Faren took over the reins of the carriage and led it down the winding road leading back to Eclion, Luenor beside him, Arwin asleep in the back with his head resting against the wall, eyes already heavy.
As they approached the village, Luenor leaned forward a little, his gaze moving over the quiet homes, the little gardens, and the new watchtowers that had shot up next to the tree line like saplings.
The memory of how it looked the first time he came—broken, scared, lost—nagged at the back of his mind. It was still a small place, still a fragile thing, but it was growing. It was becoming something other than it had.
When they arrived, Nalia was waiting at the edge of the square. Her dark skin was flushed from the cold, a stark contrast to Eclion's white street. Her sharp eyes flicked over the newcomers in curiosity.
Arwin and Luenor climbed down and greeted her with smiles that were tired but genuine. Faren had already begun to unload the captives, taking them to a wooden shack where they would be kept until morning, away from prying eyes.
Nalia had fallen in step beside Arwin and Luenor as they walked into the trees. It was quiet in the forest, the scent of pine and earth good and strong.
"Thanks," she said softly, looking with sad eyes. "For I, eh, for saving me back there. I owe you both."
Arwin smiled meekly and lightly held the hilt of his sword. "Think nothing of it," he said, "but, it wasn't easy."
Luenor was quiet and his eyes were looking at Lyssari in the distance now—her pale hair shining bright even in the moonlight as she practiced alone, the leaves trembling beneath her quiet power.
"Will you help her?" Asked Luenor quickly, looking at Nalia now. "Lyssari. Will you teach her?"
Nalia blinked, stunned. "Me? She's... she's an elf, Luenor. Her magic has to be different than mine."
"You've seen what she is capable of," he said quietly. "She needs someone to guide her. Someone that understands how to shape mana. I believe that someone is you."
Nalia hesitated, and opened her mouth as if to protest. But before she could say anything, he was already dragging her towards Lyssari.
Lyssari looked up as they approached, shock in her green eyes. "Luenor? Arwin? And... Nalia?"
Luenor smiled faintly. "Nalia is going to be your new teacher," he said simply.
Lyssari frowned, pressing her lips together. "I don't need a teacher," she said quietly. "I can figure it out myself."
Nalia folded her arms, her look skeptical. "And I haven't agreed to this," she said pointedly.
Arwin let out a small laugh. "Maybe, you both should try it," he said gently. "Just once. To see if it works."
Lyssari hesitated, flexing her hands by her side, and looked at Luenor. She did not say anything, but he could see the trust in her eyes, the same silent hope he felt in his own heart.
Lyssari reluctantly nodded and closed her eyes, breathing slow and steady as she reached for the gentle hum of mana from the forest.
Leaves trembled, dust circulating her feet, but nothing more. Nalia released a small sigh. Frustration clouded her gaze.
Nalia was silent, and for a moment she glimpsed her younger self in the girl's stubborn expression. The same desire. The same quiet dread of failure.
"Your mana heart," Nalia said gently. "It is a well, obscured. You must find the well; you may feel it open like a door in your chest. Once you find the well, you will draw the mana around you in. It will fill you. It will become part of your breath. Then you can shape it."
Lyssari's eyes bulged. Her mouth opened. "Like... like the roots of the trees?" she asked cautiously.
Nalia smiled weakly. "Exactly," she said. "Try again."
___
In a small, smoky tavern at the outskirts of Hallowridge, Hunter leaned against the bar and drummed his fingers lightly on the wood. The thick, crooked mouthed barkeep suspiciously regarded him.
Hunter spoke quietly, his tone calm but serious. "A thing to switch a voice," he replied with a glance around the bar. "Even if it is broken. And a mask -- an old man. With lines, scars... wise eyes."
The barkeep's expression brightened. He took a heavy purse of coins from Hunter and put it under the bar. "Come back in two days. I will see what I can dig up."
"Yeah," Hunter answered, narrowing his eyes. "Good. And remember -- no questions."
The barkeep's smile was thin but knowing. "No questions," he pressed.
___
Thalanar faced their former buyers with his staff balancing lightly on the floor beneath his fingers, his eyes calm but sharp.
He had already stripped them bare of the menus, showing them exactly who they were: two women and four men, with fine but worn clothes and the quiet threat of experience in every line of their bodies.
One of the men was enormous, built like a black bear with arms as thick as tree trunks, and a beard wild and scraggly like a northern barbarian. One of the women was thin and cold-eyed with water mana shimmering faintly around her—it was as safe to assume that she was an Intermediate Six-Star Water Mage as it was to say the other women were soulless. When she spoke, they would probably feel they had a little more control. Her breath was calm even in confinement.
The leader was an Intermidate Three-Star Warrior swordsman—lean, hard-eyed, with a quietly contemptuous look in his eye. The straight line of his shoulders told a story of their own, making it clear we was no stranger to the battlefield.
Thalanar listened to their silence before he spoke in a voice as calm as the breath of a forest, "You already have seen what stands behind those tree's" he said quietly, "you know you will not leave here unless you speak. Tell me of Baron Ronney--- of the man you serve."