That night, the palace did not sleep. The words of the messenger echoed in every corridor, and fear crept into the hearts of nobles and servants alike.
King Visernes summoned his council. Voices clashed—some demanded a holy war, others urged the king to seal the southern borders. But in the midst of the chaos, two voices rose with clarity.
Mamir stepped forward, his gaze steady.
"If we move the entire army blindly, we may fall into a trap. We need knowledge, not panic."
To everyone's surprise, young Visrok supported him.
"He's right. If the legends of the southern caves are true, then books alone will not save us. Someone must go… and see the truth with their own eyes."
The hall fell silent. Visrok's words were daring, perhaps reckless, but they carried the weight of conviction.
At last, King Visernes rose from his throne. His voice was heavy, but resolute.
"Mamir, Visrok—you shall go together. Take only a small company of men. Discover what truly stirs in the south… and whether the curse of Ostomas has awakened."
Harlax's lips curled in disdain. "Sending a bastard and a child to face the darkness? Truly, Father, this kingdom is doomed."
But Visernes silenced him with a single glare.
"The decision is made. At dawn, you ride south."
That night, as the brothers prepared for their journey, Visrok clutched the hidden parchment close to his chest. "The price of immortality is death."
He could not tell Mamir what he feared most: that the secret of their ancestor was waiting… and that they might not return alive.