Shadow swirled around the corpse, rising like smoke before folding into form. It coalesced into a translucent, humanoid silhouette—an echo of the fallen elf. Its shape trembled faintly, eyes hollow, body flickering as if caught between this world and whatever comes after.

Elarien's breath caught. Her composure cracked for the first time, disbelief widening her usually sharp gaze.

Then, anger took its place. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, voice trembling between fury and alarm. As she raised her hand, Edward felt a sudden chill crawl through the air. The warmth of the torches dimmed, the light itself seeming to freeze. The air thickened until his breath came out as mist.

Edward didn't flinch. His attention remained fixed on the apparition. A faint shimmer passed through it, and a text flickered before his eyes.

[Shadow Archer]

He raised a brow.

"New class…"

The thought lingered for only a second before he pushed it aside. There was no time to ponder that now.

"Who killed you?" he asked—not to Elarien, who looked like she demanded answers, but to the shadow that stood trembling before him.

The faint hum of mana surged at his words, and Elarien's patience snapped. A shard of ice formed in her palm, glittering like a blade, ready to tear through him. Her expression was as cold as the spell she conjured.

"Enough of this—!"

But before she could strike, the shadow moved. Its head twitched toward them, and a faint voice echoed, distorted yet unmistakably clear.

"Vael…"

Silence followed.

The shard of ice shattered in her grasp, falling harmlessly to the ground. Her lips parted.

"Brother?" she whispered, voice soft, trembling with the faintest trace of hope.

But the shadow didn't answer. The shape collapsed, its smoky form dissolving into a mist that curled and vanished like breath on cold glass.

"Your brother's gone," Edward said quietly, dispersing the last of the dark residue with a motion of his hand.

"He… it spoke," Elarien muttered, disbelief threading her voice. She looked from the fading shadow to Edward. Her grief hardened into suspicion. "How did you do that?" she demanded, stepping forward.

Before he could respond, her hand shot out and gripped his shirt, dragging him closer. "Tell me."

Edward met her glare without flinching. "It's my ability," he said evenly. "Now—do you know anyone named Vael?"

For a moment, she didn't move.

Then, her hand loosened. Her expression softened, and steeled again as she released him.

"No," she admitted after a pause. "I know most elves in this city, and yet I've never heard that name before. Must be an outsider…" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Or human."

The accusation in her tone was subtle but sharp enough to cut. Edward merely sighed. "Well, that Vael person is the only lead we have."

"We?" she repeated, the single word laced with disdain.

"The prince asked me to help you," Edward reminded her. "So I will do so to the best of my ability. But if you don't need my help, then I guess—"

"No." The word left her mouth faster than she intended. She hesitated, visibly forcing herself to speak again. "You can help."

Edward blinked.

"I can help?" he echoed inwardly, almost amused, before exhaling a long sigh. "There's nothing else we can do tonight," he said. "You should report back to your king. Tomorrow, we'll start searching for this Vael person."

Elarien lingered, her gaze briefly drifting to her brother's body before she gave a small nod. Her voice came out quieter this time. "Very well."

Edward turned away, preparing to leave.

"Your chamber…" she started, but he cut her off.

"Don't worry. I remember the way."

She didn't stop him as he walked away.

"She probably wants a moment with her deceased brother," Edward thought as he walked. "Can't blame her."

But the elven city was not as straightforward as he remembered.

A few-minute journey stretched into twenty, then thirty, and finally an hour.

The streets wound endlessly, twisting around luminous trees and flowing streams that cut through bridges and terraces of silver bark. Nature intertwined with every structure, roots merging with stone, making it hard to tell where the city ended and the forest began.

"Was it not this way?" he muttered, turning down another narrow path. Vines brushed against his shoulders, their faint glow painting his cloak green. The same streetlight he'd passed before came into view again.

"Dammit!" he hissed under his breath.

"You shouldn't curse here, young man. The spirits will hear."

The voice came from behind him.

Edward spun instantly, his instincts kicking in, hand ready to call for one of his summons if needed.

But the figure he saw was far from threatening. An old elf stood a few paces away, leaning on a staff carved from pale wood. His eyes were closed, thin wrinkles creasing his face in calm lines. Despite his frail appearance, there was a strange composure about him—like a man who'd seen centuries pass and stopped counting.

Edward lowered his guard slightly, studying him. The old elf smiled faintly.

"What's wrong? Never seen an elf this young?" he joked, his voice dry but warm.

Edward frowned, studying the old elf.

"Is he blind?"

"Yes, I'm blind," the elf replied as if he could read his mind.

"What? How did you—?"

"The look on your face said it all."

"The look on my face?" Edward frowned deeper. "If you're blind, how can you see the look on my face?"

The elf chuckled softly, tapping his staff against the ground. "My eyes are blind, but my soul is not."

Edward blinked, unsure how to respond. The old elf's words held the same odd weight as a prophecy—nonsense wrapped in truth.

He decided to shift the topic.

"What did you mean by the spirits will hear?"

The old elf tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. Then he turned away. "This isn't a place for conversation. Come, young man. I'll make you some herbal tea."

Edward hesitated. Every instinct told him to keep his distance, but the old elf's voice carried no malice. Only calm certainty. And besides, the man was ancient and blind—what danger could he pose?

"Fine," Edward muttered. "Lead the way."

The elf nodded and guided him through a small archway half-hidden beneath a mass of roots. They descended a few uneven steps until the faint scent of herbs and damp earth filled the air. The hut was built into the very base of a colossal tree, its ceiling low and rounded, branches curling along the walls like living ribs.

"Here, here," the old elf said cheerfully, gesturing toward a tiny table with two wooden chairs. "Sit down. You look weary."

Edward obeyed, watching as the elf rummaged through shelves packed with jars and bundles of dried plants. The air grew thick with the fragrance of mint, pine, and something faintly sweet. Moments later, the elf placed two steaming cups on the table. The liquid inside shimmered faintly purple, like crushed violets in moonlight.

Edward leaned closer, cautious of the odd liquid. "What's it made of?"

"Just herbs," the elf said with a smile that somehow revealed nothing. "Please, have some."

Edward studied the cup. The scent was pleasant—almost soothing—but something about it felt… off.

Still, refusing would seem rude, and he didn't sense hostility.

He lifted the cup and took a slow sip. The taste was floral and bitter, yet oddly warm.

But the moment he swallowed it, the room swayed.

"What—" he managed, gripping the edge of the table as the world blurred. His vision folded in on itself, shadows stretching and walls bending like waves.

Before he could utter another word, his body went limp. The cup slipped from his fingers and bounced against the wooden floor as everything went dark.

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