-Year 7335, Decatry Castle – Main courtyard and Great Hall-
The morning fog is so thick that the tops of the towers can barely be seen. The air smells of salt and wet wood. I lean against a stone pillar, arms crossed, watching the courtyard.
The young nobles are preparing to leave.
Carriages, horses, servants loading chests. Mothers hugging daughters, fathers slapping sons on the back. Hidden tears, forced smiles. The fog swallows the sounds, makes everything muffled, distant.
Baron Ander Féris stands beside me. He drank too much yesterday. Today his eyes are red, but his posture is firm.
"The Féris have no children for this journey," he murmurs, eyes fixed on the carriages. "You are my representative there, Zirinos."
"Yes, my lord."
"The academy. Keep an eye on alliances. And on the girls. Power often marries."
"Understood."
He doesn't know I've been thinking about that for days.
---
The first carriage is from Eladir.
Daniel, the eldest son, helps his sisters up the steps. He is magnanimous, as they say. He greets every servant with a genuine smile, thanks the coachman for his work. So much goodness almost nauseates me.
The twins are as different as day and night.
Eliana is already inside the carriage, a scroll open on her lap, her eyes scanning the lines. Sofia hops from one foot to the other, impatient, her hair escaping from her ponytail.
"Come on, Daniel! I don't want to be late!"
"The academy won't run away, Sofia. It will wait for you."
She makes a face. Their mother, Joanne, waves from the castle window but doesn't come down. Their father, Nuno, says goodbye with a quick, almost mechanical handshake. His eyes are already on the meeting to come.
"Behave, Daniel. And you, Eliana, keep your sister out of trouble."
"I'll be a guard, Father," Eliana replies, not looking up from her scroll.
"I don't need a guard!" protests Sofia.
"No. You need an army."
The carriage door closes. The coachman cracks his whip. They disappear into the fog.
---
The Lunos carriage arrives next.
Linda Lunos hugs her daughter Luna tightly. The marchioness has moist eyes, but doesn't let a tear fall. She seems a woman of stone. But the tightness of her arms says otherwise.
"Take care of yourself, my light."
"I will, Mother."
Luna has silver-white hair, like her mother. Light eyes that seem to see no evil in anyone. She is beautiful. Innocent. Easy.
Her husband, Merius Derylini, doesn't even say goodbye. He is already talking to a servant about horses, his back turned to his daughter. The bastard is brutish, dry of sentiment. I don't judge him. I have no sentiments for mine either, except those that serve me.
Linda notices her husband's absence. Her face doesn't change, but her eyes... her eyes harden.
"Come, Luna. Don't look back."
The girl climbs into the carriage. Her mother closes the door. The wheels creak. The fog swallows them.
---
Then, the Derylini carriage.
Néris Truid comes down from the castle with her father, Deur. The marquis is an icy man — I saw him kill a man in a duel fifteen years ago, and his hand never trembled. He speaks in a harsh, almost military tone:
"Remember your name. You are a Truid and a Derylini. Do not be fooled by strangers. Or by pretty boys with sad stories."
Néris nods. Light hair, gentle eyes. She is a chosen of Desty — the goddess of love. They say Desty's chosen feel the love of others as if it were their own. Maybe that's why she blushes so easily.
Her eyes meet mine for a second.
She blushes.
Looks away.
*You already belong to me, don't you? You don't know it yet, but yes.*
Deur follows his daughter's gaze. His icy eyes fix on me. I say nothing. I don't move a muscle. I just maintain the posture of a humble, loyal, invisible squire.
He turns back to his daughter.
"Get in."
Néris obeys. The carriage closes. Marquis Derylini doesn't even wait for it to disappear into the fog. He's already heading toward the castle, toward the meeting.
---
Princess Livia Aryster appears with her retinue.
She comes on foot, without a carriage. Perhaps they were all destroyed in the port. Or perhaps she prefers to walk. I don't know. I don't care.
King Arésyu accompanies her to the castle gate. He speaks quietly, too quietly for me to hear. She listens, her black eyes fixed on the horizon, her face as pale as ever.
"Learn, daughter. Do not disgrace us."
"I will not, Father."
She says goodbye with a dry nod. No hugs. No tears. The Aryster family is made of stone, apparently.
Livia is not a chosen. She is human. Vulnerable.
*Two easy targets. Néris, the gentle one. Livia, the cold one. The first falls with a smile. The second with a challenge.*
I clench my fists. Desire rises — the image of Lysara trembling beneath me, the dagger at her throat, the warm blood.
*Control.*
I unclench my fists.
Baron Ander notices my gaze. He leans slightly and murmurs:
"Forbidden fruit is the sweetest, boy. But it's also the kind that gets your head cut off."
"I will not touch what is not mine, my lord."
He laughs. A dry laugh, without humor.
"Of course not."
---
The Holy warrior is in the courtyard, but doesn't get into any carriage.
Lindériu Derassi wears his blue and gold armour, his sword at his side. His coppery blonde hair shines even under the fog. He is young — sixteen years old, like me? Perhaps. But his eyes are old.
He approaches Livia.
"I'm going with Linda's fleet," he says. "The juveniles won't kill themselves."
"Be careful," she replies, her voice neutral.
"Always."
He shakes her hand. Nothing more. A dry farewell. No kisses, no promises. Just a look. She looks away first.
I watch him. Lindériu is a chosen. Three gods, they say. Zitrinus, Desty, Anory. The same Anory who chose Ana. Dangerous.
But he isn't going to the academy. He's going north, to the ice islands, to hunt Krakeriar's young.
That makes things easier.
---
The carriages leave.
The fog swallows them one by one. First the Eladirs. Then the Lunos. Then the Derylinis. Then Livia and her retinue, on foot, disappearing toward the secondary port.
The courtyard empties. Only the guards, the servants, and us.
Ander touches my shoulder.
"Come. The nobles are going to discuss the war. You stand by the wall. Silent."
"Yes, my lord."
"If someone asks you something, you answer with one word. If they ask you two things, you answer with two words. Nothing more."
"Yes, my lord."
He glances at me sideways.
"Can you hold that tongue, boy?"
"I can, my lord."
"We'll see."
---
The great hall is almost empty compared to last night.
Only the parents and leaders remain. Andy presides, as always. King Dizius sits at his right, his small dark eyes scanning the table. Arésyu and Zayan sit further down, each with their advisors.
The court mage — a thin man, grey beard, eyes deep as wells — stands beside the table, hands clasped. I've never seen him before. Perhaps he came with the Aryster ships.
Andy raps his knuckles on the table.
"Let us begin. Trussum."
The mage speaks.
"Trussum advances, Your Majesties. The Contraranures clear his path. They offer sacrifices every full moon — now it's every day. Corruption spreads like fire in dry grass. If we do not act, the second strand will open and hell will invade Endomyar."
King Dizius slams his hand on the table. The sound echoes.
"I need numbers. Not prophecies. How many men? How many ships? Where does he strike first?"
"The south, Your Majesty," Andy replies. "Our spies point to Eladir."
Nuno Eladir pales. He looks at the table. Says nothing.
"How many men?" Dizius insists.
Andy recites:
"Decatry offers another thousand, in addition to the three thousand already promised. Linda Lunos offers seven hundred. Deur Derylini offers fifteen hundred and also offers to lead the expedition."
Deur lifts his chin.
"I know the terrain. I know the Contraranures. I've killed dozens of them in the last war. Let me go."
Dizius looks at him with a mixture of respect and suspicion.
"Marquis Derylini has... enthusiasm. We shall see."
The tension in the air is palpable. Crossed glances. Power is measured.
---
The mage clears his throat.
"Your Majesties, there is another matter. The third layer."
Silence.
"The world of the Elves," he explains, his voice low, almost a confession. "Sealed for millennia. They say the elves possess ancestral magic. Capable of containing demon lords. Perhaps even destroying them."
"And how do we access this layer?" asks Andy. There is something in his tone — curiosity, perhaps. Or hope.
"We need a key. An artifact lost in the early wars. Or... a link."
"Link?"
"Someone with elven blood. A descendant, however distant. Someone whose ancestors crossed the barrier centuries ago and bore children in this world."
"Elven blood?" Dizius laughs. It's an ugly laugh, hiding nothing. "There have been no elves in Endomyar for centuries. They left, sealed themselves in their layer, forgot about us."
"Perhaps there are," the mage insists carefully. "Hidden. Or perhaps... someone has inherited the blood without knowing."
The mage looks at the table. No one speaks.
Zayan Ban breaks the silence. His voice is affable, but his eyes are sharp.
"I know stories of sailors who saw elves in the northern islands. But legends, only legends. Drunken men, dark nights, fears taking shape."
"Let us investigate," Andy suggests. "If there is truth, it could be our salvation. Or at least a hope."
Dizius refuses with a dry gesture.
"We will not waste men on legends. Trussum is the real threat. Let the elves stay in their world, if they are there. We defend ours."
Most nod.
But I see Andy look at the mage, and the mage look back.
*They know more than they say.*
---
The meeting ends. The nobles leave in small groups, speaking in low voices. King Dizius leaves first, followed by Lirius and Elisa. Prince Lirius looks at the empty table as if it were his own.
Andy leaves last, after exchanging words with the mage.
I stay in the empty hall.
The echo of footsteps fades into the stone corridors. The banners sway in the wind that slips through the cracks. The candles flicker.
'Third layer. Elves. Ancestral power.'
If I can access that layer, perhaps I'll find a weapon against the masked man. Or a way back to Z. Perhaps enough power to destroy Endomyar at once, as he ordered me.
'The parents speak of war and distant worlds. The children will study magic and forge alliances.'
'And I, Zirinos, the slave who became a hero... I am in the middle of it all. Ready to harvest the fruits when they fall.'
I look at the door through which the young people left.
The fog outside is beginning to lift.
'The academy is the first step. Then the world. Then revenge.'
I leave the hall. My footsteps echo in the empty corridor.
Baron Ander waits for me at the bottom of the stairs.
"Come, Zirinos. The boat to the Derylini peninsula leaves at noon. We need to prepare your things."
"Yes, my lord."
He has already turned away when I add, quietly:
"Forbidden fruit... sometimes falls on its own."
Ander doesn't hear. Or pretends not to.
Either way.