The ’tasting room’ was nothing like the shop outside.
Where the front had warmth and oak and the soft charm of a wine enthusiast, this room was deliberate.
Clean stone walls, maps pinned beneath glass at several locations, and piles of letters stacked on top of a nearby shelf.
"Please," the curator said, gesturing for Ryn to sit. "Make yourself at ho."
Ryn lowered himself into the seat. The curator poured another asure of the chilled white wine, its surface catching the dim light.
"Now," the man said, settling opposite him.
"I assu you want information on beast movents."
He tapped a finger on the table.
"First," he continued, "these are the two most prominent rchants operating out of Deimos."
Ryn leaned in, reading the nas.
Haywood took another asured sip of wine.
"From their ledgers, we’ve uncovered sothing... unusual."
He tapped the parchnt with a fingertip.
"A suspiciously large quantity of raw at has been delivered to the area. Far more than any butcher, tavern, or caravan has need for."
Ryn’s brow tightened.
"And more disturbing," Haywood added, "there are additional buy orders lined up. Large ones. All under vague, hastily-made contracts."
He let the implication hang, fully aware Ryn understood what it ant.
"Second," Haywood said, lowering his voice,
"We’ve received a report that was... difficult to verify. And frankly, I did not believe it at first."
He reached beneath the table and produced a thin slip sealed in black wax.
"This ca from one of our scouts stationed near the mountainside."
The curator sighed, pinching his temples, "They said they heard music coming from sowhere...a flute."
Ryn nodded, familiar story resurfacing in his head.
The Flute of Echoes.
A relic born from tragedy.
He rembered the tale—how a mute prince fell in love with a cursed witch, the only one who could hear the words he could never speak.
How she carved him a flute, weaving his unspoken emotions into its wood so he could "speak" through music.
And how it all went wrong.
When the kingdom persecuted the witch, dragging her away in irons, the prince went mad. Using the flute, he destroyed the kingdom, swarming it with monsters.
By dawn, the kingdom that had taken her from him no longer existed.
That was the story. Short, simple, and soaked in tragedy.
And now—
Soone was playing it again. Using tragedy for their own selfish gain.
Ryn wasn’t one to care too much about old stories...but so were carved deep enough that ignoring them felt like disrespect.
And this one wasn’t just a story anymore.
Haywood watched Ryn’s expression sharpen, then slid a second parchnt across the table.
"And now," he said quietly, "the last piece."
He didn’t imdiately explain.
"Consider this one...a favor."
That alone made Ryn tense.
"We’ve had... visitors," Haywood continued. "A number of them. Too many to be a coincidence."
The curator’s fingers tapped the parchnt once.
"But all of them were looking for the sa person."
Ryn’s voice was barely above a whisper.
"...Who?"
Haywood t his gaze evenly.
"Alia Grandal."
Ryn’s stomach dropped.
The curator continued, his tone almost apologetic:
"They asked about nothing else, not even about you. Their stories contradicted themselves. One even described her hair wrong."
A quiet beat.
"aning they’ve never seen her. Only that they need to find her." Ryn muttered.
"...But why?"
Haywood’s words lingered in the quiet tasting room, weaving themselves through the other fragnts Ryn had gathered: the suspicious at shipnts, the missing scouts, the hollow music drifting from the mountains... and now, strangers asking for Alia by na.
Piece by piece, the picture sharpened, settling into sothing far more deliberate than a simple monster wave.
They weren’t building a wave for destruction. They were building a cover.
A wave big enough to swallow Dumos’ defenses, chaotic enough so that casualties were unavoidable, and everyone would just think of it as a ’tragedy’.
Everything snapped into place, and Ryn went still.
A quiet, sinking certainty followed.
Ryn rose from his seat, the legs of the chair barely whispering against the floor. Haywood watched him carefully, as if asuring the change in his composure.
"Is that enough information for you, Sir Arctis?" the curator asked.
Ryn adjusted his cloak, forcing his breathing into an even rhythm.
"More than enough," he said. His voice sounded steady, even to his own ears. "You’ve been... remarkably thorough."
Haywood offered a small nod. "We do our best to stay ahead of trouble."
Ryn paused at the doorway.
"If anything changes, send word imdiately."
Haywood nodded. "You expect it to?"
Ryn’s jaw tightened.
"I’m certain of it."
***
He reached the Baron’s estate in minutes.
The guards at the gate barely had ti to straighten before he was already through.
"Sir Arctis—!"
"Later," Ryn said, not slowing.
He pushed through the front hall, scanning every face, every doorway. Servants flinched at the look in his eyes. He ignored all of them, turning corners sharply, moving like soone who had already rehearsed exactly how terrible the worst outco would be.
Where—?
Ryn reached the guest wing, shoving open a side door.
Empty.
His hands tightened.
Alia. Please—
Then, voices.
Ryn exhaled sharply and followed the sound.
He found Alia standing in a sunlit alcove near the inner courtyard, speaking with Ardan. Her stance was composed but serious.
Ryn stepped forward, forcing his expression into sothing neutral.
"Alia."
She turned, surprised at the urgency in his voice.
"Ryn? You’re back already?"
He didn’t waste ti.
The mont Alia stepped toward him, he reached out—gently, but firmly—taking her wrist.
"Walk with ,"
Alia blinked, startled.
"Ryn? What—"
He didn’t answer, already steering her away from Ardan and the courtyard. His steps were asured, controlled only by habit. Inside, the urgency gnawed at him like a blade digging between ribs.
Going down a quiet hall, Ryn pulled her into one of the unused gallery corridors the estate kept shuttered in winter. Only when they were fully alone did he stop.
He let go of her wrist, exhaling once to steady himself.
Alia looked at him closely now, searching his face.
"...What happened?"
Ryn didn’t trust the whole truth out loud—not here, not where walls could have ears.
But he t her eyes, and the worry behind them made sothing twist tighter in his chest.
"The monster wave, it’s a ploy. The real objective is you."
"So that pebble that you heard—"
Ryn nodded.
Alia swallowed, steadying herself.
"What do we do then? We can’t just hide in the estate?"
Ryn shook his head imdiately. Thinking over to the Hellhound incident and the fla ring.
"Soone already tried to isolate you once. They won’t stop because you stay indoors."
Her eyes tightened. "Then what?"
Ryn hesitated only a mont, weighing every variable, every fragnt of intel Haywood had given him.
"They don’t know your face," he said quietly.
"They’re searching by na, not appearance. Which ans—they’re guessing."
Alia frowned. "And?"
"We can play into that."
Understanding flickered across her expression.
"A decoy."
Ryn nodded. "Soone who looks close enough to you from a distance. Sa height. Sa hair. Sa way of standing."
Alia drew a slow breath.
"Alright... but even if we find soone, how do we handle the monster wave at the sa ti? We can’t split our attention. If we’re defending and soone’s pretending to be —"
"We won’t split," Ryn cut in, voice steady. "The decoy won’t be anywhere near the front lines. She’ll stay with a guard detail inside the city."
Alia’s brows knit. "So she just... stands there?"
"Yes," Ryn said. "She only needs to be visible. Just enough for anyone watching from afar to think they’ve found you. anwhile—"
"We fight under an alias, a fake identity," Alia finished quietly.
Ryn t her eyes. "Exactly. No one will associate you with the decoy if you’re using an alias on the battlefield. And no one will expect us to counterattack while they’re focused on the wrong target."
Alia hesitated, worry flickering through her expression. "You’re sure we can manage both—keeping her safe and defending the town?"
Ryn t her gaze firmly.
"We have to. If we let their plan unfold the way they want..."
Alia got the ssage, exhaling slowly.
"Then let’s find her."
Ryn didn’t say it aloud, but only one thought ran through his head:
The next move had to be theirs.
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