The world snapped back into shape with a soft pop.

Kael lowered his hand from the finger snap, the lingering gold of his magic fading as the familiar scene unfolded around them.

The center of the town.

Towering roots rose like pillars, forming natural walls.

And as it was already evening, lamps filled with fireflies were lit up in the paths. Houses built within giant roots curved around the plaza, warm and lived-in.

As he teleported there, he was in the air along with Evethra, Selene, Lyratheia, and Darian.

People saw him the moment he came, and a wave of emotion washed across the plaza.

"Lord Kael!"

"He's back."

"Who's that man next to him? Never seen him before?"

"Maybe someone Lord Kael saved."

People smiled, nodded, and bowed—some respectful, some friendly, some far too enthusiastic—while all of them wondered who Darian was.

Kael lifted a hand lazily in greeting, as if casually acknowledging applause he hadn't asked for.

Evethra preened proudly beside him, wings folding neatly as if she were the one being praised.

Selene scanned the crowd with quiet warmth.

Lyratheia, still new to this place, blinked at how naturally the people accepted Kael's presence, as if a dragon walking among them was the most normal thing in the world.

Darian, on the other hand, held his hands together.

'This truly is a place deserving my lord's presence.'

He was happy that there were so many people who worshiped Kael, as a devotee could want nothing more than for more people to see the god he worshiped as the only god there was.

Suddenly, above them, a sudden flutter of wings was heard.

One of the sparrow-kin messengers paused mid-flight—eyes widening the moment she spotted Kael.

Then—

WHOOSH.

She shot forward with twice the usual speed, heading straight for the administrative building near the giant tree.

Kael's golden eyes narrowed slightly.

He saw more than just a bird in a hurry.

A handful of the information-keepers had stiffened. Their ears twitched. Their tails tightened. Some exchanged quick glances.

Something was going on—he was sure about that.

Kael exhaled quietly.

"Selene," he said without turning, "take Lyratheia and Darian inside and give them some tea. I think I've got something to attend to."

Selene opened her mouth, prepared to protest—but Lyratheia gently touched her arm and shook her head.

"I can't," the dryad said softly. "I've been gone from my village for too long already."

Kael glanced at her.

She held his gaze—steady, firm, but grateful.

"I must return tonight. And tomorrow morning…" she straightened her posture just slightly— "… I'll begin preparing my people to move here. A deal is a deal."

Kael's lips curved faintly.

"Then I won't force tea on you. Travel safe."

Lyratheia nodded, bowed lightly, and walked away—roots rising from the ground to form a path beneath her feet.

When she vanished into the forest's thickness, Kael turned toward Darian.

"What about you? Want some tea?"

Darian shook his head. "I would like nothing more than staying next to you, Lord Kael."

"Suit yourself," Kael shrugged, then he stretched a bit, landing on the ground with the others.

"Alright. Now…"

He tilted his head toward the towering building beside the giant tree.

"Let's see what everyone's panicking about."

Evethra shot him a look. "There's really something going on, right?"

She also found it strange that the sparrow-kin had suddenly sped up, but looking at how Kael was reacting, she was sure there was more to it.

"Mm." Kael shoved his hands in his pockets. "If the messengers are acting like wasps in spring, someone important just set off an alarm."

Selene walked beside him, robes fluttering.

"And what do you think it is?"

Kael shrugged lazily. "I was hoping you could tell me."

Selene made a face. "…I can't see everything."

Evethra shook her head, knowing well that Kael was messing with Selene.

"Why are you shaking your head?" Kael turned to her with a raised brow. "I'm not bullying her, you know. I'm just trying to outsource effort."

Selene, looking at Kael and Evethra and seeing how they could somehow understand each other without even saying anything, frowned.

"I want that, too..." She muttered, but the sound was so low that no one heard it.

No one except Darian, who narrowed his eyes at that.

But then, he shrugged.

'A god's love is endless. He can have more than a hundred in his heart.'

By then, they had reached the building's entrance.

But before they could step inside—

Alenia stepped out.

Her hair was tied up, and her cheeks were slightly flushed from work. She held a wooden clipboard under her arm.

The moment she saw Kael, she stopped.

Then she breathed a quiet sigh.

"Of course," she said dryly. "Of course you'd notice something was off."

Kael grinned. "And here I thought I hid my genius laziness well."

Selene rolled her eyes.

Evethra failed to stifle a laugh.

Alenia's tone shifted—gentle, but serious.

"Come with me. There's something you should see—"

But then she paused, noticing Darian.

"—Wait, who's that?"

Everyone turned toward Darian, and, rubbing his chin with a thoughtful expression, Kael answered. "Long story short, he's my devotee."

Alenia made a weird face, looking at Selene and Evethra, as if asking, 'What happened in a few hours?'

Both of them could just helplessly raise their hands.

In the end, Alenia shook her head.

"Tell me about it on the way down."

Kael nodded and began telling her everything that had happened as she led the four down the hallway and toward a heavy wooden trapdoor framed by thick roots.

The deeper they went, the cooler the air grew.

More still.

More tense.

Alenia and the group, however, didn't feel any of that, as they were busy with something else.

Finally, when Kael explained everything, Alenia rubbed her head. "So he's your devotee."

"That's what I said," Kael replied.

And soon, they reached the bottom.

A dim lantern glowed softly.

And lying on a sturdy wooden bed—hands bound just enough to prevent sudden movements, surrounded by traps that would trigger if he so much as twitched too violently—

Vaelen slept.

Unconscious.

Calm.

Breathing evenly.

Alenia folded her arms.

"He wandered too close to the river path," she said quietly. "He's Valean. One of the brothers of the city lord of Valdera you killed."

Kael raised a brow. "You knocked him out?"

Alenia coughed. "…Illusioned him first. Then put him to sleep."

Evethra tilted her head. "That's… impressively subtle."

Selene stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly as she examined Vaelen's aura.

"He's strong," she murmured. "But he's not hostile yet. But that's probably because he doesn't know who we are."

Kael slid his hands into his pockets again.

His golden eyes gleamed.

"So," he said lightly, "let's wake the princess, shall we?"

.........................

Meanwhile, in the city lord's estate in Rolanor.

Evening light spilled across the polished marble of Arren Baneron's private study, turning the room into a mosaic of light orange and deep shadows.

Bookshelves lined the walls—crammed with grimoires and research manuscripts—while a single crystalline lamp cast a faint bluish glow over the desk.

Arren sat behind it, posture immaculate, a cup of untouched tea steaming beside him.

His blue hair was perfectly combed; not a strand dared fall out of place.

His blue eyes, however—icy, sharp, and endlessly calculating—were fixed on the figure kneeling before him.

A man cloaked in black. Hood low. Voice calm.

The Master of the kingdom's largest assassin organization.

Arren lifted the teacup, inhaled the fragrance, and set it down without drinking.

"Status report," he said, smooth as still water, each word precise and edged with impatience. "It has been a day. I assume you have something meaningful to tell me."

The hooded man bowed slightly.

"We are progressing, Lord Arren. The target is deep inside Rugarda. Reaching the precise location your tracking spell indicates takes more time than anticipated."

"Time," Arren repeated, leaning back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with elegant annoyance. "A fascinating concept. And one I have very little of."

His gaze sharpened.

"My father departs in an hour."

The assassin's head tilted. "Lord Aldric is leaving the capital?"

"Yes," Arren said, tapping a finger lightly on the lacquered desk. "And unlike your subordinates, he does not dally. With his pace—and with Marthis accompanying him—he will reach Vaelen in half a day."

Marthis Snowfall, the Baneron family butler.

He was a grand mage, someone equal in power to his father, Aldric Baneron.

And a grand mage was someone who could tear a fortress apart with a single spell if politely asked.

Arren's eyes narrowed, expression calm but voice steel.

"I do not intend for my dear brother to still be breathing by then."

A quiet ripple passed through the room.

The assassin lowered his head further. "We understand the urgency, my lord. And I assure you… this matter will be resolved before Lord Aldric arrives."

"I would hope so," Arren said. "Considering I have provided you with Vaelen's exact location. The tracker is active. His movements, his stops—everything is recorded. You have a luxury most assassins would kill for."

He paused. "And yet, here we are. Speaking of delays."

The assassin's lips curved faintly beneath the hood.

"Do not worry, Lord Arren. The operative I have dispatched is the best we possess. A man who could assassinate even your father, if we so wished."

Arren's brows lifted ever so slightly—not with fear, but with a cool, clinical interest.

"Brave words."

"True ones."

A thin smile touched Arren's lips, elegant and cold.

"Then see to it that they remain true. I expect good news… imminently."

The hooded man pressed a fist to his chest in acknowledgment.

"You will have it, my lord."

Arren watched him vanish into the shadows of the hallway, leaving the room steeped in silence once more.

He lifted his teacup again.

This time, he took a sip.

"Good," he murmured.

His eyes gleamed—sharp, icy, and merciless.

"Vaelen… dear brother… you have run out of time."

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