"Judging by their gear, those soldiers belong to your family," the Doctor noted, peering through the window frame at the heavy boots and thick coats surrounding the building. "Are they your reinforcements? Though... something feels off. They don't exactly look like a rescue party."
Leading the column of towering, broad-shouldered warriors was a white-furred Caprinae woman whose calm, composed demeanor stood in stark contrast to the rough mountain fighters behind her.
From her deliberate movements, the Doctor could tell this force hadn't come to offer support. The most logical explanation was that she was aligned directly with Enciodes.
"It's Valais..." Arctosz growled, his face darkening as he recognized her. "She partnered with Enciodes to incapacitate my advance force out in the basin. Did she really ride back to town this quickly?"
Watching her dismount from a motorized snow machine, even a stubborn traditionalist like Arctosz had to admit those mechanical contraptions moved far faster than any native mount, with only a fraction of the exhaustion.
"Valais? So she's the one," Jeanne recalled, remembering earlier conversations about the woman being the primary intellect behind the Paleroches leadership. "No wonder your force suffered such a total defeat."
When a family's primary strategist chooses to cooperate with the enemy, escaping the trap alive was already a miraculous stroke of luck.
"Yes... it was her," Arctosz muttered, resting a heavy hand against his forehead in bitter disappointment. "I never imagined she would step onto this path."
Jeanne and the Doctor exchanged a swift glance, silently communicating that there was clearly a deeper story behind her actions.
Down in the courtyard, the local guards made no attempt to bar her entry. The sheer ease with which she entered the compound gave the entire situation a strangely surreal atmosphere.
"You certainly move quickly, Chief," Valais remarked smoothly, stepping into the warm room and addressing Arctosz with her usual polite deference. "I assumed you would still be traversing the pass. Pushing your body to its limits while carrying a wound will only hasten your collapse."
She greeted him with the same quiet care she had shown for years, yet the atmosphere between them was drained of all warmth.
Knowing what she had done in the high passes, Arctosz maintained a tight guard, keeping a hand near his weapon hilt in case she intended to strike.
"There is no need to look at me with such suspicion," Valais said quietly, her eyes unreadable. "I acted strictly for my own reasons. The only person I came here to address is the Grand Elder."
Reaching beneath her traveling coat, Valais produced a small, sealed glass bottle filled with golden, spiced mead. Marks around the stopper indicated it had been opened once long ago, though it was impossible to tell how many years had passed since then.
"Grand Elder, I assume this bottle is intimately familiar to you?" Valais turned away from Arctosz, fixing her gaze entirely on the silent old man in the heavy chair.
"The mead I gifted to your father all those years ago..." the Grand Elder rasped softly, realizing the moment he laid eyes on the flask why she had carried it back from the past.
"I only want one answer," Valais said, her hand trembling slightly as she poured a measure of the golden liquid into a wooden cup. The sunlight catching the stream made the spiced mead glisten with an inviting hue, masking a subtle, ancient danger. "Why did you do it? My father did nothing wrong. In fact, he served Kjerag with distinction!"
She stepped forward and set the wooden cup on the table before the old man.
"Are we... being completely ignored right now?" the Doctor whispered, leaning closer to Enya as she watched the elder generation's long-buried grudges play out.
"Just watch quietly," Jeanne murmured back, gently catching the Doctor's sleeve to keep her from stepping forward. "Unless they ask for our involvement, it is not our place to interfere in local family history."
While the Doctor usually carried herself with sharp intellect, those close to her knew she could occasionally act on impulse when caught up in dramatic events.
"I know, I know," the Doctor muttered, crossing her arms in slight annoyance. "I'm not a child who jumps into every argument I see."
Recognizing that this was a deeply personal affair, the Doctor settled into her chair, remaining a silent spectator as the scene unfolded.
"Your father... was an extraordinary young man in his day," the Grand Elder mused, his weary eyes staring into the distance as if summoning old memories. "He possessed sharp ideas, genuine vision, and the rare ability to rally people around his cause..."
He recalled a brilliant figure who had once drawn the admiration of many across the three clans—a leader whose prestige had rivaled the highest authorities in Kjerag.
"And yet he died," Valais interrupted, her voice tight with suppressed anger. "He drank the mead you sent him, and he collapsed without warning. What crime could he possibly have committed for you to take his life?"
She could never erase the memory from her mind: her father, beaming with pride over a gift received directly from the Grand Elder, raising the cup to his lips—only to clutch his chest in agony seconds later as his life slipped away.
"Valais, you..." Arctosz began, his voice trailing off. He had known bits of the tragedy, which was precisely why choosing a path today was so agonizing for him.
"Stay your hand, Arctosz," the Grand Elder instructed, raising a thin hand to halt the chief. "This matter ends between her and me."
"Child," the old man continued, looking at Valais with unblinking eyes. "I bore no personal hatred toward your father. If you ask why I took action, it was simply because his rising influence threatened my position within the clergy at that time."
"You murdered him... just for power?" Valais whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"I can only tell you that his death was an outcome I never intended," the Grand Elder replied quietly. "My goal during the sacred hunt was merely to cause him temporary discomfort—to dull his performance so my own standing would remain secure. The compound I added was never meant to be lethal. I had no idea his body would suffer such a violent, fatal reaction to the dose."
He spoke without defensive flair or excuse. His tone carried a genuine, heavy regret—a confession that he had miscalculated decades ago, leading to a tragedy he had carried in silence ever since.
He had merely wanted to claim glory during the sacred hunt to solidify his leadership, but in a realm governed by strict tradition, no one would have believed such an explanation back then.
"Because of a petty power struggle... my father lost his life," Valais breathed, staring at him as if trying to reconcile his words with reality.
"That is the truth," the Grand Elder said softly. "His immediate cause of death was an underlying heart condition, but the compound in the mead undoubtedly triggered the episode. For that, the burden rests on my shoulders."
The old leader looked down at the wooden cup. No one knew how a decade-old draught of spiced mead would taste, nor whether the ancient compound within retained its potency after so many years.
Before anyone in the room could react, the Grand Elder reached out, lifted the cup, and drank the entire contents in one deliberate swallow.
He set the empty cup back on the table with a dull clack, staring directly at Valais.
"If you still doubt my words, you may pour me another," he said, his breath growing shallow. "I have no desire to excuse my actions. What happened to your father was a grave tragedy. Looking back... had I simply sat down and spoken with him honestly, he might have stood beside me during that hunt... cough! Cough-cough!"
Before he could finish his sentence, a violent coughing fit wracked his frail chest. Even after ten years, the concentrated herbs within the aged brew retained enough strength to afflict a body.
While a mild dose might only cause a healthy young warrior a few days of discomfort, an old man with one foot in the grave possessed no resilience against such a shock. The wracking coughs bent him double, leaving him unable to draw a proper breath.
"It seems... cough-cough!... I am no longer in a condition to make decisions for Kjerag," the Grand Elder wheezed out between labored breaths, clutching his chest. "From this moment forth... all governance regarding the Vine-Bear Court... cough... shall be placed under the Saintess's command."
The coughing continued unabated, so severe that those watching worried the old leader might cough up blood at any second.
"There is no need to fetch a physician," he rasped weakly, waving off the anxious attendants. "Leave me be. I only wonder... if Her Holiness Kjeragandr will grant this old soul passage to her side today..."
His voice faded to a faint murmur as his strength ebbed away, the coughing fits gradually subsiding into shallow, frail breaths.
"Everyone, please follow me to the adjoining room," Enya announced quietly.
Hearing that the entire authority of the clergy now rested upon her shoulders, Enya showed no trace of hesitation. A cold, absolute clarity washed over her, sharpening her thoughts instantly.
"The Grand Elder's condition is in the goddess's hands," Enya continued, her voice steady and commanding. "Our immediate priority must be addressing the crisis my brother has brought upon our realm."
She turned her eyes toward the foreign visitors. "Jeanne, Doctor, I ask that you join us as well. If circumstances worsen, I may require your counsel and strength."
With those words, Enya turned and walked out of the chamber without casting a second glance at the bedside.
Once the room cleared, Valais remained standing before the bed for a long time, gazing down at the fragile old man whose life she could end with a single movement of her fingers.
After a quiet moment, she sheathed her blade, turned on her heel, and walked out into the corridor.