For the express purpose of checking the highway and, more importantly, eliminating the bandits who had dared to attack Baron Andrell's carriage—which, crucially, was carrying the king's tithe to Duke Martel—the Duke dispatched a company of his elite knights. Their primary objective was clear. Their secondary objective, however, was far more chilling: investigate what had truly happened to the highly trained operatives tasked with tracking the elusive dragon kin and bringing her to the Duke, alive or otherwise.
What they found instead, upon reaching the blood-soaked clearing, chilled even the most seasoned, battle-hardened among them.
The operatives, those hardened hunters, had been carefully, meticulously arranged. Their bodies were stacked atop one another like a grotesque, macabre altar, a silent offering to some unknown, terrible deity. The bitter winter cold had initially tried to preserve the horrifying scene, encasing it in a fragile, shimmering rime of frost, but the forest's scavengers and beasts had intervened, tearing at the edges of the grim tableau. Still, enough remained of the precise arrangement—enough bones, enough tattered fabric, enough frozen, contorted expressions—to deliver the message. Clear. Brutal. Unmistakable. A chilling, deliberate statement of defiance.
When the full report, accompanied by stark, unsettling sketches, reached Duke Martel's cold, unyielding hands, he was beyond livid—his carefully contained wrath boiling over, transforming his luxurious study into a tempest of icy fury, at the sheer audacity of such defiance.
Meanwhile, blissfully unaware of the Duke's escalating rage, Lux wandered through the sprawling, stone-built city of Nightgale for the first time, making her way toward the apothecary while also trying to take in the unfamiliar view. It was her first real city experience, truly immersed in the heart of human civilization—and the sight was both strangely underwhelming and profoundly puzzling.
The buildings, without exception, were all fashioned from stone, sturdy and cold, their surfaces often dusted with a fine layer of snow. That in itself was strikingly odd. There were no visible quarries nearby, no raw scars on the landscape, and the rugged, imposing hill that held the city of Nightgale clearly couldn't meet such a massive demand for building material. Yet stone was everywhere, from the smallest dwelling to the towering castle, as if the structures had been summoned whole from the very earth rather than laboriously mined and crafted.
The apothecary's store, nestled quietly on a narrow side street, matched the rest of the city's aesthetic—a plain, unadorned stone exterior, its design humble, almost unassuming. But when Lux stepped through the heavy wooden door, she felt an immediate, profound shift, as if she had suddenly entered a verdant, sun-dappled forest clearing, far removed from the city's grim stone.
It looked, outwardly, like a normal shop—shelves laden with opaque jars, dried herbs hanging in fragrant bundles, scrolls neatly rolled and tied, a counter made of dark, polished wood. But the very air within carried something older. Wilder. A subtle, refreshing scent of damp moss and ancient oak, mingling with the sweeter notes of dried herbs. And beneath it all, a faint, almost imperceptible hum, like the presence of something ancient and sentient, watching, listening.
Behind the counter stood two figures: an elf with sharp, intelligent eyes that missed nothing and an air of quiet confidence, her movements precise and graceful. Beside her, an elderly woman, small and serene, radiated a profound sense of peace. Her smile was like still water, unruffled and deep. Her robe, woven from threads in muted greens and browns, blended seamlessly with the natural world. It was subtly decorated with patterns that mimicked the intricate, gnarled roots of a bonsai tree—so delicate they were nearly invisible unless the light caught them just so, shimmering faintly.
"A tree?" Lux murmured aloud, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion, as the heavy door shut behind her with a soft thud, sealing her within this unexpected sanctuary.
She approached the counter slowly, cautiously, her dragon senses on high alert. "Good day, elder... and miss," she said politely, the look of profound confusion still lingering on her face.
The elderly woman offered another gentle smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her voice as soft and whispering as snowfall.
"What brings you here, young dragon kin?"
Startled, Lux instinctively braced herself, her muscles tensing for an inevitable fight, for exposure. But the elder woman waved her off with the ethereal grace of a falling leaf—no fear in her gaze, no threat in her posture, only profound calm and an ancient understanding.
The elf, Rumi, disappeared briefly into the back of the shop, her movements fluid and silent, then returned with a delicate tea set. Lux, her curiosity overcoming her innate wariness, accepted the offer, her eyes still fixed on the serene elder. The fragrant steam from the tea curled upward, carrying a calming aroma.
"I came to purchase some potions," she said cautiously, her voice carefully modulated, "and to look for someone who could teach me… more about these things." She gestured vaguely at the shelves laden with herbs and arcane components.
Then, unable to hold her profound question in, she asked, "Pardon the rudeness, elder... but what exactly are you?"
The elder chuckled softly, a sound like rustling leaves in a gentle breeze. "Ah, how wonderfully perceptive of you, child. I suppose being part spiritual life form has its… benefits. I am a tree spirit, child. A very, very old one. And this elf—Rumi—is the one I'm contracted to, my chosen conduit in this material world."
Lux's eyes widened in genuine wonder, a spark of childlike awe in their depths.
A tree spirit? Her formidable mother had spoken of them in hushed, reverent tones—ancient, powerful beings connected to the very lifeblood of the world—but she'd never thought she'd truly meet one.
"Apologies for the late introduction," the elf said at last, her voice quiet but clear, a subtle, almost imperceptible trace of pride in her tone. "I'm Rumi." Something in her demeanor, a slight softening around her sharp eyes, seemed to occur at the mention of dragons, a subtle resonance. And clearly, her spirit companion, the wise tree spirit, had already taken a profound liking to this fierce, young "dragon kin." Lux could feel a strange, deep peace settling over her in their presence, a feeling she hadn't known since leaving her mother's side.