After they finished eating, they headed straight toward Loran’del’s house. It stood near the edge of the main path, a medium-sized wooden structure resting on a stone foundation. The wood had long since darkened from age and rain, its grain rough beneath patches of moss that clung to the shaded side. The roof sagged slightly at the corners, and a faint smell of resin and old smoke lingered in the air.

  The front steps creaked under their weight, and the window shutters were patched with mismatched planks. A few tools, a spade, a broken rake, and a bundle of rope, leaned against the wall beside the door. Inside, the faint orange glow of a hearth flickered through the cracks, casting long, uneven shadows across the threshold.

  It wasn’t a house that flaunted authority or comfort. Rather, it spoke of modesty, the kind of home built by someone who worked with his own hands. Everything about it suggested that Loran’del never saw himself above the others. He lived as one of them, burdened only with the duty to lead.

  Aila knocked on the door. “Herr Loran’del, are you there?”

  “Yeah… in a minute,” a voice answered from inside.

  Not long after, Loran’del emerged. He looked unexpectedly tidy, as though he had bathed more than once to wash away the previous day’s turmoil. Yet his face betrayed him — pale, drawn, and marked by the lingering shock of nearly being ousted by his own villagers. He wore a single-piece white garment, something between a robe and a workman’s gown, its fabric simple yet graceful in cut.

  When the sunlight spilled through the doorway, it caught him in full, painting his features in soft gold. The light turned his gray skin almost silver, and his red eyes gleamed like polished rubies beneath the glow. For a fleeting moment, the tired elf looked less like a weary leader and more like one of the ancient statues that guarded forgotten temples

  Loran’del smiled. “Hello Aila, I see you brought a company here.”

  “Ah yes, Aline here came to find me asking for a job as a healer, don’t worry I’ve checked her, she was at least able to create some potion properly.”

  “I see.” Loran’del gaze went towards Lina, yet his smile wasn’t faded. “Curious that you try to find a job as a healer… it wasn’t an easy job you know.”

  “Ahh… I usualy help my mother around when I live in my village once. Besides that there is nothing else that I could do.”

  “Haha, don’t sell yourself too short, Aline. I’m sure you have many talents.” Loran’del smiled politely. “Well, Aila here needs all the help she can get, so thank you for taking a post I’ve clearly had trouble filling.”

  Loran’del’s tone was gentle, almost disarmingly polite. Despite everything that had happened yesterday, he seemed to have regained his composure. And yet Lina still felt uneasy. From what Vierna had told her, Loran’del was like a viper—the kind of man who would make you feel welcome just long enough to lower your guard before revealing his poisonous fangs.

  It seemed that what happened yesterday had been a lapse on his part. No matter how calm a person was, there was always something that could make them snap in the moment. For Loran’del, it appeared that Yvlaine’s presence did just that.

  But now that Yvlaine wasn’t around, he would surely be able to gather his wits and use all his cunning if he wanted to draw information out of Lina.

  Back then, Lina thought she could talk with Yvlaine because she had defended Vierna — which meant, in Yvlaine’s eyes, there was at least some trust between them. It was different with Loran’del. He had interrogated Vierna, forced her to drink Hairon Root tea, and even questioned Fenric in public. That meant he had no trust in them whatsoever, and it would take only the smallest mistake to make her look suspicious in Loran’del’s eyes.

  Lina look towards Aila, trying to find an excuse so that she could avoid a conversation with Loran’del “Aila I think it’s better for me to do house call while you tending to Loran’del here.”

  “No way, Aline. Dealing with patients and creating potions are two different things. I can’t let you do house calls unsupervised on your first day.”

  “But…”

  “Come now,” Loran’del said calmly. “I know my behavior yesterday was unwarranted — if anything, inexcusable. That’s why I want to make it up to you and Aline. In a way, Yvlaine was right — I was out of bounds. So please, give me a second chance to offer some hospitality.”

  Lina looked at Aila.

  “It’s okay,” Aila said. “I told you it’s a good time to bury the hatchet. Besides, if you’re going to live here, you’ll need to get along with everyone — Loran’del included.”

  Seeing no way to avoid the encounter, Lina reluctantly agreed.

  The inside of Loran’del’s house was much like the man himself, disciplined without any flaws on the exterior. The floorboards were scrubbed to a dull shine, and the air carried a faint trace of pine soap and dried herbs. Not a single speck of dust lingered on the furniture, though everything within was plain and utilitarian — a desk worn smooth at the edges, a few shelves stacked neatly with scrolls and jars, and a simple hearth where the fire had long since died out.

  There were no ornaments, no embroidered cloths, no traces of a woman’s or child’s touch. The walls were bare except for a few old hooks where tools might once have hung. A single chair stood by the hearth — one chair, one cup on the table, one folded blanket near the bed.

  As Lina’s gaze traveled across the room, the realization settled quietly in her chest.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He lived alone.

  “Why have you come here, Aila? I don’t remember asking for a check-up.”

  “I’ve known you for years. Every time you have an outburst like yesterday, your stomach pain flares up — that’s why I’m here with Aline today.”

  “You shouldn’t waste your time on such a trivial matter. A day’s rest and I’ll be fit again,” Loran’del said warmly. “Have you checked the food Vierna brought back from the camp?”

  “I haven’t yet, but your health takes priority, Herr Loran’del.”

  “My health is a small thing compared to what the village needs.” He exhaled softly. “But since you’re here, turning you away would only waste more time. So, if you want to help, could you make me some vegetable broth? I was going to make it myself, but since the opportunity allows it, I’d like to have a word with Aline.”

  Aila nodded and went to the kitchen, leaving Loran’del alone with Lina. The air grew heavier — not from malice, but from the quiet gravity of a man accustomed to questioning others.

  “Aila is a good girl,” he began. “And yet, the scars from her years of service are still there.

  How about you, Aline? You said you once had a home village — what happened to it?”

  Lina’s gaze dropped to the floor at his question. “Yeah… it was south of Einhartturm.”

  “South, you say… Does that mean Alarun Village?”

  Hearing that name was the last thing Lina had expected. Her village had been small, and now it was nothing more than ashes — burned by the Imperium. Yet here, of all places, someone knew of it. The memory hit her like a floodgate breaking, and with it came a rush of nostalgia so sharp it stung. Her eyes welled with tears before she could stop them.

  “How did… how did you know?”

  Loran’del smiled warmly — like a father greeting a daughter returning home after years away. “I was stationed there once, when I served. A lovely village.”

  He reached out and gently took Lina’s hand. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. You’ve endured so much — it’s no wonder you were so brave when Korrn was here.”

  Lina didn’t know what to say. Loran’del released her hand, then traced a rune in the air. Two mugs and a teapot appeared before him. He poured the tea for both of them, then took the first sip himself.

  “It’s not Hairon Root tea,” he said lightly. “If I were lying right now, I’d already be on the floor. My stomach gives me enough trouble as it is.”

  Lina studied him closely. Despite the warmth he showed, it was clear something weighed on him. His pallor hadn’t improved since they’d arrived — even for a Drow, he looked unmistakably pale.

  Seeing no reason to refuse, Lina lifted the cup and took a small sip. The tea was earthy, faintly bitter, with a hint of dried fruit beneath the warmth — the kind of simple brew made for comfort rather than ceremony.

  The two conversed easily, like long-time acquaintances. Loran’del spoke about the village as it had been long before Lina was born. It seemed he knew many of the adults who had once filled her childhood. They laughed together, exchanging stories and memories of a village that no longer existed.

  Warmth coursed through Lina’s veins, stirring memories she had long buried beneath layers of denial. Talking about the past felt almost healing, as if the ghosts of her home were helping her breathe again.

  “Ahh… I still can’t believe Gin ended up as a tavern owner,” Loran’del said with a chuckle. “He always claimed he’d become an arch-mage. Curious how life carries you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, haha… and I never knew he was such a rascal back then. When he got older, he turned into a proper sergeant—always yelling and scolding the kids for playing around his bar,” Lina said, taking a sip of her tea.

  Loran’del also took a sip of his own tea—graceful and elegant in every motion. His pale skin was gilded by the sunlight streaming through the window.

  “Ah, speaking of the past,” Loran’del continued, his tone softening, “I can’t help but wonder—how is Vierna holding up? Is she doing well?”

  “Yes, she was hunting now with Fenric since dawn.”

  “Ahh I see, she was a tough girl isn’t she? Having fight those monster and drinking Hairon Root tea the day before. I wonder though does she complain any pain? Anything? I want to be able to provide her with something to easen her burden.”

  Lina looked at Loran’del, his face was still smiling as usual, framed by his blonde hair like a painting of noble. “She was fine Herr Loran’del.” Lina replied as she smiled.

  “I see.” Loran’del’s gaze shifted—sharp and focused, like a blade unsheathed. He traced another sigil in the air, conjuring a rune. From it, he drew out a small pouch.

  Even from where she sat, Lina could smell it. The scent was distinct — sharp and acrid, like crushed copper and damp earth after rain. Beneath that, there was something faintly sweet, almost medicinal, the kind of sweetness that coated the back of the throat and made breathing feel heavy. It was a smell that could hardly be confused with another thing.

  “This is Fengworth extract,” Loran’del said with a calm smile. “It counteracts the negative effects of Hairon Root. Give it to Vierna. I want her to know that I’m done with my suspicions and wish to start anew, despite everything.”

  Lina looked at the pouch in disbelief. The cure for Vierna’s condition was right in front of her. Instinctively, she reached out—but then something deep within her mind stirred. Whether it was Vierna’s warning about Loran’del’s cunning or her own instinct, she wasn’t sure. Yet the voice whispered from beneath the layers of her thoughts, faint but insistent, telling her that it was all too easy.

  That uneasiness was enough to unearth what Vierna had said about the tea:

  It only hurts when I lie, and does nothing when I’m honest.

  That’s what Vierna had told her. And the more she thought about it, the more she remembered — Loran’del himself had said something similar during Fenric’s questioning. Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue, back then when Yvlaine’s presence had clearly shaken him, cracking the mask he usually wore so well.

  So if the tea didn’t harm an honest person, why would he offer medicine at all?

  Is this a trap? She thought. Was the entire thing a setup — to make me take the antidote, proving that Vierna had been harmed by the tea, and thus confirming that she had lied?

  The thought broke Lina’s heart. Perhaps, from the very beginning, the Drow hadn’t been trying to grow close to her at all. Perhaps all that warmth, that gentle intimacy he had shown, had only been a way to confirm that Vierna truly had been wounded by the Hairon Root.

  She picked up the pouch and handed it back to Loran’del.

  “I appreciate the thought, Herr Loran’del, but as I said, Vierna is fine and out hunting. If I learned anything from my mother, it’s that giving medicine to someone who shows no symptoms is unwise.”

  Loran’del smiled and nodded, though Lina caught it—a faint sigh escaping him, a trace of disappointment in his exhale. “I see… a wise woman indeed.”

  It appeared that he either didn’t have the strength to press on, or he was trying to gather a shred of dignity after his trap had failed. Lina wasn’t sure—but she was glad that Loran’del had relented.

  Not long after, Aila returned with a bowl of vegetable broth. The homely scent of simmered greens and light seasoning filled the air.

  “Aline,” Loran’del said, his voice calm, “if you could excuse me, I have something to discuss with Aila. Would you mind leaving us for a while?”

  “Not at all, Herr Loran’del. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

  “Likewise, Aline. Do come to me if anything troubles you.”

  Lina left the hall, leaving the ailing Drow with his healer. Yet as she walked away, she could feel his gaze on her back—cold and deliberate, like a blade tracing her spine. It told her one thing clearly: he hadn’t given up, nor had he ever truly trusted her.