Kaelen guided them to the far side of the village, where an old wooden house leaned into the hillside. Smoke curled from its chimney, and faint light flickered through the warped shutters.
Inside, the air smelled of herbs and aged parchment. At a low table sat a man well into his winters, hair silver-white and falling past his shoulders. His back was straight, his presence commanding despite the frailty of his form.
Before Kaelen could announce them, the elder's voice cut through the still air.
"So," he said slowly, voice measured and steady, "the Falcrest heir has finally stepped into Galicia." His gaze shifted, lingering on Sylas with a knowing weight before turning to Midadol. His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "And the princess of Lumeris walks openly among my people, though veiled in shadow."
Midadol froze, her cloak slipping from her shoulders as though she had forgotten it entirely. "You… knew?" she whispered, her voice caught between awe and suspicion.
The elder nodded his head, eyes clouded with age yet sharp with something beyond sight. "Visions come to me as passing storms. Not always clear, not always kind. But I saw the day when two children of fate would walk into Galicia, weary and carrying the weight of ashes." His gaze softened, but it did not waver. "And here you stand, as I knew you would."
Sylas's brow furrowed. "So… you were expecting us."
"Expecting?" The elder's lips curved faintly again, though it was no true smile. "Yes. But more than that prepared. When one sees shadows long before they fall, one learns to keep the lantern lit."
Midadol's chest tightened, her hand clutching at her side. The elder spoke of her presence not as coincidence, but inevitability.
The elder's eyes lingered on Sylas longer than was comfortable, the weight of his gaze feeling as though it stripped away more than flesh and bone. His gaze drifted not to Sylas's face, but downward, to the sword resting at his side.
For a fleeting instant, his expression shifted. Something knowing flickered there, sharp and unsettling.
"Hm…" he murmured, stroking his beard with aged fingers. "The Falcrest heir carries more than steel. A shadow that breathes, a light that whispers." His words hung in the air like smoke, elusive and difficult to grasp.
Sylas stiffened, his hand instinctively brushing against the hilt. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly, voice tight.
The elder's eyes returned to him, unreadable. "Only that the weight you bear is heavier than most men could endure. Heavier still, when one does not yet understand what lies within his own grasp."
Midadol frowned, glancing between them, confused. "What are you talking about?"
The elder did not answer her. Instead, he leaned back slightly, gaze never leaving Sylas. "In time, heir of Falcrest, you will come to understand. Until then… guard your steps. And your secrets."
The silence that followed pressed against Sylas's chest. He knew…without a doubt that the elder had glimpsed something of Ealgian. But he had chosen to veil his words, hiding the truth from Midadol's ears.
The tension thickened, but before Sylas could press further, Kaelen stepped forward, bowing her head respectfully.
"Elder, we came because…"
The old man raised a hand, silencing her with a simple gesture. His gaze, calm yet cutting, settled on her.
"No need," he said softly, his tone carrying the weight of inevitability. "You seek answers about the missing children."
Kaelen froze, her lips parting slightly. "…You already know?"
The elder's eyes closed for a brief moment, as if listening to some far-off whisper. "I have seen it… flickers of frightened faces, little feet carried away into shadow. Their absence lingers here like an open wound." His eyes opened again, sharp and steady. "And now, the Falcrest heir and the last princess stand before me, hoping to stitch that wound closed."
Midadol inhaled sharply at his words, her hand brushing unconsciously against her chest. Sylas, jaw tight, said nothing, but the resolve burning in his eyes needed no words.
The elder's gaze lingered on Sylas, heavy with something more than curiosity. For a long moment, the silence pressed in, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth behind him.
Finally, he spoke.
"Before I tell you what I have seen," the elder said, his voice low and deliberate, "I must ask you, Sylas Falcrest, what do you hope to accomplish by saving these children?"
The words hung in the air like a challenge, though his tone held no malice. It was not doubt, but a measure.
Sylas stiffened, caught slightly off guard. "What…?"
The elder leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Is it simply duty that moves you? The shadow of your father's legacy? Or is it something more? Tell me, why do you seek them?"
Midadol turned her head toward Sylas, her expression unreadable but her eyes searching his face. Even Kaelen stood still, waiting, her breath caught.
Sylas's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as the elder's question dug into the core of him. His eyes lowered to the crest on his sword, the mark of his family's oath, before lifting again, blazing with conviction.
"My duty in this world has always been clear," he said, voice steady though weighted. "I was born to protect Princess Midadol. That is the charge my family has carried for generations, and I will never falter in it."
He drew in a sharp breath, his hand tightening on the hilt at his side. "But I am also a Falcrest. And that name does not belong to the crown alone, it belongs to the people. To every life that calls Lumeris home. Even here, even in Galicia. To turn my back on that would make me no better than those who abandoned you."
The silence that followed pressed heavily in the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Sylas's fist trembled, his words carrying the sting of both anger and oath.
"I will not fail them. I will not fail you. Protecting Midadol is my purpose, but protecting your people is my duty as a Falcrest. Both are bound together, and I will see them through."
The elder's gaze lingered on him, sharp. Slowly, he gave a slight nod. "Spoken like one who understands the weight of his name," he murmured. "And perhaps… one who may yet redeem it."
The elder's expression softened, the weight of his years etched into the faint lines around his eyes. He leaned back slightly, folding his hands atop his cane as if he had reached his conclusion.
"Then hear this, Sylas Falcrest," the elder said, his tone calm yet carrying the quiet force of authority. "If you would place yourself in peril for the children of Galicia, then we will place ourselves in turn. As you have faith in your sword and in your oath, have faith in us to guard what is most precious to you."
His eyes shifted toward Midadol, resting on her with a depth that made her straighten instinctively. "The princess of Lumeris shall not stand alone while you walk into danger. My people will keep her safe within these walls until your return."
Sylas hesitated, his breath catching. The thought of leaving Midadol, even with protection tightened something in his chest. But the elder's words held no doubt, only resolve born of generations who had endured.
"Trust runs both ways, Lord Falcrest," the elder finished, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "If you would trust us with her, then we shall trust you with our children.
Midadol's voice rang out, sharp and trembling. "No! I won't just sit here while you go off into danger, Sylas. Don't you dare leave me behind. I've already lost my parents… my home… I won't lose you too!"
Her defiance cut through the room, and for a long moment Sylas said nothing. His hand hovered at his side, brushing the hilt of Ealgian as if to steady himself. Slowly, he turned to face her fully, his eyes heavy with both resolve and regret.
"Midadol," he said softly, "I swore to protect you. That oath… it's not just words, it's the reason I exist." He drew in a slow breath, forcing steadiness into his voice. "And because of that… you'll have to stay here. If anything happened to you because of my choices, I could never forgive myself."
She shook her head fiercely, tears threatening to spill. "Sylas…"
But he stepped closer, cutting her off with quiet finality. His fingers curled tighter around Ealgian's hilt, the blade giving a faint, almost imperceptible pulse of light.
"I'm not going into this alone," Sylas said firmly. "I have Ealgian with me. It's more than steel, and it will guide me through whatever lies ahead."
Midadol froze at his words, her lips parting, her resistance faltering against the iron in his voice. He gave her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze before pulling away.
"You have my word," he added, eyes locking with hers. "I'll come back to you."
The elder, who had remained silent through the exchange, gave a slow nod as if the scene confirmed some unspoken truth.
The elder's gaze lingered on Sylas, measuring him in silence before finally speaking.
"There is something you must know," he began, his tone grave, weathered voice carrying the weight of old truths. "The children… before they vanished, they spoke of a figure. A child, no older than themselves, with wings upon his back. He wore rags, a serpent coiled around his neck like a crown. They said he would leave small treasures, trinkets no farmer's child could resist, hidden among the fields and woods. Those who went to claim them… were never seen again."
Midadol stiffened, her eyes wide with unease. "A child with wings? That sounds… monstrous."
The elder's gaze darkened, lowering slightly. "Whatever it was, it did not walk this earth as a man. Its presence carried something foul, something… demonic."
In his words, the room shifted. Sylas felt it first, a tremor at his hip. The sheath at his side rattled sharply, and Ealgian quivered within, its voice silent but its fear unmistakable. His hand instinctively went to the hilt, steadying the blade, though the vibrations did not cease.
The elder's sharp eyes flicked to the movement and lingered, as if he alone understood what the sword's unrest meant. He did not name it, nor reveal its truth aloud, but his silence carried its own weight.
Sylas tightened his grip, speaking through clenched teeth. "Then that's where I begin. Whatever this thing is… I'll find it. And I'll bring the children home."
Midadol drew closer to him, her hand brushing the sleeve of his arm, her face pale but composed. "Be careful, Sylas… please."
The elder gave a slow, deliberate nod. "So it is decided. Seek the trail of the winged child, and you may uncover the truth of Galicia's loss. But tread carefully, Lord Falcrest. Evil often hides itself in innocent forms."
Ealgian pulsed once more at his side, as though warning him of the very same.
Sylas's jaw tightened, his fingers brushing along Ealgian's hilt as the elder's words weighed heavily in the room. His voice came low, firm, demanding clarity.
"What could they possibly want with the children?"
The elder's eyes closed, and for a long moment, silence filled the air, broken only by the faint creak of the old beams above them. His hands rested atop his staff, weathered knuckles pale as though he too carried the burden of not knowing.
Finally, he exhaled a slow, weary breath. "That… is the question I have asked myself every night since the first child vanished. And still, I do not have the answer." His eyes opened again, their pale glow flickering like embers as he fixed them on Sylas. "Treasure, bait, blood, or something far darker… I cannot yet say. But I know this, whatever is behind it, it is deliberate. It chooses. It waits."
Midadol drew in a sharp breath, clutching her cloak tighter as the room seemed colder for his words.
The elder leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something almost grim. "And if you seek that answer, Lord Falcrest, you must be ready to face it. For it will not give itself freely."
Sylas's grip on Ealgian tightened as the blade gave a faint, almost imperceptible tremor at his side like a heart beating too fast.
The elder's words lingered like smoke in the air, but after a pause, he leaned back into his seat, staff lightly tapping against the wooden floor. His gaze, still sharp despite the years, fixed on Sylas.
"There is one thing I can tell you," he said at last. "The last place a 'treasure' was left… was in the abandoned church that rests beyond our village fields."
Sylas's brows furrowed, the name alone pressing unease into his chest. "An abandoned church?" he repeated.
The elder gave a slow nod. "It has been long forsaken. Few dare step inside, for the air there is heavy with something… unnatural. The children whispered of shining trinkets at its doorstep. And one by one, those who sought them never returned."
Midadol's breath caught, her hand instinctively reaching toward Sylas's arm. "That's where…"
"Yes," the elder interrupted gently. "If you seek answers, Lord Falcrest, that is where you must begin. But tread carefully. A lure set for children may be but bait for anyone who dares to follow."
Ealgian stirred in her sheath again, a faint vibration rippling through Sylas's palm as though the blade itself recoiled at the name of the place.
Sylas steadied his grip, his eyes meeting the elder's without wavering. "Then that's where I'll go."
Sylas's grip on Ealgian tightened as the elder's words sank in. His mind turned over the rumors,the treasures, the disappearances, the lure set for children. A pattern took shape.
"If it was bait for the little ones," Sylas said slowly, eyes narrowing in thought, "then it wouldn't be laid in broad daylight. Whoever or whatever is behind this would wait for nightfall. When curiosity outweighs fear, and the dark hides their hand."
He straightened, a quiet resolve settling over him. "Then I'll go to the church when the night is at its deepest. If the abductions are happening under its cover, that's when I'll find answers."
Midadol shifted uneasily, her voice sharp with worry. "The peak of night? Sylas, that's when it will be most dangerous."
"That's why it has to be then," he replied, tone steady but unyielding. His eyes flicked briefly to her, softer for only a moment. "If we wait until dawn, the chance will already be gone."
The elder inclined his head, his expression unreadable, though his staff gave one soft tap against the floorboards as if to mark Sylas's decision.
And from his side, Ealgian thrummed again, the sword's faint shiver echoing a truth Sylas already knew, something was waiting for him in that church, and it was no ordinary threat.
The rest of the day slipped by under a heavy silence. The villagers kept their distance, casting wary glances at Sylas and the crest on his sword. Midadol and Kaelen stayed close, though even between them few words were spoken. The weight of the elder's tale clung to them like a shadow.
By dusk, Sylas was tightening the last strap of his armor, Ealgian resting against the wall beside him. The cottage hearth sputtered low, filling the room with flickering light. Midadol sat on the edge of the bed, her arms folded, eyes fixed on him with quiet disapproval. Kaelen lingered near the door, ready but unreadable.
Sylas drew in a breath, then looked squarely at Kaelen. "You're not coming with me."
Kaelen blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"You'll stay here." His voice was steady, even if it carried the weight of command he still struggled to own. "Midadol needs someone at her side. Someone I can trust to guard her if anything happens. That's your place tonight, Kaelen."
Her lips parted as if to protest, but the fire in Sylas's eyes stopped her short. For a moment, she only stared at him, her jaw tight, then gave a slow nod. "…As you command, Lord Falcrest."
Midadol stood abruptly, her voice sharp. "So that's it? You just leave me again? Alone while you throw yourself into danger?"
"You won't be alone," Sylas said, softer now, though unbending. His hand brushed against the hilt of Ealgian, the blade faintly humming as if to echo him. "I'll have Ealgian with me. And you'll have Kaelen. This way, neither of us faces the night without protection."
Her glare softened, the fire in her eyes dimming to something heavier. After a moment, her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her gaze. "…I don't like it. But I'll trust you."
Sylas exhaled, relief mingling with the weight of his resolve. He buckled Ealgian to his side and turned toward the door, the night beyond already pressing close.
The elder's voice seemed to echo in his mind as he stepped into the dark: the abandoned church that rests behind the village fields…
That was where the truth waited.