded just as quickly. They assumed this would be no different.
It was different.
The rumours did not burn out. They spread.
By the end of the first week, they were being repeated in taverns and along crowded baker's streets. By the second week, apprentices inside the Temple's own university were murmuring about them in hushed voices between lectures. The accusation was simple but devastating.
"Did you hear? Members of the Temple have been smuggling witches in secret, detaining them outside the law, and violating the very codes they claims to uphold."
"Is that because they feel insecure against witches? Aren't we the more powerful one?"
"I don't think so anymore. The Operation was not even sanctioned. High Lunarch had not ordered it."
"But I heard certain lower officials and guards were involved."
It settled people even more. If corruption could exist within the ranks, then no one know how far it might reach.
And soon reactions came, but not from nobles or commoners. It came from witches of Eryndor.
Snow took over whole kingdom soon, falling in thin sheets, resting over the stone steps of the Temple offices and whitening the shoulders of dark cloaks. Boots crunched against the ice as the witches gathered. Their breathe clouded in air.
"We want the records," one woman called out, her voice was loud despite the cold.
"Open the ledgers and show us proof that our kin were not taken unlawfully." Another shouted.
A younger witch stepped forward. Her hands were shaking. "Four-hundred from the North have vanished in the past months. You cannot call that coincidence."
"Our fear is not hysteria," an older witch said despite not strength in her voice. "It is evidence."
Witches stepping forward openly, made commoners grow uneasy. Fear of witches had always lingered beneath the surface of the kingdom. Some shopkeepers shuttered their stalls, claiming they did not want to be caught in unrest.
Others quietly joined the protests, not out of solidarity, but because they feared what might happen if they appeared unsympathetic.
Shops began closing earlier than usual. Families barred their doors at dusk. The capital developed a strained stillness.
The Temple continued to remain silent, believing that public attention would eventually drift elsewhere. They underestimated how deeply the accusation had taken root.
Letters began arriving at the royal court. Some came from witches demanding investigation and protection. Others came from anxious citizens who feared that if witches were being taken secretly, then something larger was unfolding beneath the surface of the kingdom.
Men in luxury winter coats sat on their chairs in tension while groups of witches protested.
"What should we do?" Said one.
"Your Highness, Right now, only the Eryndor witches are coming. Gradually, more will come from every corner of the kingdom."
"Coward." Said a litte boy with black hair sitting on the other head of table opposite of king's throne.
Noble houses did not openly protest, but many privately urged the King to address the chaos before it spiraled further.