The relentless rhythm of the road finally broke.

  ?After weeks of trekking through ancient forests and choking dust, the path opened wide, revealing their destination.

  ?Oryndel.

  ?Aelira stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath hitched, her silver eyes widening as they drank in a sight she had thought impossible in the cold North.

  ?It wasn't like anything she had ever seen.

  ?Spread out across rolling green plains, the city didn't look built; it looked grown. There were no towering stone walls to shut out the world, no oppressive gray blocks blotting out the sky. Instead, elegant houses with terracotta roofs were scattered like jewels across a mosaic of emerald gardens. Vibrant blooms—deep violets, sunny yellows, burning reds—spilled from every window box, climbed every trellis, and lined every cobblestone street.

  ?It held none of the freezing, gray austerity of Isenvale.

  It lacked the suffocating, noisy pageantry of the Capital.

  It bore no trace of the desperate grime and mud of Kirsk.

  ?Here, the air tasted sweet—like nectar and sun-warmed earth. It was a city where beauty met peace.

  ?So this is where she came from...

  ?Aelira felt a sharp pang in her chest. The city felt warm, gentle, and welcoming. Just like the woman she was looking for.

  ?Just like Lassy.

  ?A face she could no longer picture clearly, yet could never forget, lingered in the back of her mind. But what will I say if I find her? Is it right to disturb a life she rebuilt after leaving us six years ago?

  ?She didn't know. But she couldn't leave herself in the shadow of "what if" any longer.

  ?“So this is Oryndel…” Zaek murmured, breaking her trance. “The Secret Ruby of Isen.”

  ?“A Ruby?” Aelira asked, turning to him. “Is it because of the beauty?”

  ?Zaek snorted softly, his eyes scanning the vibrant red flowers lining the path. “Maybe. But I doubt you stiff-necked Northerners would name something a ‘Ruby’ just because it looks pretty. Rubies are valuable, kid. And usually... they come with a steep price.”

  ?Aelira wanted to argue, to defend the honor of the city, but something whispered that he was right. The Viremonts didn't value beauty without utility. Wondering what that "price" could be, she turned back to the gates.

  ?Inside, Oryndel was a sensory overload.

  ?Cobblestone paths wound through lush greenery, accompanied by the heavy, sweet scent of pollen. Small stone bridges arched over crystal-clear canals, where the gentle murmur of water acted as the city's heartbeat.

  ?It was a paradise. But amidst the light, a shadow curled in Aelira’s chest.

  ?Children her age sprinted past them, their knees stained with grass, their laughter unguarded and weightless. They looked so... free. The vendors called out from their stalls with a warmth that felt foreign, almost blinding.

  ?Everything here was alive. And Aelira?

  ?She felt like a drop of ink in a glass of clear water.

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  ?Even though she was miles away from the crushing stone walls of her home, the heavy, frigid air of the Viremonts hadn't been left behind. It clung to her skin like frost that refused to melt, casting a long, gray shadow over the vibrant colors of Oryndel.

  ?I don’t fit here, the realization settled in her chest like a stone.

  ?"Hey."

  ?Zaek’s voice cut through the haze. He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes sharp and unforgiving.

  ?"...You dropped it."

  ?"?"

  ?"The All-time Coverage. You forgot about it the moment you saw a pretty flower, didn't you?"

  ?Aelira flinched. The scenery, the noise, her own internal conflict—it had all distracted her. "Sorry."

  ?She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, refocusing. The thin, invisible veil of mana wrapped around her once more.

  ?"That's better. Don't let your guard down just because the air smells nice," Zaek warned. "Now, first things first. We need to find the Warden’s office and secure a commission."

  ?“Sensei... before that...” Her voice was a mere whisper. She stopped walking.

  ?“Hmm?” Zaek stopped and turned fully to face her. “What is it now?”

  ?Aelira gripped her sleeves, her gaze fixed on the cobblestones. “I... I want to look for someone.”

  ?Zaek raised an eyebrow. The girl who lived in a mansion like a prisoner, who claimed she had zero friends... who could she possibly know here?

  ?“Okay,” he said slowly. “Who is this person? Do you have an address?”

  ?“It’s...” Aelira hesitated. The name felt heavy, a ghost she hadn't dared to summon aloud for years. “It’s Lassandra.”

  ?Zaek froze.

  ?The name hit him with the weight of a forgotten memory. Lassandra. The maid. The one who vanished the night Aelira won the duel. His eyes narrowed slightly. So that’s why she chose Oryndel.

  ?“Lassandra?” he repeated. “Your old nanny?”

  ?“Yes. They said... they said she came back here.” Aelira looked up, her silver eyes shimmering with a desperate, fragile hope. “I want to find her, Sensei.”

  ?A short, tense silence wrapped around them. Zaek stared at her for a long moment, then sighed, scratching the back of his head.

  ?“Well, our goal hasn't changed much then.”

  ?“Eh?”

  ?“If anyone knows who enters or leaves this city, or who lives where... it’s the Warden. We’ll go to his office. We need a commission anyway, and he’s the one who handles the initial reports. We’ll kill two birds with one stone: get a job, and ask about your girl.”

  ?He grinned down at her. “Happy now?”

  ?Aelira’s chest swelled with relief. She nodded, a silent, grateful agreement.

  ?As they followed the main thoroughfare, the architecture sobered up. The whimsical gardens didn't disappear, but they became tamer, more orderly. Finally, they stood before the Warden’s office.

  ?It was a sturdy, single-story structure built from dark timber and river stone. It fit Oryndel's aesthetic, yet stood apart—there were no flower boxes here. No climbing ivy. Just clean lines and solid oak. It looked less like a military base and more like a frontier outpost.

  ?Two guards stood by the heavy front doors. They weren't rigid statues; they leaned casually against the wooden pillars, though their eyes were sharp, scanning the street.

  ?“Halt. State your business.”

  ?The guards stepped forward, crossing their halberds.

  ?Zaek didn't break stride. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a small, glimmering object.

  ?The effect was instantaneous.

  ?The guards froze. Their eyes widened, color draining from their faces as they recognized the symbol. They scrambled back, snapping into a hasty, trembling salute.

  ?“T-the Hero? W-we are deeply sorry, my lord! Please, enter!”

  ?Aelira blinked, bewildered as they walked past the bowing men. “What did you do?” she whispered.

  ?Zaek tossed the object in the air and caught it. It was a medallion of deep, emerald jade, carved with the Evarard crest—a gust of wind circling a mountain.

  ?“This? Proof of identity. A Hero’s Insignia.”

  ?Aelira stared at it. “I didn't know you had something like that... Why didn't you show me before?”

  ?Zaek shrugged, pocketing the jade with casual indifference. “What good would it do you? It’s just a rock for procedure.”

  ?Aelira pouted, but Zaek was already striding across the porch. He knocked. Thud. Thud.

  ?“Come in.”

  ?The voice from inside was weak. Thin. Like a piece of old parchment being torn.

  ?They pushed the door open.

  ?What awaited them wasn't a military command center. It was a disaster zone.

  ?The room was consumed by a blizzard of parchment. Stacks of documents teetered like unstable towers on every surface—shelves, chairs, even the floor. The air smelled of stale ink and pure, unadulterated stress. In the corner, a row of cages housed messenger birds that flapped their wings agitatedly, sending small feathers drifting onto the piles of work.

  ?Buried behind a fortress of scrolls and ledgers sat a desk. And behind that desk sat a man.

  ?He was scribbling furiously, his quill scratching against the paper with a manic rhythm. His hair was a disheveled nest, and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles deep enough to hold water. He didn't even look up. He was filling out documents as if the ink were draining his very soul.

  ?So this is a Warden... Aelira thought, stunned. He looks more like a prisoner of his own desk.