They found Azen before the sun had risen high. He was exactly where they’d left him, standing motionless by the ridge, as if their return had been expected all along. His eyes didn’t change when he saw them. The frost clinging to his temples and the dark bruises under his eyes told Elios he hadn’t slept at all.
“It’s wise of you to return in daylight,” Azen said. “Last night, something was lurking in the dark.”
He gave Elios only a passing glance before stepping forward to catch Orin’s weight, inspecting the young man’s wound with practiced hands.
“Did you change the bandage?” he asked.
“No,” Tarth answered. “We’re short on clean cloth.”
Azen turned without a word, moving to the horses. From a saddlebag, he drew a large bundle—fresh bandages, a flask of warm water, herbs, and a strip of dried meat. He’d been ready for this.
Elios sank to the ground before Azen could question him, speaking first. His voice was low, his report brief, but still enough to shake Azen.
“The thing down there wasn’t something to fight—not even with an army. It was clever enough to twist our own tactics, strong enough to bring the cavern’s wall down. And that’s only what we saw. Beneath the water… I’d wager it’s unkillable.”
Azen didn’t look up from Orin’s leg. “You found nothing else?”
“Nothing,” Elios said. “Except her.”
He pointed toward Noct, the movement sending a spike of pain through his bandaged wrist.
“Consider her a companion—for now,” He gave Azen a subtle, meaningful look, just long enough for the message to be sent. “She comes with us to the Tower.”
Azen’s eyes flicked briefly to the woman, then back to the wound. “Orin won’t make that trip. The dead flesh is turning purple, and the muscle’s begun to fester.”
Elios hesitated, the silence between them filled with the sound of wind sliding over stone. At last, he said, quietly, “Then Orin stays. Can you tend to him? Tarth and I need to return to the Tower. There are things we must verify. And…” He glanced at the device hanging at his belt. “…this needs repairing."
Azen’s gaze dropped to the shattered echo rod. He studied it for a moment, expression unreadable.
“Lucky for you, coin's never your issue,” he said at last. “Did it wound the creature?”
Elios shook his head. “Unlikely. But the thing sure hated it.”
Azen sighed, eyes tracking the leaden sky. He muttered without looking away.
“Lately, the cases we run into have a dark shade no one prepared for. Remember that tomb we unearthed three years back? So many dead, and we still haven’t dared push any farther. It’s like an omen for a new age, and the world reshapes itself to fit in.”
Elios laughed, a short, dry sound.
“Since when did you turn sentimental? The only thing that can actually change an age is the Tower, and we’re on its side.”
Azen tied off the final knot on Orin’s bandage, rubbed snow across his hands, and shook his head. “In my days, we tracked criminals, culled foul beasts and recovered stolen relics. That’s it. Now look— even boys like Orin are swinging steel at things that don’t even have names. The trade has become downright lethal.”
“I am no boy, geezer,” Orin’s head perked up, protesting hard. “Elios is only six years older than me. And you should’ve seen how I handled the beast…”
Nobody paid him attention when Tarth dragged him away, making room for them.
“Time changes indeed, but you’re still a living legend, Azen. You’re not—retiring, are you?” Elios’s laughter died away at the edge of the question.
“Could be.” Azen’s voice had the flat weariness of someone sizing himself up honestly for the first time. “You’re grown. You’ve outpaced me. If I’d led yesterday, the whole band might’ve been dead.”
Elios’s reply came quieter. “Who did I learn from, then? Your experience—”
“Belongs to the past.” Azen cut him off gently. “A decade ago, it was the truth. Now it may be a blind spot. Old dogs don’t learn new tricks; I can’t pick up that echo rod no matter how much you teach me. Lucky for you, it broke in your hands.”
“No one wants you to step down. In the Corp, your words still carry more weight than mine.” Elios said, a little yearning.
“One more reason to leave.” Azen gathered the discarded bandage and packed it away. He looked at Elios with something almost like a warning. “A snake can’t move with two heads. If it tries, it’ll tear itself apart.”
Then, his gaze caught something, and he laughed.
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“Oh, but sometimes the head should notice its sneaky tail too.”
Azen walked toward Tarth.
“Hand it over.”
Tarth blinked. “Hand what?”
“Whatever you’re hiding under your coat,” Azen said, his voice flat. “Don’t play dumb. Your fractured rib does not hurt there. You keep your hand there so the damn thing won’t rattle when you walk. Besides, this trip was a total loss, yet I haven’t heard you whining even once. That alone tells me you found something worthwhile."
Tarth’s eyes darted around, his face coloring. After a pause, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a few gold-hued fragments, each about the length of a finger—hard as stone, heavy enough to weigh his hand down.
Orin barked a laugh. “Some habits die hard.”
Elios couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips, though the anger was still there. “You still think you can retire, Azen?”
Tarth spread his hands, protesting, “I found them. Didn’t steal. I thought I’d take them back to the Tower, have them examined. If they tie into the case, I’ll turn them in.”
“Sure,” Orin muttered. “And if they don’t, you’ll swallow the lot, right?”
Tarth waved him off. “Everyone would get a share. But I’d like to know what they’re worth first. Wouldn’t you?”
Azen held one of the shards between his fingers, turning it toward the pale sun.
“Hard,” he murmured, rubbing the surface with his thumb, “but brittle. It could be ground to dust. Likely some rare ore or mineral, but certainly not gold—or topaz.”
Orin took a fragment, curiosity outweighing caution. He scratched a bit loose with his nail, lifted it to his nose, then recoiled.
“Gods… the smell. You think this could be… what that thing spat out?”
Elios frowned, studying the pieces glittering faintly in the snow. “I was trained in mineral recognition at the Tower, but this… I’ve never seen its like. Doesn’t seem to belong to Veyra.”
Tarth muttered under his breath, “Rarer usually means worth more.”
Elios turned, ready to snap at him, but stopped when he noticed Noct. She stood apart from the others, thoughtful, her arms folded. She hadn’t touched the fragments once.
That pricked at him.
A real merchant shouldn't have been that disinterested, unless she had already known something.
Then, as if sensing his thoughts, Noct opened her mouth.
“Where did you find it, and when?”
Tarth hesitated, glanced at Elios, and seeing no signal from him, finally answered. “By the lake. Right when the voice started.”
“Quick hands,” Elios said. “No wonder I didn’t notice.” His tone cooled. “But tell me, Tarth—did it ever occur to you that those pieces might’ve been what brought the creature down on us?”
Tarth’s mouth opened, but no sound came. The red on his face deepened until it nearly matched the cut across his cheek.
Truthfully, Elios doubted that theory. The creature had likely known the path from the start, mapping the cavern with its echo sense long before they entered. The way it attacked showed its affinity with the terrain.
But Tarth didn’t need to know that. The man needed a lesson about discipline—and sometimes, fear worked the best.
Remembering Noct’s earlier reactions, he decided to probe.
“This might’ve come from your caravan,” he said carefully. “Do you know what it is?”
To his surprise, she actually answered. “You mean you came here and didn’t know? Isn’t this what you Seekers were sent for?”
Elios stared at her, caught off guard. “Sent for it? You think we came because of these fragments? Why?”
Noct’s gaze lingered on him, cool and measured, as though weighing his honesty.
“So you really don’t know,” she said softly. “Then you’re just another outsider in all this.”
“Explain, then,” Elios pressed.
Noct hesitated for a moment, weighing her words. Then she said, “In the caravan, the last three wagons were set apart. Guarded constantly. Each bore the crest of the Royal Treasury—at least, that’s what we were told. The rest of us could trade and talk freely on the road, but not with anyone from those wagons. They were sealed tight, heavy as stone. When I saw your group, I thought for sure you’d come to inspect them.”
Elios glanced toward Tarth. The man gave a helpless shrug and a shake of the head. No such detail had appeared in their orders. Nothing about the Treasury, nothing about marked wagons. Something was off—but was it their mission, or her story?
He turned back to her. “We came to investigate the missing caravan. And to rescue survivors. That’s all. So how do you know these fragments came from those wagons? You said you don’t know what they are.”
“I don’t,” Noct replied evenly. “But I was there when it happened. When the cursed thing struck—one swing shattered the wagons and dragged them under. That thunderous sound woke me from the voice’s magic. And I saw the light, a golden flash. Whatever it was, there was a lot of it. I thought it was gold at first. But now…” She nodded toward the shards. “Now I think it was this.”
Liar, he thought, his gaze lingering on the dried blood down her neck. She knew about this substance. And she freed herself from the voices.
The problem was the part about the wagons.
She had been playing ignorant from the start, but the moment she knew they were not involved, this story came out. There must be some purpose in it.
Did she make that up? Where did she hope that would lead them to? What did she want him to believe—or to chase?
Elios’s thoughts spun hard, the edges scraping. Her story about the wagons, the strange mineral… and his doubts about her identity—all pressed into the same shape in his mind. Vague, but firm.
He decided to test it.
“Wait,” he said, turning toward Azen. “The Royal Treasury, you said? Could it be tied to the North somehow? I keep feeling like I’ve seen wagons like that before—”
The reaction came at once. Noct straightened, eyes bright with sudden interest, too quick, too sharp.
“You’ve seen them?” she asked, voice just a shade too eager.
And then, as if realizing she’d stepped too far, she drew back, clutching her chest as though a chill had struck her.
Now he was nearly sure. Eight parts out of ten certainty that this mineral had come from the North. From Frothen.
From her.
And if that was true —knowing the Frothena—then it’s likely up to no good. Maybe Noct hadn’t stumbled into the disaster. Maybe she had been a part of it herself.
And now, she was looking for more—hopefully with their unknowing help. As for what, he couldn’t yet say. But he had no intent to let it happen.
She must’ve changed her plan at least twice since we met, Elios thought darkly. The Northern savages are getting smarter.
It had been centuries since the last war between Veyra and Frothen, but this year the tension was worse than ever. The warmongers from the North had never stopped dreaming of marching south, and with the state of Veyra as it was now, the heat was almost palpable. If Frothena were scheming something, he had to prevent it at all costs.
Elios turned to her.
“Oh? You seem rather interested in it. I thought you said you didn’t know what it was.”
Noct smiled lightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Merchant’s instinct. We’re trained to sniff out anything that smells like profit. But I’ve thought it over. Whatever the Treasury was hauling, it seems far above the reach of traders like me.”
“True,” Elios said, his tone low but edged with warning. “Be considerate.”