Chapter 19

  Caelshold rose in the distance, a city of gold-domed palaces, cascading waterfalls, and towering sky-bridges.

  Alira slowed as she approached the capital, taking in the sight. Despite everything, she had always admired Caelshold.

  She and Dainen had once stood in this very city, side by side, presenting their case to a Monarch who barely listened.

  "A war is coming," she had told him. "You need to act before the rivers run red." Dainen had stood behind her, arms crossed. "If you don't act," he had rumbled, "we will."

  They had fought together in too many wars, had watched too many cities fall. This time, they had tried to prevent it.

  It hadn't worked. That was centuries ago. The city hadn’t changed. But they had.

  As she looked on, the Grand Mana Rail Station bustled with activity, sleek mana-powered trains gliding effortlessly above the streets, weaving between ancient spires and sprawling market districts.

  The city was alive with scholars, merchants, and mana engineers, all moving with purpose.

  Alira kept her hood drawn low, moving through the city’s outer rings with practiced ease. She needed to disappear for a bit—to find a place where no one would ask who she was.

  A coin-only inn would do the trick.

  These establishments were tucked away in the less-patrolled outskirts of the capital, avoiding the more advanced mana-scanning security that high-end inns employed.

  She found a small, unassuming inn that took Guild Coins with no mana scan. The price was twice what she’d normally pay—but for privacy, she would have paid triple.

  Stepping inside her room, she locked the door behind her, exhaling softly.

  Then—she smelled something.

  She glanced down at her cloak, frowning.

  It had definitely lost some of its dirt resistance.

  Then, she realized—it wasn’t just the cloak.

  "Alright," she muttered to herself. "Shower first. Then meditation."

  Over the next two days, Alira scouted Caelshold.

  She spent hours observing the Monarch’s Temple, taking careful note of its security.

  A massive, mana-infused wall surrounded the entire temple complex, with four heavily guarded entrances.

  Inside, golden-domed buildings and sacred temples filled the grounds, each one a symbol of Arindral’s power.

  The Temple of Celestial Echoes, the one she needed to reach, was the farthest back—deep within the complex, past two separate guard posts.

  Alira frowned.

  "There weren’t this many guards last time."

  Of course, the last time she was here, she had arrived on an airship, escorted by the Monarch himself.

  This time?

  She was a ghost.

  She needed to get in and out—but she had no idea how long it would take to find what she was looking for.

  If Arindral had discovered anything connected to the Celestials, it would either be inside the Temple of Celestial Echoes or locked away in the Monarch’s personal vault.

  And breaking into the vault? Even she wasn’t that reckless.

  As she looked on at the golden domes, the sun was glinting off, glinting a red hue. Her mind drifted.

  The sky burned red with mana fire.

  Thal’Duun, once a thriving border city between Arindral and Zorathia, had become a battleground.

  Flames licked at shattered buildings. The bodies of warriors—some wearing the colors of warlords, others draped in Arindral’s sigil—lay strewn across the streets.

  The scent of blood, mana discharge, and smoldering earth thickened the air.

  Alira stood on a crumbling rooftop, scanning the chaos below. Dainen stood beside her, arms crossed. His armor, once polished, was streaked with soot and dried blood.

  “Dainen,” she said, voice low, “we don’t have to do this.”

  He didn’t look at her. “They aren’t backing down,” he muttered. “We gave them a chance.”

  “No,” she corrected. “We gave them an ultimatum.”

  Dainen’s fingers flexed against the hilt of his blade. “Ultimatum, negotiation—it’s all the same when words fail.”

  Alira’s eyes flicked toward the central keep. The warlord inside—Lord Varik—had refused to surrender. But not because he was evil. Because he was desperate.

  “He has families in there, Dainen. Civilians. They’re not warriors.”

  Dainen finally turned, his face unreadable. “You think they care? The moment they regroup, they’ll attack Arindral’s border villages. Those civilians will become soldiers. And we’ll have another war on our hands.”

  Alira shook her head. “So, your solution is to burn them out?”

  Dainen exhaled sharply. “What’s your solution? Hope they suddenly change their minds? Let them retreat so they can kill us next year?”

  “They’re not all like that,” she snapped.

  Dainen stepped closer, his presence like a storm cloud. “You always see the best in people. But that’s not how the world works.”

  Alira refused to back down. “And you only see the worst.”

  Silence stretched between them. The battle below raged on.

  Finally, Dainen spoke, quieter now. “What do you want to do?”

  Alira closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. “Give me two hours,” she said. “I can get Varik to surrender.”

  Dainen’s jaw tightened. “And if you can’t?”

  She met his gaze. “Then you can do it your way.”

  Dainen studied her, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t place.

  “…Two hours,” he relented.

  She nodded and leapt from the rooftop, vanishing into the smoke.

  Two hours later, Dainen stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching.

  The gates of Thal’Duun opened and a wounded but alive Lord Varik emerged, his soldiers laying down their weapons behind him.

  The battle was over. Alira had done it.

  Dainen should have felt relief. Instead, all he felt was frustration.

  She had spared them.

  She had let them go.

  They would rise again.

  And next time, they might not be so willing to talk.

  As Alira walked toward him, Dainen shook his head. “This won’t last.”

  Alira exhaled. “Maybe not. But it’s better than another pile of bodies.”

  Dainen turned away.

  Alira hesitated.

  “…You trust me, don’t you?” she asked. Dainen’s hands curled into fists. “I trust you with my life,” he said.

  “But I don’t trust them.”

  It was the last time they fought on the same side.

  The last time they stood together before Dainen walked into the darkness alone.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Lady!”

  “Do you need help?”

  Alira blinked, the memory burning out of her mind, in front of her was a Monster Guild Guard.

  “I am so sorry,” she bowed her head, “I was just caught up in the beauty of the Capital.”

  The guard, a head taller than Alira, just nodded, “It happens, easy to tell the people visiting for the first time. Make sure you stay away from outskirt, a lot of people looking to take advantage of someone like you.”

  Alira, bowed deeper, “Thank you, and I will heed your advice.”

  With that the guard turned and continued down the street.

  Alira cursed herself, she needed to keep her mind from wondering.

  She returned to her inn, deep in thought.

  Alira needed a contact. Someone who could help her get inside without raising suspicion.

  She ran through a list of names in her mind.

  Came up empty.

  The truth was—she had no one left.

  A flash of memory of two children standing in the ruins of their village.

  She had been smaller, but faster. He had been stronger, but uncontrolled.

  "You’re reckless!" she had yelled.

  He nearly got himself killed hunting for food.

  "And you’re weak," he had spat back.

  She had punched him so hard his nose bled.

  He had tackled her into the dirt so hard she saw stars.

  They had both come away with bruises.

  But that night, they had huddled together for warmth, because the world had taken everything from them—except each other.

  The only people she truly trusted now were at Dainen’s homestead.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line.

  "I really did isolate myself these last thirty years, didn’t I?" She muttered to herself.

  Alira sat on the edge of her cot, running a hand through her hair.

  She had once believed in diplomacy.

  In leaders.

  In justice.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She had spent centuries fighting for peace—only to watch good people rise to power and become everything they once stood against.

  She had seen it happen over and over.

  She had stood before countless Monarchs, countless Councils, countless Warlords—negotiating, persuading, trying to forge lasting peace.

  And every time…

  History repeated itself. She had hoped that Dainen wouldn’t be part of the repeating.

  She remembered the moment she realized she wasn’t enough to keep him grounded.

  They had been standing on opposite sides of a battlefield.

  She had been dressed in the white robes of a diplomat. Dainen had been dressed in warrior’s armor, his hands dripping with blood.

  "Stand down," she had begged.

  "Not this time," he had said.

  The battle had lasted days. Alira had fought against him, not to kill—but to stop him.

  She had lost. And when she had seen him, standing atop a hill, watching another city burn, she had turned away from him. For the first time in thousands of years, she had left without looking back.

  Centuries later, they found themselves on opposing sides once more.

  She stood with a coalition of independent villages fighting to remain free. He was The Hand of the Monarch, a sworn protector of the ruler.

  But this time, there was no battlefield, no throne room—only a dark alley. He was weary, broken, drowning in regret.

  "I don’t want to do this anymore," he whispered.

  "Then don’t," she said.

  He looked at her then—truly looked at her.

  "How do you live with it?" he asked.

  "You don’t," she admitted. "You just keep moving."

  The next day, he walked into the Monarch’s palace, resigned from his position, and left.

  No words to her.

  No explanation.

  He passed her like a stranger, faceless and unremarkable.

  And then, he was gone.

  He disappeared into the world, leaving war behind, leaving everything behind. And she let him go.

  The next time they met, Eli was standing beside her.

  Dainen embraced her without hesitation.

  A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away.

  Alira closed her eyes.

  She had come here for answers.

  And she was done hiding.

  Straightening her shoulders, she slung her satchel over one arm and stepped out of the shadows. No more sneaking. No more waiting.

  She walked through the city with purpose, her hood down, moving fluidly through the bustling streets.

  At the first guard post, two sentries stood at attention as she approached.

  "State your business," one said flatly.

  "I need access to the Temple of the Celestial Echoes."

  She held his gaze.

  He hesitated.

  Looked to his companion, who made no move to intervene.

  "Uh… you need… do you have clearance to be in there?" His voice wavered.

  Alira didn’t waver. With effortless poise, she nodded.

  "Of course."

  A moment of uncertainty. Then, awkwardly, he stepped aside.

  She passed without another word.

  At the second guard post, directly in front of the temple, a lone guard sat at a table, bored. He barely looked up.

  "Hand here." He held out a Mana Signature device.

  Alira placed her palm facedown. The device flickered—then turned green.

  The guard pressed a button, and the temple doors swung open.

  Alira didn’t wait for an invitation—she stepped inside.

  As she entered, she pulled up her hood.

  For the next several hours, she pored over book after book, text after text.

  Pages turned. Candles flickered. The scent of old parchment filled the air.

  She found references to Celestial Artifacts, but none related to Eli’s quest.

  Scholars came and went, their footsteps echoing through the vast chamber.

  Alira barely noticed them. She had no time for distractions.

  She was deep in a passage about a distinct Energy Artifact when the chair beside her scraped against the stone floor. A wiry man settled into the seat.

  "Alira the Grace." The man said in a nasally tone.

  The words rang through the quiet hall, drawing more attention than she would have liked. Around her, heads turned.

  She exhaled, just slightly—more annoyance than surprise.

  Without looking up, she muttered, "Sirian Vale."

  A warrior-scholar. A well-known Relic Seeker. And insufferably full of himself.

  Sirian waited, expecting more.

  When it became clear that Alira had no intention of humoring him, he leaned in slightly.

  "Looking for something specific?" Sirian asked. "I’ve been through these texts so many times, I could probably recite them from memory."

  Alira didn’t look up. "Been looking for a ring I lost a few hundred years ago. My grandmother gave it to me."

  Her voice was even, her focus never straying from the text she was scanning.

  Sirian was quiet for a beat. When he spoke again, the forced joviality was gone, replaced by the arrogance she remembered from their last encounter in the capital.

  "Hmm. Is that so."

  He leaned in slightly. "You know, Alira, plenty of people are after Celestial Artifacts. Just be careful you don’t cross the wrong path while you’re at it."

  She didn’t acknowledge the warning. Didn’t glance up. Instead, she pulled another document toward her and kept reading.

  A scrape of wood against stone—the chair beside her shifted as Sirian stood. A moment later, he was gone.

  Alira had lost track of time, but it felt like she had been buried in these texts for hours when she finally found something—two entries on an obscure document.

  It was the only place she had seen the name ‘The Nexus Star.’

  Beneath it, another mention: a journal she had never heard of ‘The Journal of the First Five’ noted to be stored in a temple in Stormspire, the capital of Draegonreach.

  Slowly, she pulled out her own journal and scribbled down the entries.

  Her pen lingered over ‘The Journal of the First Five.’

  Then, footsteps.

  Rapid. Pounding.

  Coming from the doors that led to the Monarch’s Domed Palace.

  Alira stuffed her journal into her satchel and stood.

  She slid the document into a scattered pile of pages, placing them in the return bin before stacking two books neatly on top.

  Then she turned—just as the doors swung open.

  Six guards entered. Not just any guards.

  The Hand of the Monarch.

  Elite Ruby-Tier soldiers. The Monarch’s personal guard.

  Alira’s muscles tensed.

  The guards halted in front of her, then stepped aside—parting like a blade being drawn from its sheath.

  Through the gap stepped a small, round man with ghost-pale skin and thick, bushy eyebrows. His embroidered robes bore the Monarch’s sigil, the gold thread catching the dim candlelight.

  Alira recognized him instantly.

  High Chamberlain Ressan Mirth.

  The Monarch’s unofficial spymaster. One of the most insufferably cunning men in the realm.

  His thin lips curled into a smile. His voice was smooth, unassuming.

  "Alira the Grace."

  The last word—"Grace"—rolled off his tongue as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  "High Chamberlain Ressan Mirth, you look taller than the last time we met. Did you finally get those boots with the extended soles?"

  Ressan’s normally ghost-pale face darkened several shades of red.

  He ignored the jab, his voice as smooth as ever.

  "The Monarch requests an audience."

  Alira’s smile didn’t falter. "Does he? Well, I was just about to go find him myself. Let’s go, lead the way, Ressan."

  She beamed, all exaggerated enthusiasm.

  Ressan turned on his heel and strode off, not bothering to wait for her or the guards.

  As she followed, she couldn’t help but glance down—he did have taller boots.

  She chuckled.

  The guards moved into formation around her. As they passed, Alira spotted a familiar face—one of the soldiers who had served alongside Dainen when he was part of The Hand.

  She tilted her head slightly. "Grafin, I see you’re still looking splendid in that armor. I hope your family is well."

  He didn’t speak. Didn’t react.

  Just a small, almost imperceptible nod.

  Alira didn’t push. She just smiled and walked as if she were on her way to visit an old friend.

  Alira stepped into the throne room.

  The usual air of magistracy was absent. The grand chamber, typically arranged for royal proceedings, had been altered—a long table pushed to the side, chairs scattered.

  At the far end of the room, she spotted the Monarch.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Men and women sat around him, some familiar, others unknown. Among them were a few elves—and, of course, Venya.

  Monarch of Arindral: Sovereign Elarion Vaedros looked older than when she had last seen him. Tired. Worn.

  But the moment his gaze landed on her, he stood. A grin spread across his face—equal parts relief and smugness.

  The rest of the room reacted in kind. Some scrambled to their feet, startled. A few knocked over their drinks.

  "Leave us," he said with a casual wave.

  Aside from Venya, the group hesitated. Some looked irritated. Others, stunned.

  One woman, instead of storming out like the rest, simply smiled and waved at Alira.

  Alira waved back.

  The Monarch gestured to the now-empty table.

  "Sit, Alira. It has been too long."

  Alira bowed—the proper protocol when meeting the Monarch in private.

  Elarion turned to Ressan. "Leave us."

  Ressan stiffened. "My sovereign, are you—" He caught himself, stopping short. He wouldn’t dare question the Monarch in front of others. Instead, he lowered his head.

  "As you wish."

  But Elarion had already turned away before Ressan even finished speaking.

  His gaze shifted to Venya. "Glad you stayed. Please, take a seat."

  Then, to Alira: "Do you need a drink? Some food? I hear you spent all day and night in the Temple of Celestial Echoes."

  It wasn’t a question. He knew.

  Alira had played these games before—with many rulers. Some more cunning, some more intelligent. But not by much, she had to admit.

  She had known Elarion before he was Monarch. Back then, he had been a scholar and a retired general, a man with no apparent ambition for the throne. When he accepted a seat on the council under the previous Monarch, even he had seemed surprised.

  She had been gone for years when word reached her—the Monarch had fallen ill. No healer could save him.

  And then, the next time she heard Elarion’s name, he had been sworn in as the second-youngest Monarch in Arindral’s history.

  They had worked together for a time, but they had never agreed on how to solve problems.

  So she left.

  Thirty-one years ago.

  "No, thank you. As you stated, I’ve had a long day, and I’m looking forward to a long shower," Alira said, settling into the chair.

  Though she made herself comfortable, her posture remained straight.

  She glanced at Venya and gave a small nod. "Venya. Pleased to see you again."

  Venya’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "Good to see you too. Glad it wasn’t another thirty years."

  Elarion took his usual seat at the head of the table, both women sitting one spot down on either side.

  He didn’t waste time.

  "Venya tells me you two crossed paths in Brightsvale. You were escorting a young man to be registered here in the capital." His tone was even, measured. "And we both know you’ve never registered anyone."

  It wasn’t a question.

  Alira arched a brow. "‘Crossed paths’? I’m not sure tracking me by my Mana Signature qualifies as that. But debating semantics won’t get us to the end of this conversation."

  She leaned back in her chair, perfectly at ease, as if this were nothing more than an afternoon chat among old friends.

  "The boy, as you called him, went his separate way. Decided big cities weren’t his thing."

  Venya chuckled. "Eli didn’t seem like the type to run from an experience like coming to Caelshold."

  Alira studied both of them for a long moment.

  “The last we spoke, the destination was Caelshold. Eli was quick to point out the attention that I bring upon myself and unfortunately whomever I am with, and so we separated.”."

  She let that settle before continuing. "But from what Venya told me, an unregistered young man in the capital seems like less of a concern than, say, Durnspire amassing a standing army that currently dwarfs ours."

  Ours.

  A deliberate word choice. A reminder of where her allegiance lay.

  Elarion didn’t miss it.

  "Ours?" He shifted slightly in his seat. "Glad to hear you still consider yourself on our side."

  Alira gave a smooth smile, playing into his words. "Of course."

  Silence hung between them for a moment.

  Then Elarion cleared his throat. "Venya told me what she shared with you—and your responses. I regret dismissing your warnings before. Turns out you had a better read on the world than I did."

  A rare admission.

  He exhaled, then met her gaze. "Have you seen anything new since the last time you and Venya spoke?"

  "As a matter of fact, I have."

  Both Venya and Elarion sat up slightly.

  "On my way here, I took the scenic route and came across a Mana Fluctuation forming."

  Venya’s eyes widened. "You saw it forming? Did you get a chance to study it?"

  Alira nodded. "I did. I ran a few tests and followed the mana flow to its source. There was Spiritual Affinity coming through—what seemed to be a hole, or a tear."

  She paused. "I didn’t get to examine it up close, though. Three Gold-Tier Monsters and a High-Tier Emerald manifested before I could."

  Elarion exhaled sharply. Venya leaned in, listening intently.

  "But," Alira continued, "I noticed something before they attacked. The Emerald-Tier had a third affinity."

  Venya frowned. "A third?"

  "Yes. It had Earth and Wind mana flowing around it, but… the energy was unstable, like it was trying to adhere to the creature’s structure. Elemental affinity exists here, but for it to attempt bonding to two conflicting affinities—that’s not normal."

  A beat of silence.

  Elarion sat back, absorbing this.

  Finally, he spoke.

  "This is valuable information. My scholars will want to see your findings—maybe it’ll help them refine their predictions about these… ‘issues.’"

  Then, in an uncharacteristic show of frustration, he ran a hand over his face.

  "And the Preserver and the Reformer?" His voice was quieter, heavier.

  "Any news? Any thoughts?"

  Alira nodded. "The more I thought about the barrier keeping everyone out—and the fact that they haven’t responded to any requests—I believe they’re in a joined meditation."

  She exhaled. "As for why? No idea. And certainly not why it’s lasted this long."

  Elarion nodded in turn. "That was our theory as well. Good to see we’re reaching the same conclusions."

  He studied her for a moment. "But do you think they’re affecting the mana flow around Caelum?"

  "I do," Alira admitted. "But I have no idea how or why."

  Venya tilted her head. "What about theories? You must have some."

  Alira gave a wry smile. "Of course. But nothing useful. And certainly nothing your scholars haven’t already considered."

  She shrugged, giving them a sign of frustration.

  "I was hoping to have more answers—that’s why I spent so much time in the Temple of Celestial Echoes. I was searching for anything that might connect their meditation to the mana fluctuations."

  A pause.

  "And?" Elarion prompted.

  Alira sighed. "Nothing. I found plenty of fascinating artifact records—enough to bore an entire room—but nothing relevant to our current problem."

  Elarion, ever perceptive, shifted his gaze. "And what about your current problem?"

  Alira smirked at Elarion. "I’m sorry, Elarion, but I haven’t played the political game in a long time. So as much as you might want to believe I’m on some super-secret mission, I’m not. I’m just trying to keep civilians from bearing the brunt of our inaction."

  She saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes—the way he caught the word ‘our’ again.

  But this time, he didn’t comment on it.

  Instead, he let the weight of responsibility settle onto both their shoulders.

  Alira knew why. For all his power and skill, Elarion didn’t want to be the one blamed for innocent lives lost.

  Venya, however, seemed unfazed by the subtle shift.

  She leaned forward. "If you can give me the location of the monsters, I’ll send a Monster Guild unit to dispatch them."

  Alira waved a hand dismissively. "No need. I handled it."

  Her tone was light, as if it had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

  Elarion and Venya exchanged a look before turning back to her, eyes wide.

  "You defeated all four?" Venya asked, disbelief clear in her voice.

  "And they manifested right on top of you?"

  "Well, they weren’t right on top of me," Alira corrected.

  "The Gold-Tiers were about six meters away, and the Emerald… maybe twelve or fifteen. Hard to say. I was still following the mana flow when they attacked, trying to decipher the source."

  She exhaled, a tinge of frustration slipping through. "Shame I couldn’t."

  Venya stared, mouth slightly agape.

  Elarion shook his head with a small, genuine smile. "Alira, you never cease to amaze me."

  For once, the flattery sounded sincere.

  Then, with a sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood. "I have to prepare for a meeting with the Verdalith diplomats. Everyone always wants something."

  He turned to Alira, meeting her gaze. "It was a pleasure. Please don’t let it be another thirty years before we speak again."

  With that, he strode toward the side entrance, where his guards were already waiting. The door closed behind him, leaving only Venya and Alira.

  For a long moment, Venya remained still, staring at the door.

  Alira folded her arms, eyeing her. "Your tracking crystal was cute."

  Venya smirked and shrugged. "Can’t blame me for trying. Once my men scared that poor family to death, I figured I’d see you again when you wanted me to." She turned back to Alira. "And here you are."

  Then, a slight frown. "Shame about Eli. He seemed like a good kid."

  Alira nodded, the lie easy, practiced. "He is a good kid. I hope he finds his way."

  Venya studied her for half a second longer than Alira liked.

  But then Alira smiled, turning toward the exit. "It was great to see you, Venya. And thanks again for getting us on the airship."

  She didn’t wait for a reply.

  By the time Venya’s people realized she was gone, she had already lost the two shadows following her.

  Now alone in her quarters, she sat in silence, mind turning over the next steps.

  It was about to get dangerous.

  Hopefully, Eli has made some headway with his training.