To understand herself—and this world—Serenya needed more than books and lessons. She needed information. And to gather that, she had to find someone who can give her that.
That was where Natalia Knightly entered the picture—her mother's former personal maid. Natalia was no ordinary servant, she was a hybrid, born of human blood mingled with that of the drachen—descendants of dragons. It explained her unusual strength, the steel in her posture, and the quiet resilience she carried.
But in the eyes of Headmaster Arclight, her grandfather, Natalia was nothing but an inconvenience. He dismissed her without hesitation, claiming she had no purpose in the household, and ordered her to return to her homeland, Azalia—a far continent to the east, across the Silver Sea. At least, that was what Natalia had told her.
Of course, Natalia never left. Instead, she lingered in the shadows, choosing to remain by her late friend's only daughter—Serenya. Their meetings were always kept secret, hidden from prying eyes and ears.
Serenya was lacing her boots when a sudden gust slipped through the open window. She didn't need to look up, she only knew one person who could enter so quietly like that.
"Did you find anyone?" Serenya asked in the empty room.
A presence stirred in the corner, and then Natalia's low, unhurried voice answered. "I found an anonymous informant. But he's… difficult. He may need a little encouragement."
"Why didn't you handle it?"
Natalia shrugged, unimpressed. "Because I didn't want to kill him by accident."
Serenya smirked. "Fair. With that strength of yours, you probably would."
She tossed a small pouch across the room. Natalia caught it effortlessly, peeking inside at the neatly wrapped sweets.
"For the road," Serenya said as she rose, brushing off her skirt. With a graceful leap, she perched at the window's edge. "Come on. Lead the way."
Together, they slipped into the night, setting off to track down the elusive informant.
✦
With their cloaks drawn low, they stepped into the stench of sweat, ale, and smoke. The pub was packed with rough-looking men and women—mercenaries with scarred faces, sailors boasting of fights they'd half-won, thieves with eyes always darting toward coin purses. Laughter cracked like thunder, tankards slammed against tables, and the sour tang of spilled liquor clung to the air.
They made their way to the counter, where a broad-shouldered bartender polished a mug with feigned indifference.
"What'll it be?" he asked, his tone gruff but measured.
Serenya rested her gloved hands lightly on the counter. "I'm here to collect the honey."
For a moment, silence flickered at the edge of the rowdy din. Then, from a nearby table, a man with broken teeth barked a laugh.
"Miss, I think you're in the wrong place for honey!" His companions roared with him, slamming the table.
"Why don't you come sit with us instead? We'll give you something sweeter!"
The chorus of jeers spread, drunken voices filling the pub with crude amusement. Serenya felt Natalia tense beside her, every muscle coiled to strike.
"Not now," Serenya murmured firmly, not even turning her head.
Instead, her gaze fixed on the bartender. She saw the slight twitch in his expression, the flicker of recognition he tried to mask. Serenya's lips curved into a cool smile.
He wasn't just a bartender. He was Edgar—the true owner of the pub, and keeper of secrets. And he understood the code she'd given.
Edgar let out a long, weary sigh, as though regretting every choice that had led him here. "Exit through that door," he muttered, jerking his chin toward a side passage. "Carefully. Wait inside."
Serenya and Natalia obeyed without question. The room beyond was plain and dim, but after a few minutes Edgar arrived and beckoned them deeper. He led them down a narrow stairwell into an underground bunker.
To Serenya's surprise, the chamber below was not the dank cellar she expected. Torches burned steadily in wall sconces, illuminating a wide round table at the center, ringed by heavy chairs. A massive map dominated the far wall, the inked outlines of continents stretching across parchment—Azalia to the east, Euthalia to the west.
Serenya's eyes lingered on it. This was more than an information broker's den. This was a war room. A place where whispers turned into treachery. She has no concern or interest in people trying to commit treason. But unless someone could topple the Four Archmage Houses, any talk of rebellion was nothing but smoke.
Edgar slumped into the chair at the head of the table. "The one who handles information isn't here. Come back when he is."
Serenya's lips twitched. "Is that what you tell all your customers?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"You're not the only one who knows how to gather information."
His sneer sharpened. "If you're such an expert, why come crawling to me? Or do you just send your servants to do the dirty work?" His gaze flicked deliberately to Natalia, a goad meant to draw blood.
Natalia shifted forward, every line of her body coiled like a predator ready to strike. Serenya's hand lifted—calm, unhurried—and Natalia stilled.
"I would," Serenya said evenly, "if the information I sought existed in common channels. But it doesn't."
Edgar's eyes narrowed. "Information on Azalia comes at a high price."
She nodded once. At her signal, Natalia hefted a leather sack onto the table with a heavy thud. Gold ingots spilled against the polished wood, gleaming in the firelight.
"Name your price."
Edgar dismissed the wealth with a disdainful wave. "Coin doesn't buy everything, girl."
Serenya exhaled slowly. "Then perhaps this will." She lifted her hand, and the air above her palm shivered. A void bloomed in the space, dark and hungry, warping the torchlight around it.
Edgar jerked back, eyes wide. "Good gods—what in all hells is that?!"
Serenya's tone was flat, her gaze unblinking. "Now you understand. You sit across from someone who wields magic outside your books and charts. So tell me, Edgar… what do you know about this?"