The world changed color when Neru got out of the mud-filled road.
Snowlight turned to grey, the air heavy with the stink of thawing earth. Even the silence felt duller. Veyran land always seemed too quiet to her, as if the ground itself were listening.
She had been here barely ten days, yet already the place seemed cursed with mishap after mishap. A part of her missed Frothen—where problems were settled cleanly, with fists and steel, not stares and words. Not like this.
But there was no other way.
She rode beside Elios now, because he was also quite a good rider, and because she hated the feeling of his eyes on her back. She could feel the Seeker captain’s doubt in every glance.
The man called Tarth wasn’t a fool either, though luckily his attention rarely strayed toward her. He seemed to be the kind with a self-serving nature—a bit greedy, a bit fishy. Neru wondered if the right incentive might buy his silence, or even his help.
No. Not yet.
Not while the captain was still around.
“You look like you’re still holding something back," Elios suddenly broke the silence. “Care to say it, Noct?”
Ah, I still hate that name, Neru drew a slow breath.
“You’re right. I wasn’t entirely honest before. May I—?” Her eyes flicked briefly to Tarth.
“He’s one of us, he can listen,” Elios said evenly. “Is this about the caravan?”
“You already guessed?” Neru felt genuinely surprised.
“There was a piece that didn’t fit,” Elios said, fixing her with that sharp, deliberate stare of his. “You said they were lured by the creature’s call—hypnotized to walk willingly to their deaths. I’ve been turning that over in my mind."
"And?"
"Let’s say that’s possible, despite the weather, despite the distance,” He leaned forward slightly in the saddle, eyes narrowing. “But if they were truly entranced, why drag the wagons with them? Why guide the horses through that forest so cleanly? I’ve crossed that path on foot, and it’s a nightmare even when you’re awake. You expect me to believe a line of mindless sleepwalkers made it through without a single misstep?”
Sharp.
Neru gave a strained smile.
“Lying is not my thing.”
Elios’s eyebrow lifted slightly, and she felt a flash of irritation.
Because she was telling the truth—deception had never been her nature. Here, far from home, all she had left was her wits and the ability to adapt faster than her mistakes could catch her.
“Anyway,” she went on, forcing calm into her voice, “I understand why you doubt me. Truth is, I didn’t trust you at first either.”
Elios said nothing, only waited, which somehow made it worse. Tarth nudged his horse to stride faster, forming a wing that flanked her left side. If she wanted to run, forward was the only option.
“You guessed correctly,” she continued. “The caravan did turn off the main road by choice. The captain received sealed orders from the Treasury—claimed there was a risk of bandit attacks ahead, and that to ensure the safety of the last three wagons, we were to take a shortcut. Each wagon was promised five gold in compensation."
She paused for a long breath. "Turned out to be the last payment we ever got. We followed the orders straight into the cavern—and it swallowed us whole. Looking back, the Treasury seems more suspicious than ever.”
“Then why not say this sooner?” Tarth asked.
“At first, I thought you were sent by the Royal Treasury too—to check on the shipment. If that were the case, it was safer for me not to know anything. But when I saw how lost you all looked holding those fragments, I realized you weren’t part of them. And now, knowing you’re going back to the Tower… I can finally breathe in relief.”
Elios’s voice was quiet, but the words landed hard.
“The Chanceries didn’t tell us about the wagons.”
He glanced toward the fragments rattling faintly in Tarth’s satchel.
“Do you think that someone from the Chanceries might—?” Tarth asked quietly.
Elios shook his head. “Unlikely. Lord Viltar's no longer there, but the strict rules he set are still applied. The Royal Treasury, on the other hand...”
Tarth frowned deeper. “I heard Lord Viltar and the Treasury’s High Minister didn’t get along in the past.”
“Not just didn’t get along,” Elios said, his tone turning dry. “They despised each other. That tells something.”
Neru listened in silence. The names meant little to her—Veyran politics were a labyrinth she hadn’t yet learned to walk.
She cursed inwardly; had she more time to prepare, she wouldn’t be sitting here in the dark, piecing fragments together from their words.
"You! You there!!" A shout from behind yanked their attention away. "Stop!"
A lone rider galloped on a black destrier, approaching them. He wore a strange hat, with a strange set of clothes, but the emblem on the coat was unmistakable.
From Veyran Royal Treasury.
Just like the ones she had encountered on the way.
"Are you the Seekers assigned to find the missing caravan in the north? I recognized your sigil," he called out.
Elios eyed Neru for a breath, before returning to the man.
"What if we are?"
The man swung his fists over his head, almost yelling. "What the hell took you so long? You were supposed to be here yesterday. I lost the whole day waiting in the storm—"
Tarth snorted. "You are about to lose much more if you don't state your business right now."
As if sensing Tarth's subtle aggression, the man hurriedly handed out a writ and yelped.
"Don't act foolish! I have the Royal Treasury's permission, and I'm here for your primary report of your mission. Where's the cargo?"
Tarth took a quick look at the paper and gave his captain a nod. Yet Elios shook his head.
"I have no obligation to the Royal Treasury. The report will be in our headquarter soon enough. Wait there."
The man frowned, talking in a low voice. "We had wagons among the convoy. Sealed wagons, with our symbol on them. You're obliged to report to us as soon as possible if you saw them anyway. I'm here actually doing you a favor."
"Wagons?" Elios chuckled. "What wagons?"
The man gave him a long, malicious stare.
"Are you messing with me?"
"Questioning. I'm questioning you." Elios said with a grin. "What do you know about the wagons? What did it carry? How much? Starting point and destination?"
The man snorted.
"I never asked such questions, and so should you, if you value your job and your life."
"Means you know nothing?" Elios sighed.
"Not a clue. I was given a task and I am here for it, that's all. Now hand me your primary report, so we both can go home."
"Not yet," Elios shook his head. "The caravan got struck by some mysterious catastrophe, and I'm still on my way to follow the traces."
"It's no longer your duty. The laws specifically state—"
"—that Seekers survey the scenes, make the first report and send it to the Inquisitors after the mission. I know. But this time it's an exception."
"Just do your damn part," the man's voice seething with irritation. "Can't you read the situation, idiot? Or did you think you could rip us off?"
Stolen story; please report.
"Just your luck," Elios said. "Of all the Seekers, they assigned me—someone from the Tower—to lead the mission. And I don't report findings." His voice hardened. “I’m granted the authority to pursue judgment.”
The man drew closer to Elios, almost face-to-face, his voice hissing through gritted teeth.
"Listen. We're the Royal fucking Treasury. Be smart and you will get some fat meat to chew on. Play hard with us, and you'll become the meat. Understand? "
Elios narrowed his eyes. "Are you, by chance, threatening me?"
The man snickered.
"What if I am, Seeker?" He reached for Elios's collar and pulled it close. "You're going to write that down the report? Or have you worms forgotten your places for so long that—"
CRUNCH!
Elios's forehead carved cleanly to his face, so fast that normal people would think it was a clumsy kiss. The force shattered his nose and rattled the skull, rendering him unconscious. Looking afar, he would look just like a man taking a nap on the saddle.
Elios sighed, dissappointment palpable in his voice. "Just a clueless errand runner. Not worth our time."
Tarth gave him a simple nod, then turned to look at the Royal Treasury emblem on the man's outfit, murmuring to himself. "But looks like some answers just came by themselves."
Elios said, wiping blood clean from his eyebrows.
"True. Turned out they just didn't give a damn about us."
Then, turning to Neru, he added,
"Hubris is poison. The more of it they have in their blood, the sooner it drops them. Thinking of themselves as untouchable gets them eventually touched."
Is that a lesson? Or a warning?
Tarth, however, seemed more doubtful.
"But, that almost worked, don't you think?"he said. "You are an anomaly. It pains me to say, but if it were just me here today, things would play out exactly as they'd planed. "
Then he sneered.
"To them, we are just hounds, sent out to track their game. Doing all the hard work, getting a pat as reward and kicked aside when the feast’s on the table.”
Elios's gaze fixed on the road ahead, eyes squinting.
“No. The Treasury was involved, but I doubt they knew entirely what was going on. Had they, neither of us would've ever been sent there. Not you. Not me. Not even him. They’d have erased the whole incident."
He paused, then turned to Tarth as he followed the thread.
"My guess is—to them— it was just simple smuggling. But someone higher up was scheming something bigger and used them as pawns.”
The theory was so grim that nobody talked more about it. They left the scene in silence. The wind brushing past the horses carried a scent of salt and danger. Of more troubles lurking around. It clung to them like an unforgiving cloak.
“It seems I’ve been talking to the right people after all,” Neru said eventually, feigning a note of admiration.
“Don’t encourage him,” Tarth chimed in with a sigh. “This one has already earned himself the grudges of half the nobles in all Veyra.”
Then his tone shifted, turning serious. “But you must be careful, Captain. The Royal Treasury’s a giant beast, and not one you can charge recklessly. Their High Minister is the Queen’s brother.”
Elios gave a single nod. “I’ll report to Lord Viltar first. With his directive, no one can interfere.”
Tarth frowned. “He’s still convalescing at the Tower, isn’t he? Strange for an illness to last that long, while they have all the finest healers on the continent.”
Elios’s expression didn’t change. “That… won’t be a problem,” he said, then looked down on his bandaged hands. “But I am eager to meet them. These wrists are itching as hell.”
Then he turned to look at Neru, a thread of concern shown in his voice.
“How about your ear? A burst eardrum often leads to compromised balance. Must’ve been hard to ride with it.”
“As you can see,” she said, unbothered. “I ride just fine.”
“True,” he said, glancing at her seat in the saddle and asked. “From where did you learn horsemanship?”
“My father,” Neru answered, half-smiled. “What? Is it also unnatural for a woman to ride?”
“Wouldn’t say that.” Elios shook his head slightly. “Is he also the one who taught you to fight?”
“A little,” she lied smoothly. “But the trade was his biggest legacy.”
Tarth snorted from behind them. “Lucky you, having a father worth remembering. Mine taught me to pick pockets before I could run, and to con folk before I could talk. When he lost his hand stealing from a nobleman, I was scared shitless. But irony’s a cruel bastard—I had to steal twice as much after that, just to feed us both. I started as a thief’s son and ended as one myself.”
“From what I see, you’re doing well,” Neru ignored the bitterness in his voice and turned back to Elios. “And you? Was your father a Seeker too?”
“He’s long gone,” Elios said curtly. “Before I even knew what a job meant.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Neru said. “What took him?”
Elios’s gaze stayed on the horizon. “Men’s blindness,” he said. “And their prejudice.”
A long silence settled between them, broken only by the steady rhythm of hooves crunching over stone. Uneven beats rippled through Neru’s memory like rain falling on a still lake.
“Must be a hard story,” she said at last. “Which I suppose you don’t care to tell me now. But one thing, though—Did you get your revenge? Did you kill them?”
Elios’s tone stayed even, his eyes fixed ahead. “For what? For being scared? For being misinformed? No, that would be murder, not justice.”
“I don’t think I could be as rational as you.” Neru said after a long sigh. “I’m a woman, and blood for blood isn’t exactly my way. But if my father got harmed by some fool’s fault, I’d fight them to the death."
Elios’s tone went deep. “You can’t just execute ignorant people. But…,” he paused, the reins creaking in his bandaged grip. “You can strike down ignorance itself. I’ve been fighting since then, and I haven’t ever stopped.”
Truth and justice, huh? So that guy Orin wasn’t just bragging.
Neru watched his face with a little interest in mind. Beneath a mop of black hair threaded with three streaks of gray, his eyes were sharp and bright, haunted by something that had never quite healed. His frame lacked the sharp angles common to the Frothena men she knew, but his brows were heavy and dark— thick frames for that fierce light. If the eyes were the flame, those brows were the smoke— the fire roared, the smoke curled.
She let herself linger on the image for a heartbeat, an indulgent slip of thought, until Elios’s voice cut through the quiet.
“What?” he asked.
She jolted awake, then pointed to the Seeker ínsignia on Elios’s cloak — the black tern soaring above silver waves.
“Just… thinking," she cleared her throat. "That sigil really suits you. So does the Tower.”
Elios gave her a short nod.
“Maybe it would fit you too,” he said after a moment. “As the riders’ commander said, you have the makings of a Seeker.”
“That’s too far above my aim,” Neru laughed it off. "I care about profit only."
“We’ll see,” Elios said, his face unable to read.
Neru’s smile was relaxing as intended, yet she felt a quiet unease stir from her heart.
Something feels off.
The Seeker had been questioning her voice, her stance, her skills all morning—as he should be. She’d expected that much from him. But then, at some point, he somehow stopped. That made her unmoored.
Her roots, her routes, her trade, her guilds—she had prepared a solid story with layer upon layer of lies, ready for Elios’s scrutiny. Yet he hadn’t asked any of that.
As if her background no longer mattered. As if he no longer cared.
No.
He was keeping me relaxed.
Or worse—maybe he had already known, and was playing her back.
Neru took a deep breath, steadying herself.
She knew she was walking on thin ice here, and that every step might crack it. Elios was a cautious man. That was her danger, but her advantage also. She believed he wouldn’t act without certain proof.
She still had time.
A sharp cry splitting the air cut her thoughts. Neru’s hand instinctly move to the dagger strapped on her thigh, but she stopped when realize it was a falcon declaring its arrival. The group looked up as the bird circled three times overhead before diving down, landing neatly on Elios’s shoulder.
Tarth urged his horse closer and patted the falcon’s flank. “Hard work, birdy. How many stops did that old man make you fly this time?”
The creature was striking—sleek wings, narrow chest, feathers gleaming like steel under sunlight. Then Neru’s eyes darted to the silver streaks on its tail.
A Starmark? She almost gasped.
Fast. Smart. Very hard to catch. Even harder to tame. She had only seen it once in the Frothena palace. How did this ragged Seeker get his hands on one?
Neru’s curiosity won over her caution. She extened her hand to touch it. These creatures were quick to bite strangers, she knew—but back home, she’d trained grimhawks four times this size.
The bird tilted its head, fixing her with a sharp eye. When her hand came too close, it darted forward, beak snapping toward her wrist—only to stop short at a single sharp whistle from Elios.
“Well trained,” Neru said, impressed. “Though I think doves or ravens would handle messenging better.”
"There’s no helping it," Tarth clicked his tongue. "It followed Elios as a chick, and act like our raven. Won’t take orders from anyone else, though.”
The falcon blinked once, calm again.
“If you sold it to the right buyer, it’d fetch no less than twenty golds,” she murmured with astonished voice. At the moment, she was talking like a true merchant. The real price was at least fifty. She personally would put in sixty golds just to be safe.
Elios glanced at her, his words simple. "Not for sale."
Of course.
Neru studied the bird again—rare blue shimmer on its feathers, a faint spark of intelligence in its eyes—and found it match perfectly with its master.
What a pity.
Tarth untied the leather cord fastened around the falcon’s leg and pulled free a small rolled note.
“Any news?” Elios asked.
Holding it up to the sunlight, Tarth skimmed the contents, then glanced sidelong at Neru—hesitating for a heartbeat—before deciding to read aloud.
“Headquarters issued a new directive: seek and identify a group of foreign intruders from Frothen. And… the Tower requests that you, if possible, survey the terrain at the base of Mount Longfang. They’re planning to build a manufactory there.”
Elios sighed through his nose, the sound low and tired. “A week too late,” he muttered. “That order to hunt the intruders should’ve come days ago.”
He fell silent, eyes narrowing as the wind hissed through the trees.
“Almost as if someone waited for the Frothenas to vanish first, then tell us to chase their shadow.”
Neru’s heart sank a little. She had risked traveling with them for a reason—to verify what she suspected at the Tower, and perhaps glean something new from Veyra’s Seekers. Yet it was clear now that they knew even less than she did.
Still, Elios wasn’t wrong.
Someone high up in Veyra must’ve made sure the Frothens slipped through the net. The rest was easy to guess. The drovar dust on those wagons must’ve been already gone. Claimed by some unknown faction.
Neru slowed down her breaths, and tried to focus on the last remaining goal. She turned toward Elios just as his eyes met hers. For a heartbeat neither spoke, until she broke the silence.
“I never got to ask,” she said quietly. “When I reach the Tower… What kind of inspection will they make me go through? They won’t have me stripped right at the gate, will they?”
Her tone was half-jest, but beneath it lay something taut. She wasn’t shy like the southern women—but there were things on her body she couldn’t afford to reveal.
Elios frowned. “You won’t be humiliated. I promise you that. All examinations are conducted inside the Tower.”
Neru let out a slow, measured breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Getting inside was half the battle.
“And once I’m in? What exactly will they do?”
He shook his head. “Even I can’t say for certain. The masters there each have their own methods—most of them strange. Some draw a little blood for study, others submerge you in some alchemical bath for half a day, then analyze what’s left after. The exorcists are simpler—you just sit still, listen to their chants, and endure their charms for a few hours.”
Neru’s brows knit. “How long will all that take?”
Elios gave a short click of his tongue. “Will be quick. Less than three days I asked from you.”
“And if I want this treated first?” Neru said, pointing to her left ear. “Will that be allowed? How much will it cost?”
Elios nodded without hesitation. “Of course. The healers will see to your injuries before anything else. And the cost would be covered by our expenses.”
Neru nodded, feigning a smile.
Now he’s just saying what he assume I want to hear.
Fortunately, she was no stranger to manhunt business, nor to its procedures. Treat my injuries first? And for free? What a joke.
Elios lifted a hand, signaling Tarth to put quill to parchment. The reply he dictated was brief, almost dismissive—nothing but a polite refusal of the Tower’s request and a note that they were already on their way back.
Neru listened in silence. At least on this point, Elios had not lied to her.