Alystren exhaled with relief.
Then his eyes widened—Northern had struck the man. The realization landed a beat too late.
He looked at Northern sternly.
Northern hadn’t dropped the elf yet. His grip remained firm around the man’s throat, his feet dangling uselessly over the dark water.
"Rian, what are you doing?"
Northern’s head shifted slightly, his gaze cool and asuring.
"Matter of fact, I should be asking you that. What are you doing? Why are you so far from ho?"
Alystren exhaled and scratched the back of his neck, closing his eyes for a mont. Casual. Too casual.
"Don’t tell you’re suspecting right now?"
"Tell why I shouldn’t." Northern’s voice was flat. "I’m following my mother’s trail, and I just happen to et you and this elf..." He paused, letting the implication hang. "For all I know, you could be in cahoots with the followers of Vitan. You’ve always been suspicious, after all."
’And coincidences like this don’t exist.’
"Ouch, Rian. But that’s understandable." Alystren held up his hands. "First—drop that man and let tend to him. He’s one of the attackers from the war at Drywall who tried to steal the Edrien Core. Right now, he was leading to a certain... esteed individual in Stuart. Soone who’s currently in this world. This whole thing is rely a coincidence."
Northern narrowed his eyes.
’Sure it is.’
"Or you could be lying."
His grip didn’t loosen.
"What’s the Edrien Core?"
Alystren fell silent. He hesitated, shifting his weight.
"Uhm... I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that."
Northern glanced at him coldly, then brought his attention back to the elf still dangling in his grip. The man’s face was turning an interesting shade of purple.
"Fine. Where is my mother? What do you two have to do with the battle that happened in the woods?"
He examined the elf’s body with clinical detachnt. Aside from the arrow wound he’d inflicted—still bleeding sluggishly—the elf bore no other injuries. No defensive wounds, no signs of a prolonged fight.
"Aside from the point I stabbed you, you don’t seem injured."
Northern’s eyes flicked back to Alystren.
"So were you the ones who injured soone? Did you injure my mother?"
Alystren’s face twisted with genuine surprise—or a very good imitation of it.
"Stars! No! What?" The words tumbled out. "Injure your mother? An elven royalty? No one would dare!"
"So what are you doing here?"
"Please, Rian."
Alystren’s voice took on an edge of desperation.
"That’s the only lead I have on that man."
Northern tightened his grip on the elf’s throat. The elf made a strangled sound, fingers scrabbling weakly at Northern’s wrist. Pointless, really.
"Sounds to like you need to start talking. Quickly."
He tilted his head.
"What man?"
Alystren stood there for a mont, clearly weighing his options. None of them good, probably.
He finally exhaled.
"They call him the Peacemaker."
The words ca faster now.
"Think of him as... an elder counselor in a kingdom. But he’s not just that—he’s a sword for the powerful, and a high-ranking mber among the followers of Vitan."
Alystren’s expression darkened.
"The Peacemaker has orchestrated hundreds of bloodline rgings, trying to combine probabilities and bring Vitan back. Your mother was the last piece of his puzzle."
Northern’s jaw tightened.
"If anyone knows where she is, it has to be the Peacemaker. And right now?" Alystren gestured at the choking elf. "You’re killing my only lead to him."
Northern was silent for a mont.
’Hundreds of bloodlines. The last piece.’
His mother, reduced to a puzzle piece in so madman’s ga.
He released his grip.
The elf fell into the water with a heavy splash, disappearing beneath the dark surface. Northern shifted, reality bending around him, and materialized directly in front of Alystren. The older man staggered back, eyes wide with shock.
"If I find out any of your information is misleading..."
Northern’s voice dropped, cold and precise.
"I will kill you. And I will make sure you suffer quite sufficiently while I do."
Alystren gulped. But he held Northern’s gaze—straight, serious, unflinching despite the fear.
"I’m not lying to you." His voice was steady. "I’d be rather stupid to do so."
He would be. Alystren had seen Northern’s strength firsthand. Had taken a front-row seat to his explosive growth during the rift raid with Lieutenant Dante. The man knew better than to test him.
Northern moved aside, watching as Alystren rushed past him toward the water. The scholar dropped to his knees at the edge, reaching down to haul the sputtering elf back to the surface.
’If this is a lie, he won’t get a second chance to explain.’
Northern folded his arms and waited.
Alystren bent down beside the elf, water pooling around his knees. His hands moved with practiced precision, his soul weave talent manifesting as luminous strands that stitched the sword wound closed. The bleeding stopped within monts, the ragged flesh knitting together with a faint hum of essence.
Afterwards, they approached Northern together. The elf looked decidedly worse for wear—pale, waterlogged, and sporting a fresh scar across his ribs. Alystren looked nervous.
Northern glanced around the cavern, taking in the scattered debris and claw marks scoring the stone walls. When his gaze returned to them, he asked:
"How did you two end up here anyway?"
"We encountered so complications—"
Alystren paused mid-sentence as Northern’s dark gaze settled on him. Heavy.
He cleared his throat and restructured his words.
"I ant to say—we got this far using the underground channel."
He spoke faster now, clearly aware of Northern’s limited patience.
"We t so followers of Vitan at the point where we ca out of the tunnel. Since we couldn’t afford them knowing about the tunnel’s location, we had to kill them."
Northern’s expression didn’t change.
"But for so reason, they prioritized running."
Alystren frowned, clearly still puzzled by it.
"Now that you ntion it... I think their priority might have been your mother. They ran, we chased, and ended up following them to this place."
He gestured vaguely at the cavern around them.
"Before we encountered a really dangerous monster and had to lure it to a favorable position to fight it. Hence how we found this place."
Northern looked at Alystren keenly. The tiline lined up—barely. The followers fleeing toward the woods, the battle, his mother’s trail going cold.
’So the dead elf wasn’t with them.’
It was a statent, not a question. Another piece that didn’t quite fit.
Alystren sighed, scratching the back of his head. The nervous gesture again.
"And..." He laughed—a weak, shaless sound. "Since you’re here anyways, you could help us defeat the monster, right?"
Northern gave him a deaning look.
"It’s dead already."
Alystren’s laugh continued for a beat—then stopped abruptly. His expression shifted from nervous amusent to disbelief.
"Wait, what?"
He stared at Northern.
"That monster is a Devilish Destroyer. There’s no way..."
His voice trailed off. The cavern suddenly felt very quiet.
"It’s dead already,"
Northern repeated, his tone flat. Matter-of-fact. As if he were comnting on the weather.
"My subordinate killed it."
Alystren’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Your... subordinate?"
The word ca out strangled. Northern could practically see the man’s mind racing, trying to reconcile the impossibility of what he’d just heard. A Devilish Destroyer—the kind that required teams of veteran Drifters to bring down—killed by soone Northern considered a subordinate.
Northern said nothing. Sotis silence communicated more than words ever could.
The elf beside Alystren had gone very still, his earlier bravado completely evaporated.
"Right."
Alystren’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat again.
"Of course. Your subordinate. Naturally."
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