Chapter 94: Return to New York
The journey back to New York was calm, yet a quiet tension settled over the group. After enduring the Trials of Strength, Survival, and Heart, Arixa had found some answers about her past, but many pieces of the puzzle were still missing. The truth about her parents' fate remained uncertain, and that uncertainty gnawed at her.
She sat at the front of their caravan, absentmindedly flipping the emblem of her family over in her hands. The metal had warmed from her touch, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings in search of meaning hidden within its grooves.
Thalron, riding beside her, glanced at the emblem before giving her a knowing look. “That design… it’s old. Not just beastfolk craftsmanship—there are elven elements woven into it.”
Arixa frowned. “So?”
Thalron smirked. “So, your story might be more complicated than just your parents. You could be tied to something bigger.”
Arixa scoffed. “Great. More complications.” She tucked the emblem away and stretched. “I liked it better when I just had to hit things.”
Behind them, Marcus and Vira walked side by side, listening in.
“She seems… more at ease than I expected,” Vira murmured.
Marcus nodded. “She’s still figuring it out. She’ll deal with it when she’s ready.”
Vira smirked. “Sounds familiar.”
Marcus rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, the towering walls of New York came into view. And immediately, they could tell—the city had changed.
The moment they passed through the gates, it was obvious: New York had grown.
The walls, which had been battered during the war with Xenor, were now fully rebuilt—not just repaired, but reinforced with stronger materials. Watchtowers lined the perimeter, trained warriors patrolled the roads, and the city bustled with new faces.
Marcus immediately noticed the shift. Merchants, mercenaries, and adventurers had flooded into New York, drawn by its promise as a rising stronghold. The economy was booming, but there was something else—a tension in the air.
He recognized several individuals wearing the insignia of the Adventurer’s Guild. Their presence wasn’t a surprise—after all, Boruk had been officially appointed as Guildmaster of New York. However, the fact that the Guild was this established in the city meant that things had been moving quickly in their absence.
Then there was the other group.
Near the marketplace, a cluster of robed figures stood in perfect formation. Their attire bore the unmistakable crest of the Church of Illidum.
Thalron narrowed his eyes. “The Church is here?”
Vira groaned. “That’s never a good sign.”
Before they could investigate further, a familiar goblin came sprinting toward them, cloak flapping wildly.
“You’re back—finally! Things have been… complicated.” Grek wheezed, catching his breath.
Marcus sighed. “Of course they have. What now?”
Grek wasted no time filling them in.
The Church of Illidum had sent representatives, claiming they sought to offer “spiritual guidance” to the growing city. In reality, their true intentions were still unknown.
A group of elven elites from the Elven Empire of Nireen had arrived, demanding to speak with the highest-ranking elven noble. The problem? New York doesn’t have any elven nobility.
The Adventurer’s Guild had been expanding, with Boruk leading as Guildmaster. While the Guild remained neutral, Fillia had sent a message advising caution regarding how they handled political matters.
Thalron rubbed his temple. “The Elven Empire wouldn’t bother with this place unless they wanted something.”
Grek nodded. “That’s my guess too. And the Church? They’re patient, but once they get their foot in the door, they never leave.”
Marcus clenched his jaw. New York had become a battlefield—just not the kind he was used to.
The group headed to the war room, where Boruk, Yara, and other city leaders were already in discussion.
Tensions ran high as arguments flew back and forth.
Some wanted to expand the city’s influence, believing alliances were necessary.
Others warned that too much attention would eventually attract powerful enemies who saw New York as a threat.
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Boruk, as Guildmaster, remained neutral, stating the Guild’s priority was keeping adventurers safe and ensuring the city thrived economically.
Miran, the once Chieftain now, "Prime minister" spoke bluntly: “The Church is dangerous, but their healing magic is unmatched. The question is, can we afford to refuse them?”
Yara was immediately on edge. “The Church doesn’t just set up temples—they take control. They offer help, but at a price, that most can never pay back.”
Marcus crossed his arms. This wasn’t just about New York anymore—this was about keeping their independence.
Before a decision could be reached, two messengers entered the chamber.
The first messenger was from the Church of Illidum.
“The Elven Empire of Nireen has declared that the Church must have a presence in this city. If this request is denied, economic sanctions may be placed on New York.”
Marcus smirked. “That’s cute.”
Before the Church’s envoy could say another word, the second messenger, wearing the Xenor Adventurer’s Guild insignia, stepped forward.
“The Guild remains neutral, but Master Fillia has advised caution. She understands how… persistent the Elven Empire can be, she also understands New York doesn't have an elven nobility and strongly advises that Thalron lead negotiations.”
Marcus and Thalron exchanged a look.
“They’re not working together,” Thalron muttered. “My mother is just trying to keep things peaceful.”
Miran smirked, "Well you and your friends have some decisions to make, but I'd advise you make them quickly, the elves don't like to be ignored."
Marcus took a deep breath. “We don’t bow to anyone. But Thalron—you should meet with them.”
Vira frowned. “Marcus—”
“We’re not accepting their demands,” Marcus clarified. “But we need to know what they’re planning. And if we outright refuse, they’ll make things difficult for us.”
Thalron sighed, nodding. “Fine. I’ll handle the meeting.”
Miran smirked. “This should be fun. Let’s see how well you negotiate, Shift-Lord.”
The meeting chamber was a stark contrast to the bustling streets outside. It was a room of stone and authority, dimly lit by tall candles flickering in their iron sconces. The air was thick with a tension that no one acknowledged directly, but it settled over the gathering like an unspoken storm.
At the center of the polished obsidian table, a map of New York had been carefully placed, its edges weighed down by ornate markers—symbolizing the key factions vying for control over the city’s future.
The elven delegation sat with the practiced elegance of rulers accustomed to power. Draped in fine, silver-threaded robes, they moved with the grace of beings who believed themselves untouchable, their expressions a mask of polite detachment. Their skin gleamed like polished marble, their long ears adorned with delicate chains of platinum. Every movement, every glance was deliberate—a quiet, refined display of superiority.
At the head of their delegation was Lord Cylian Vaelis of House Vaelis, a high-ranking noble from the Elven Empire of Nireen. He was a man with razor-sharp cheekbones and piercing, ice-blue eyes, eyes that flicked over Thalron as if he were barely worth registering.
To his right sat Lady Elionne Maevren, her presence no less imposing despite her soft, almost lazy smile. Her fingers played idly with the stem of a crystal goblet, filled with a deep, honeyed wine that she had requested upon arrival. She had not spoken much since entering the chamber, but the weight of her silent judgments filled the air like a blade just beneath the surface of silk.
Across from them, Thalron, flanked by Miran and Yara took his seat with measured ease. Marcus stood behind them, arms crossed, observing in silence.
The conversation began smoothly, too smoothly—a series of shallow pleasantries exchanged over the state of New York’s roads, its growing economy, the "admirable effort" of its leadership. It was all meaningless posturing, an elegant dance of words meant to establish dominance without stating it outright.
Then, the first insult landed.
Lord Vaelis did not look directly at Thalron when he spoke, but rather, slightly past him. As if speaking to an empty seat.
“We had expected to be greeted by a representative of the city’s nobility,” he mused, fingers laced together. His voice was smooth as glass, each syllable precisely measured. “Yet, I see we are speaking with…” His lips barely twitched. “A mixtum.”
The word dripped from his tongue like an afterthought, as if it held no more weight than commenting on the weather.
Marcus’ jaw tightened. "That word feels...nasty."
Yara bristled, but Thalron did not react. His face remained impassive, unreadable.
Miran, ever the blunt one, let out a low, amused grunt. “And here I thought elves were supposed to be polite.”
Lady Maevren let out a delicate laugh, not unkind but utterly dismissive. “Oh, but we are. Lord Vaelis is simply speaking plainly. If we are to discuss matters of governance, then it is only natural that we speak with those of proper standing.”
Her smile did not fade, even as she casually turned her goblet in her hand, watching the liquid swirl as if the conversation itself was no more pressing than a passing breeze.
“You see,” she continued, still not looking at Thalron directly, “our interest in New York is one of… mutual benefit. But it is curious—a growing city, yet no established elven presence within its council? That is an oversight we wish to correct.”
Marcus caught the meaning immediately. They weren’t here to negotiate. They were here to establish control.
And they were dismissing Thalron outright.
Thalron, however, remained calm, lifting his chin slightly. “Then let me clarify something, Lady Maevren.” His voice was even, unshaken. “New York is a city built on independence. Unlike Nireen, we do not recognize bloodline over capability. If the empire wishes to open trade discussions, we are open to such talks. But if you believe you are here to dictate leadership, then I am afraid you have miscalculated.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Lord Vaelis let out a soft chuckle. “Ah. I see.” His eyes glinted with something almost amused, as though he were indulging a child’s boldness. “You misunderstand our intentions, mixtum.”
Marcus unclenched his fists before he did something regrettable.
Thalron, to his credit, did not let the insult touch him. He only smiled, ever so slightly.
“If that is the case, then allow me to be clearer,” Thalron said smoothly, tilting his head. “New York has no noble houses because we do not need them. The people who govern this city earned their place—not through titles, but through action. So I would advise that if the Empire wishes to continue this conversation, they do so with the respect our people have earned.”
A pause.
A dangerous pause.
Lady Maevren took another slow sip of her wine, considering the words.
Lord Vaelis, however, simply sighed as if mildly disappointed.
“I suppose that is to be expected,” he mused. “After all, one can only expect so much from those… of mixed heritage.”
Marcus saw red.
He had heard enough.
Before he could open his mouth, Thalron gently tapped his fingers against the table, a subtle gesture of restraint.
Not yet.
Marcus exhaled through his nose.
The elves did not need to acknowledge Thalron to know they had lost control of the conversation.
And Thalron knew it too.
Still composed, he leaned forward slightly, offering a polite smile that did not reach his eyes.
“I thank you for your time, Lord Vaelis, Lady Maevren. I suggest you take a moment to consider whether New York is a friend you wish to cultivate or a force you wish to provoke.”
The elves said nothing.
Marcus, however, grinned.
He’s better at this than I thought.
But the real question still lingered.
What did the Church truly want?