When he truly caught on to the elf, when the veil finally slipped... it was not in some back alley or damp prison cell, but in the gilded chaos of a trial-season party.
Back then, as Sir Keiser, he had been prowling the marble halls of a noble estate, sharp-eyed and tense. It was meant to be a celebration, a glittering affair of wine, masks, and music.
But the halls outside the banquet room told a different story. Whispers slipped between tapestries, furtive glances darted in candlelit corridors, and every locked door hid more than just servants' supplies.
And then he found them.
A child.
Or so they seemed. A boy or girl... it hardly mattered... with hair neatly combed, cheeks still round with youth, and wide, practiced eyes.
