Arden followed the masked figure out of sight of Greyhold’s walls.
They cut across the quiet field until the man slowed and finally stopped near a cluster of trees.
"This place will do," the man said.
Arden’s gaze swept the area. His senses reached outward, and no signs of life energy stirred nearby. He gave a small nod. "Yeah. No one’s around."
The man turned and lifted his hands to his mask. "I don’t wear this to hide from you. It’s for the eyes that might have seen interfere tonight. Luckily, they didn’t."
The mask slipped away. Arden wasn’t surprised.
The Lord of Greyhold t his gaze calmly.
"I thought so," Arden said.
The Lord allowed himself a faint smile. "I knew you’d guess. But I wanted to say it with my own face." His tone carried that quiet strength of command, but softened with a humility few leaders showed. "First, let thank you. I’ve had no proper chance until now. For the supply route, and for shouldering what should have been our burden. You saved Greyhold’s spine that day, and I regret you never received the praise you deserved. The Creed has twisted the people against you, and that fault rests with ."
Arden shifted his weight, his reply casual. "Thanks or not, I didn’t do it for applause. And the people? They’ll believe whatever’s whispered the loudest. Not your fault."
The Lord studied him for a mont, then sighed. "Perhaps. But it doesn’t change that your na bears their anger, not mine. No one saw end that hybrid tonight. That ans the bla will fall on you again. I can only ask this of you once more. Carry it, Arden."
Arden smirked faintly. "I’ve been their thorn for a while now. One more won’t make much difference."
The Lord inclined his head, respect in the gesture. "Even so, I owe you more than words. My hands are tied. If I move too openly, the Creed’s roots will sense it. They’ve buried themselves deep into Greyhold.
I failed to cut them out when I should have. Now... every face could be a mask. Every ally could be a traitor."
He paused, his voice steady but heavy. "I know how much they want this town. But I can’t strike blindly. If I do, it’s the citizens who will pay. That’s why I need you. You’re the only one I can trust to move freely, unseen by their expectations. I’ll support you from the shadows, but the blade must be yours."
Arden nodded slowly. "I’ll do what I can. It’s not like I can walk away from this now."
"Good." The Lord’s expression softened, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Then be cautious. Their patience runs thin, and desperation makes them reckless. Stay alive, Arden. And one more thing—" He hesitated, and for the first ti his tone carried sothing personal. "Protect my daughter. No matter what cos, that’s what I ask of you."
With that, he slid the mask back on. His presence seed to fold back into the dark as he turned and walked away.
Arden stood there a mont, breathing deep, the weight of the conversation settling in. Then he headed back toward Greyhold. His party would be restless by now.
He wasn’t wrong. When he stepped into the inn, Rael nearly shot out of his chair.
"Took your ti, didn’t you?"
Nyra crossed her arms. "Where were you?"
Zephyra’s low rumble joined them, smoke slipping between her teeth as if echoing the question.
Arden raised his hands lightly. "Easy. I’m here, aren’t I?" He let them grumble before cutting in. "I ran into a hybrid outside the town. Fire and wind affinity. Dangerous one. Took so effort, but it’s dealt with."
Rael whistled. "That explains why you vanished."
Nyra leaned forward. "And?"
Arden’s face grew serious. "And it proves what I’ve been saying. The Creed has more planted here than we thought. They’re digging deep, hiding in places we can’t see yet. The only way the upper side can act is if we uncover the traitors. Until then, the Creed’s steps will always be ahead of us."
Nyra’s lips tightened. "So we investigate. All of us."
Arden gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do this alone."
That answer seed to ease them, though Rael still muttered sothing about Arden’s habit of running off.
For a mont, the air lightened as they fell into their usual banter.
But the weight behind Arden’s words lingered. They all knew it.
Far across town, another room was filled with anger of a different kind.
The Creed agent slamd his hand against the table, his voice sharp. "That damn boy again! He can’t stay still for a day!"
Servants froze at his outburst, not daring to speak.
He paced, muttering curses. "Even a prototype wasn’t enough. That beast should have torn him apart, but no, he’s still breathing." His tone dripped venom.
One lackey dared to whisper, "Maybe he had help, sir. A high-ranking one..."
The man’s laughter cracked like a whip. "Help? Hah! No one would dare. Not when I hold their throats in my hand. Whoever risked it will regret it."
His laughter slowed, fading into a cold smile. "But no matter. That was just a prototype. A distraction." He leaned closer, eyes glinting. "Let’s see how Greyhold reacts when they face the real deal."
Back at the inn, Arden sat with his party, his gaze distant though he wore a calm face.
His mind replayed the Lord’s words, and the shadow of what was to co lood heavier than ever. But he didn’t speak of it.
For now, he let the warmth of his companions’ voices carry through the night.
Tomorrow, the hunt for the traitors would begin.
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