"So what are you doing here?"
Aries had no other choice. She had broken into the guild, been caught by the guild master himself, and now stood in a hallway that suddenly felt much smaller than before. She met Lysander's emerald gaze and told the truth.
"I need a healer for my friend. She's in bad condition."
"A resident of Blackstone Mountain?" Lysander asked.
Aries nodded.
He exhaled slowly, his expression softening into something that might have been sympathy—or might have been calculation. "Well, unfortunately, our healers are on missions right now. We do not have one currently available." He gestured toward the door behind her. "So please see yourself out."
Aries didn't move.
"You called me out on lying." Her voice was steady, but anger flickered in her eyes—hot and bright. "So I'll do the same. You and I both know that isn't true."
Lysander's composure cracked. Just slightly. His eyebrows rose, and for a fraction of a second, he looked genuinely thrown aback.
"What?"
"You saying that there are no healers present. That's a lie."
Lysander folded his arms across his chest and studied her. The girl in front of him was bold. Too bold. She had to know who he was—the guild master, a noble, someone who could have her thrown out—or worse—with a single word. And yet she stood there, jaw set, refusing to back down.
"And what makes you think so?" he asked. There was no anger in his voice. Only curiosity. She had piqued his interest.
Aries didn't hesitate. "Your attendant told the mob outside that adventurers weren't available to help the residents of Blackstone Mountain. But here—" She gestured at the hallway around them, at the adventurers leaning against walls, chatting in small groups, doing nothing. "—there's a decent number of adventurers just goofing off while lives are in danger."
She took a step closer.
"Which leads me to believe there are healers here. So you're a liar."
Lysander's smirk widened. Not anger. Not embarrassment. Approval, almost.
"It's good to know there are still people in the boonies with so much boldness." He paused, letting the compliment hang. Then his expression sharpened. "You're correct on the first half. But the second half of your explanation is based on assumptions. What if my healers are truly not available?"
Aries considered this. The hallway was quiet. Somewhere deeper in the guild, she could hear footsteps, distant voices, the clink of metal. She thought about Raya—unconscious, feverish, dying. She thought about the empty promises the guild had made to the crowd outside.
She met Lysander's eyes.
"Then I would want to trust that you have the conscience not to lie and leave a lot of people—including my friend—to die."
Lysander was silent for a long moment. The candlelight flickered between them, casting shifting shadows across his scarred face. Then he tilted his head to the left, just slightly, as if seeing her for the first time.
"Bring your friend here," he said. "I'll see to it that she gets help."
Aries shook her head. "I don't want you to help just me. I don't know the reason you're not helping the evacuees, and it doesn't matter." She straightened her shoulders. "If you're going to help me, you might as well help everyone."
Lysander sighed. It was a long, slow exhale, the sound of a man who had been hoping for an easy answer and was not going to get one.
"You're really pushing your luck, young lady."
Aries didn't flinch. "I am known for being very persuasive, Mister Guild Master."
Lysander's smirk returned—smaller this time, almost private. "I'm hoping it doesn't get you killed one day."
He turned away from her and faced the scattering of adventurers in the hallway. They had been watching the exchange in silence, pretending not to listen but clearly hanging on every word. Lysander's voice cut through the space like a blade.
"Gather everyone and help the evacuees from the mountain. Prioritize only the evacuees, but do not move toward Blackstone Mountain until I say so." He scanned the room, his emerald eyes hard. "And someone get me Sevika."
The adventurers scrambled into motion, disappearing through doorways and down corridors.
Aries watched them go, then looked back at Lysander. Now that she had a moment to really see him, she noticed something she had missed before. He was young. Very young. Younger than she had expected a guild master to be. His features were sharp, aristocratic, but there was no weathered experience in his face—no lines, no grey in his black hair. He had to have used connections to earn his position. Or something darker.
"What are you waiting for?" Lysander's voice broke into her thoughts.
"Huh?"
"Your friend is in bad condition, right? Aren't you bringing her anymore?"
Aries blinked. "Oh—"
"Better hurry." Lysander's smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Wouldn't want you blaming a death on me."
Aries didn't need to be told twice. She turned and ran, her boots echoing against the stone floor, her black hair streaming behind her. She disappeared through the doorway, and the hallway fell silent.
From a shadowed doorway near the back of the hall, a figure emerged.
Eliza.
The attendant who had faced the mob outside stepped into the candlelight, her red hair catching the glow like embers. She moved quietly, deliberately, and stopped a few feet behind Lysander.
"Are you sure that is wise, sir?"
Lysander didn't turn. "You've got to stop sneaking up on me like that, Eliza. It's not good for a woman to stalk a man."
"I wasn't stalking, sir." Eliza bowed her head, but there was no apology in her voice.
"You were eavesdropping on my conversation."
"For good reason."
"Oh, really?" Lysander's tone was dry, almost bored.
"It's only natural." Eliza raised her head, her eyes steady. "The girl was an intruder."
Lysander finally turned to face her. The candlelight caught the scar across his eye, making it gleam.
"Is it wise," Eliza continued, "to start interfering now? Silas has not given us a signal that his business is finished."
Lysander waved a hand, dismissing her concern. "We won't be going to Blackstone Mountain. So don't worry about it." He stepped past her, heading toward a door at the end of the hallway. Then he paused. "Besides, we have bought him enough time. If he cannot get the job done, there's nothing more I can do."
He glanced back over his shoulder, his emerald eyes cold.
"When that girl comes back, get Sevika to work on her injured friend."
Eliza bowed. "Of course, sir."
Lysander disappeared through the door. Eliza stood in the hallway for a moment longer, alone with the flickering candles and the distant murmur of the guild waking around her. Then she turned and walked in the opposite direction.
At the town's gate, a small crowd had gathered.
Two guards stood at the entrance, their spears resting against their shoulders, their eyes fixed on the distant plume of smoke rising from Blackstone Mountain. Behind them, a few townspeople had joined the vigil—shopkeepers, farmers, a woman holding a crying child.
Everyone had a theory.
"I heard it's a Mana Beast," one of the guards said, scratching his chin. "Escaped from the Forest of Shoggoths. That's what's attacking the mountain."
"Nonsense." The second guard shook his head. "Mana beasts can't come out of the forest. The barriers prevent them." He crossed his arms. "I think it's an invasion attempt from another kingdom."
A man standing nearby—a traveler, by the look of his worn cloak—watched the smoke rise. "I highly doubt that. Camelot is under the jurisdiction of the Five Kings. Who in their right mind would attack Camelot?"
The first guard shifted his weight. "I do hope the attack stays within the mountain. I don't think we're ready for a confrontation."
The other two sighed in agreement.
Then movement caught their eyes.
Two figures approached the gate—one tall, broad-shouldered, supporting the other. The second figure was smaller, hunched, moving with obvious pain. As they drew closer, the guards saw bandages wrapped around her midsection, soaked through with fresh blood. A faint green aura pulsed around the wounds, flickering like a candle in the wind.
Lyrielle and Kai waddled through the gate, Lyrielle leaning heavily on Kai for support. Her face was pale, her lips cracked, her eyes half-closed. Every step cost her. Every breath was a labor.
The few people at the gate stared. Whispers followed them as they made their way into town, toward the camp of evacuees from Blackstone Mountain.
"Wasn't that the Lady Lyrielle?" the second guard asked, his voice hushed.
"No way. That couldn't have been her."
"That was certainly an elf." The traveler stepped forward, his eyes narrow. "It has to be the Lady Lyrielle."
The guards started bickering, but Lyrielle and Kai were already past them, moving deeper into the town.
The evacuee camp was a sprawl of makeshift tents and bedrolls, clustered in an open field near the town's center. Fires smoldered in shallow pits. Children huddled close to their parents. Old men sat in circles, speaking in low, worried voices.
When Lyrielle appeared at the edge of the camp, recognition spread like wildfire.
"It's the Lady Lyrielle!"
The shout came from a woman near the front. Heads turned. Eyes widened. A ripple of movement passed through the crowd as people rose to their feet, pressing forward to see.
Someone rushed over to help Lyrielle sit down on a wooden platform that had been set up as a makeshift bench. Others crowded around, staring at her bandages, at the blood, at the exhaustion carved into her face.
A wave of relief washed over the crowd. If the Lady Lyrielle was here—even in this condition—it meant the threat on the mountain was over. It had to be.
But still, they needed confirmation.
"Lady Lyrielle, is the threat over?"
"Is the valley safe?"
"Did you catch the culprit?"
The questions came in a flood, one after another, not even giving Lyrielle a chance to breathe. Her head swam. Her vision blurred at the edges. She tried to answer, but no words came.
Kai noticed.
"Could you clear some space for her?" He stepped between Lyrielle and the crowd, pushing one of the closer onlookers back. "She's in a bad state. She needs space."
A middle-aged man stepped forward. He was bald, with a fringe of blonde hair around the sides, and his chest was puffed out with self-importance.
"And who are you?" His voice was loud, arrogant. "We're just trying to confirm if it's safe to go home."
Kai didn't back down. "By disturbing someone who's in critical condition?"
"Show some respect for your elders, boy!"
"I will," Kai said, his voice cold, "if you show some maturity."
The man's face turned red. His fists clenched at his sides. He took a step forward, moving past the others, reaching for Kai—
Kai moved faster.
His bow materialized in his hand—pulled from his inventory in a flash of light. He didn't draw an arrow. Instead, he used the stave itself, thrusting it forward to block the man's advance. The wooden shaft pressed against the man's chest, stopping him cold.
The crowd went silent.
Kai's eyes were hard. His jaw was set. His knuckles were white around the bow.
"Back off," he said quietly.
The man stared at the bow, then at Kai's face. Something in the boy's expression made him reconsider. He raised his hands—slowly, carefully—and stepped back.
Kai didn't lower the bow.