Morning light poured through the windows of Chief Roland Vale's study, spilling gold across the polished floorboards and the heavy oak table at its heart.
The air smelled faintly of tea and sweat while Seris Avariel sat in the chief's chair.
And it fit her too well.
The white of her coat caught the sunlight like a blade's edge.
Calm, composed, unreadable, she looked less like a guest and more like the room now belonged to her.
Around the table sat the others of the Royal Association:
Beric Halvern in lazy slouching elegance.
Garron Throne too large for his chair and too loud for the silence.
Father Silas Crowe sitting with quiet dignity, and Elara, still as a shadow, eyes half-lidded and impossible to read.
Roland Vale sat opposite them, posture sharp, hands clasped tightly on the table.
He had dressed like a man meeting gods, new coat, pressed sleeves, hair slicked back with too much oil.
Beside the door stood Darran, in his polished gleaming armor, face carefully schooled between reverence and nervous excitement.
Outside, Windket was alive with noise.
The streets had turned into a fairground with flags, laughter, food stalls, and children chasing ribbons through the air.
The festival atmosphere bled faintly even through the walls, but inside the room… it felt like the world had gone still.
"The preparation for the screening is almost complete," Roland said, his voice steady but overly practiced. "Summoning circles, appraisal stones, and the mana conductors just as your men instructed."
Seris nodded, eyes fixed on the documents before her.
"Good. I want the age range kept tight. Five to twenty. Anyone older is to be marked for the army only."
"Of course, of course." Roland nodded eagerly. "My son here, Darran, has already helped coordinate the guards and the setup personally. Very capable boy, I must say… ever since childhood, he's had quite the gift for-"
Garron chuckled under his breath. "For talking, apparently."
Darran's face flushed, his jaw tightening before he bowed slightly toward the table. "It's an honor to assist the Royal Association. Truly."
Beric leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching the exchange like someone at the theatre.
"Oh, I like this one. A polite brute. Don't let him near politic;, he might start apologizing for existing."
Seris didn't even glance up. "Enough."
Her tone wasn't harsh, just final.
Roland cleared his throat softly, forcing a thin smile. "Ah, yes… well. I only meant that Darran is eager to serve the crown in any capacity."
Elara's gaze flicked toward him, eyes like a scalpel as she gave a single curt nod. "We'll remember that."
That shut him up.
Silas was the next to speak, his voice a calm ripple through the tension.
"Chief Vale, I'd like to request a small clearing near the southern side of the village. My acolytes wish to set up a temporary medical tent. Free treatment for the ill and injured. Should anyone seek guidance, the Mother will welcome them."
Roland blinked. "You… mean to heal the villagers? At no charge?"
"Faith isn't bought," Silas said gently. "It's shared."
For a moment, Roland just nodded, too surprised to argue. "Yes, of course, we'll make the space available."
Seris turned a page on the document as she spoke.
"Good. And I'll be dispatching our hunters into the forest by sundown. They'll bring back fresh meat and hides for our convoy's supply. That should keep Windket from having to feed us."
Roland froze mid-breath.
Even Darran's smile faltered.
"My lady," Roland began carefully, "perhaps it would be wiser to direct them further south? The forest near Windket is…" he hesitated, "…unpredictable."
Seris's eyes finally lifted, the green of them sharp as glass. "Unpredictable? How so?"
Roland's throat worked. "Merely… harder navigation. Some of our hunters avoid it, that's all."
From the side, Garron tilted his head. "You mean dangerous."
"No, no, not dangerous!" Roland said too quickly. "Just… inconvenient."
Beric's lazy voice slid through the pause like smoke. "Hmm. Inconvenient enough that your guard numbers seem… oddly thin?"
The room went still.
Even Garron's grin faded as every gaze shifted towards Roland.
Roland's lips parted, but no sound came, while Beric smiled faintly, resting his chin on one hand.
"I counted maybe ten guards this morning," he said, his tone playful but his gaze sharp.
"For a village this close to the Great Forest… that's a little low, isn't it, Chief Vale?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Darran went pale.
Roland's knuckles whitened on the table.
And Seris's gaze narrowed a fraction as she spoke just one word. "Explain."
The sound of the festival outside suddenly felt too distant.
Even the laughter seemed to flinch.
And then…
Roland exhaled. A long, tired breath that sounded halfway between resignation and fear.
"I wanted to spare Windket the embarrassment," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the table.
"And keep this matter within our jurisdiction. But it seems I have no choice."
Seris said nothing. Neither did anyone else.
So he spoke.
And once he started, it didn't stop.
"The night before last," Roland continued, "there were… lightning strikes. Nine of them. All concentrated in the same region near the northern ridges. The forest lit up like a storm had fallen from the heavens. I sent fifteen men… including my vice-captain, Laro to investigate."
He swallowed hard. "It's been a day and a half since then. There's been no word."
The room stayed still.
Roland forced a weak chuckle. "I assume they must've found something. A treasure, perhaps. They know I'm preoccupied with your esteemed visit and must think I wouldn't send another party after them."
Beric tilted his head slightly, the motion slow, deliberate. "And what if they didn't run away…" he said, voice light, "but ran into something?"
The chief froze.
Beric smiled faintly, but his eyes didn't.
"By hiding this, you've not only put your own people at risk… you've endangered ours. Support staff, researchers, and attendants... People without circuits or mana. All so you could save yourself a little embarrassment?"
Roland's throat worked soundlessly. Sweat glimmered faintly along his temple.
"My father only wanted what's best for Windket!" Darran burst out suddenly. "He knew the Association's visit represented a brighter future for our village… for our children. A chance to-"
Seris's gaze turned toward him, and the last of his sentence died before it could form.
"You will speak only when spoken to, Young Master Vale," she said softly.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop with her tone.
Darran's mouth shut. His breath hitched.
Seris turned back to Beric. "Your opinion?"
The Archmage sighed, scratching lightly at his beard.
"Could be the chief's right. Maybe his men found something shiny and decided loyalty wasn't worth the effort. But lightning doesn't strike the same spot nine times for no reason."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting faintly with amusement. "If it was a treasure, they're long gone with it. But if it's the latter…."
He looked toward Seris, tone sharpening slightly. "Either way, we should investigate. If it's nothing, we lose a few hours. If it's something, we prevent a disaster."
Seris nodded once. "Agreed."
Her gaze shifted to Elara.
"Accompany the hunting party. Observe. If it's a creature, eliminate it if possible. If not-"
"Report back," Elara finished, already getting up from her chair. "Understood."
Seris inclined her head faintly before turning back to Roland.
"Is there anything else I should be aware of, Chief Vale?"
Roland's mouth opened, then closed. His shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly.
"No, my lady," he whispered.
Seris studied him for a long moment, and in that silence, he understood something she didn't say out loud.
"Good," she said finally, rising from the chair. "Then let's begin the appraisals."
"Oh, one more thing," Beric said, trying not to laugh, "I also noticed a distinct lack of the impoverished on the streets… You know, beggars and the like. However, I did find some crammed in a warehouse."
And once more, every head in the room turned towards Roland Vale with gazes getting colder by the second.
While Roland Vale came this close to having a heart attack.