They followed the Arlen River northward, the cobblestone streets of Veilmouth giving way to packed dirt and gravel. The road ran parallel to the water, dividing the valley between two worlds.

  On the eastern bank, farmland spread in neat, orderly rows: terraced wheat and barley, vegetable plots enclosed by low stone walls, young fruit trees aligned in careful symmetry. These fields belonged to landowners who lived in Veilmouth's northern quarter, men who measured worth in ink rather than sweat.

  Across the river, the western bank was different.

  Narrow plots carved wherever the soil allowed, tended by families in crooked cottages with smoke-stained roofs. A woman hauled water from the river in a wooden bucket, her back bent.

  Selene looked across the water, sunlight glimmering on the surface like a thousand tiny stars.

  “The river doesn’t divide land,” Eldric mused softly. “People do. They just use the water as an excuse.”

  Selene frowned slightly, her bright curiosity bobbing in her thoughts as she tried to connect the dots in a world that felt so vibrant and alive. She tilted her head toward Eldric, not quite grasping the weight of his words.

  Eldric glanced at her, his expression wistful, a quiet depth glimmering in his gray eyes as he took in her unawareness.

  Ahead, children waved from the eastern fields. Eldric lifted a hand in return. Solva trotted on at an easy pace, her saddlebags rattling softly with instruments and journals. Garen followed a short distance behind, silent beneath the weight of their supplies.

  The road narrowed as they approached the edge of cultivated land. An old stone gate rose ahead of them, two weathered towers flanking a high arch of gray stone. Worn battlements crowned the structure, and an iron gate streaked with rust hung beneath the arch. The crest that had once borne the Baron’s sigil was nearly gone now, eroded by time until only a shallow outline remained in the stone.

  Two soldiers stood beneath the arch in plain leather tunics and dented metal caps. One was thick through the middle, belly hanging over his belt, shoulders slumped under the weight of his kit.. The other was lean and narrow, long-limbed with a sharp nose. They looked more like tired laborers than guards.

  The fat soldier looked them over slowly, eyes lingering on the group. He spat onto the stones and jerked his chin up. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

  Eldric approached and handed over the seal. The soldier squinted at it, thick thumb rubbing across its surface.

  His skinny companion leaned in, squinting at it as well. His posture stiffened. “Hey… don’t you see that seal?”

  He swallowed and nudged the heavier guard with his elbow. “That mark means Circle authority. Athenaeum business. We’re not supposed to stop anyone carrying that.”

  The fat soldier’s straightened, grip shifting on his spear. “Circle, then.” A pause. “Go on. Gate’s open. Just… watch yourselves out there.”

  “Heading to the ruins?” the lean soldier asked.

  “We are indeed,” Eldric said.

  The heavier guard scratched his beard. “Been some strange reports lately. Couple folks found animals out in the hills. Real fucked up, too. No blood in ’em. Just… drained.”

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  A crude grin spread across his face. “Maybe some lonely bastard got a bit too friendly with ’em, if you catch my meaning. Wouldn’t be the first—”

  “Either way,” his lean companion cut in, unamused, “Dalen’s been scouting the area since the reports came in. Baron’s orders and all.”

  “Dalen Varic?” Eldric asked.

  “That’s the one. The Baron’s shadow.” The fat soldier spat into the dirt again, then gave a crooked grin. “If you see him, tell him Brann and Rook are still breathing and the gate hasn’t fallen over. That’s about as exciting as it gets out here.”

  His lean companion barked a short laugh.

  Eldric nodded once, then looked from the heavy soldier to the skinny one, taking them in with quiet assessment. “Better bored than busy. Though I suppose if matters ever grew too exciting, the world would adjust around you.”

  Selene dipped her head as she pressed her lips together, a breath escaping through her nose despite her effort to keep it in.

  Brann blinked, then broke into a crooked grin, clearly taking it as praise. “See? Told you, Rook. We’re professionals.”

  Rook snorted. “Aye. Elite gate-standers.”

  Brann jerked his chin toward the road. “Go on, then. Gate’s open.”

  They passed through. The road beyond was rougher, the fields giving way to wild grass and scattered stone. The river continued beside them, narrower now, its sound sharper against the silence.

  “Do you know him?” Selene asked. “This Dalen?”

  “We’ve crossed paths,” Eldric said quietly. “The Baron’s right hand.” He paused, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. “Like all of the Baron’s men, he has little patience for those who live north of the river—scholars especially.”

  Selene’s fingers twisted together. “Then let’s hope we don’t meet him.”

  Eldric let out a dry laugh. “Especially now that I’m no longer part of the Council. That particular seal has lost its shine.”

  Behind them, Garen adjusted the packs across his shoulders, redistributing their weight.

  Ahead, the mountains loomed closer, their peaks swallowed by mist. Somewhere beyond the low hills lay the ruins, and the chamber that had waited in silence for a thousand years.

  They followed the winding path until the Veilspine Range rose in full view. Selene stood in awe. No matter how many times she saw them, the sight stole her breath, their ridges sharp and radiant in the fading sun, ice-white crowns glowing against the bronze sky. To her, they were not ominous but magnificent, the bones of the world itself, ancient and untamed.

  She was still admiring them when something shifted at the edge of her vision.

  Four figures stood at the base of the mountain, perfectly aligned within the moving shadow cast by its slopes. They were distant, too far to make out faces, but their silhouettes were unmistakably humanoid, cloaked head to toe in black.

  “Old Owl,” she said softly, “do you see that?”

  Eldric looked up from his notes, squinting. “See what?”

  She blinked, and the figures were gone.

  “I thought I saw…” She trailed off, frowning at the empty mountainside.

  “The light plays tricks around here,” Eldric said, his tone gentle but dismissive. He returned to his sketches. “Especially at this hour.”

  He clicked his tongue, urging Solva forward. "Come, my dear. The day isn't getting younger."

  Behind them, Garen trudged steadily, sweat beading along his brow as the weight of their supplies dug into his shoulders. His breathing was heavy and measured, each step an exercise in practiced endurance. He said nothing, though his weathered face occasionally turned toward the mountains, stealing brief glances between the strain.

  They kept walking. The road began to climb through gentle hills scattered with wildflowers and wind-twisted trees. Birds wheeled overhead, calling to one another before vanishing into the deepening shade.

  Every so often, Eldric paused to jot notes in his journal: the angle of the mountain’s shadow, the texture of the soil, the steady rhythm of Solva’s gait.

  “Strange light today,” he murmured, adjusting his spectacles. “The air bends it oddly near the peaks.”

  Selene glanced at him but said nothing. For a moment, he seemed distant, his gaze fixed on the far-off mountains as if measuring something only he could see.

  The porter’s pace had slowed. Garen paused to shift the load across his shoulders, grimacing as the straps bit deeper into muscle already worn raw. His breath came in shorter pulls now, the steady rhythm from earlier reduced to something labored. When he glanced toward the peaks again, there was something almost pleading in his look, as if measuring the distance still left to climb.

  By the time the hills gave way, the world had become scaffolds and canvas.

  Scaffolding rose against the slope: wooden frames, rope lattices, canvas shelters arranged in careful rows. Ladders vanished into the mountain where stone had been cut away. Survey flags snapped in the wind. The air tasted of chalk and lamp oil, sharp against the ancient dust beneath.

  They had arrived at the ruins.