Heavy footsteps echoed through the lingering smoke. From the other side of the forest, a new figure emerged—a thin man wearing a tattered brown misty coat. His hair was messy and disheveled, and round glasses clung tightly to his face.

As he stepped into the chaos, his eyes immediately turned to Lyanna, who was still writhing among the entangling roots, struggling to free herself with muffled grunts and restrained fury. The bespectacled man let out a soft chuckle, like a child amused by a toy already half-broken.

"Oh... it's you," he muttered casually.

He then turned his gaze to Count Yilesh, who had just gotten back on his feet with a dusty and disheveled expression. The Count was patting his ragged robe, trying to restore the dignity momentarily lost from Lyanna's earlier kick.

"I wondered what business made you late for our meeting to discuss the plan to conquer Glimfell... until I had to come find you myself," the bespectacled man said with a mocking tone.

Count Yilesh snorted quietly, clearly annoyed but said nothing in return.

The man walked slowly, his eyes sweeping across Lyanna's face, then Daphne's, then the unconscious Sally tangled in roots.

"Hmm..." he hummed with delight. "What a surprise. How lucky we are. We just deployed our troops around Glimfell tonight, and now... we catch a prize this big sooner than expected."

He chuckled. "With them in our grasp... we might not even need a siege. Aiden will kneel before us without a single arrow fired."

Count Yilesh stepped forward, his face grim. "I was the one who found them, Marquess Briarwood."

The bespectacled man—Marquess Briarwood—turned with an irritating smile. "But I was the one who captured them, Count. Did you not see?"

Count Yilesh's face tightened. "Even without your arrival... I could have captured them myself."

Marquess let out a low laugh and shrugged. "Very well, as you please. We are allies now, Count. There's no use tallying points."

He stepped forward again, gazing at the prisoners still bound in roots.

"So... what shall we do with these three?" he asked calmly.

As he spoke, the roots binding Riven, Melly, and the coachman began to shift. The sound of grinding fibers and earth crept forward as their bodies were dragged closer until all three knelt helplessly before the two nobles.

Riven knelt with his face half-buried in dirt, his body battered and his clothes scorched. Melly was still sobbing beside him, her small body trembling within the wooden embrace. The young coachman was barely conscious, his face bloodied and neck bruised.

Count Yilesh stepped forward and pointed to Melly. "That girl is a Lawbearer. Her affinity is lightning, like mine. To be a Lawbearer at that age... her talent must be Resonant level."

He narrowed his eyes. "Looks like she's the adopted child Aiden tried to hide. I will take her with me."

Marquess Briarwood raised his brows in surprise. He examined Melly like a valuable puzzle. He leaned in to get a better look at her face, then gave a slight smile.

"Hmm... interesting," he murmured.

Meanwhile, Count Yilesh added flatly, "As for the other two, kill them."

Melly began to tremble violently. She sobbed loudly and suddenly screamed, "P-Please... don't kill my brother!! I beg you... I will obey... please... don't kill my brother..."

Riven clenched his eyes shut, his jaw tightening, blood boiling in his battered body. He could only bite his tongue, trying to suppress the rage bubbling inside. He was supposed to protect his sister—yet now, he couldn't even move.

'Weak...' he cursed himself. 'Why am I... this weak.'

"I don't like whining," Count Yilesh cut in coldly.

He looked at Melly and said, "If you disobey, I only need to whip you until you comply."

Riven snapped his head up and yelled, "YOU DAMN NOBLE BASTARD! YOU—!!"

But the surrounding roots moved swiftly. They coiled around his mouth and gagged him instantly. His voice fell into a muffled growl.

Marquess Briarwood looked at Riven with disgust. "I don't like foul language either. It's unpleasant to noble ears."

Melly's sobs grew harsher, her voice breaking with each breath. Then she said something that silenced them both.

"I-If that's the case... I-I'll kill myself," she whispered, trembling.

Time stopped. Count Yilesh squinted, while Marquess Briarwood tilted his head in clear surprise.

The Marquess's smile changed. He chuckled, not from amusement, but from admiration.

"A child your age dares say such things?" he muttered. "So much potential... or deep wounds... or both."

Count Yilesh exhaled sharply. "I dislike troublesome things," he said.

He looked at Melly again and declared coldly, "I've changed my mind. Kill all three of them."

Melly's eyes widened. "N-No! I'm sorry... I'm sorry! I promise I'll obey! Please... don't kill my brother!"

Her sobs exploded. She shook her head violently, trying to break free from the roots, only tearing her own skin in the process. Blood dripped from her shoulder where the roots had scraped her.

But Count Yilesh's face remained cold, like stone without emotion.

Riven, still gagged and bound, heard the words "kill myself" slip from his sister's lips… and froze. His entire body tensed, as if something had gripped his heart with icy fingers. His breath caught, and the world around him seemed to fade.

A memory crept in, but he forced it away. He refused to let the past drown him.

His eyes slowly turned to Melly, who was still begging. Her face was flushed, her tears flooding her cheeks, and her small body trembled.

Then... Marquess Briarwood spoke.

"Very well. Then I will kill you one by one."

He turned to the barely-conscious coachman. With a flick of his hand, the roots binding the young man tightened like a massive serpent crushing its prey.

A sickening crack filled the air. Blood sprayed. The coachman's body lifted, twisted unnaturally, then dropped lifelessly to the ground. He was nothing more than a mangled lump of flesh.

Melly screamed. Her eyes widened in horror. "NO!!"

Her cries became frantic. She bit her lip until it bled, then stammered through trembling lips, "Don't kill my brother! I-I'm... I'm A-Rank Talent! Chosen level!"

The words hung in the air.

For the first time since appearing, both Marquess Briarwood and Count Yilesh showed visible shock. Their eyes widened, brows raised in disbelief.

"...What?" Count Yilesh whispered.

Their own talents were only B-Rank—Resonant. Enough to be respected among Lawbearers. But A-Rank?

That was a rarity. The Chosen.

"Are you lying to me, little girl?" Count Yilesh asked, his voice cold but tense.

Melly shook her head desperately, still crying. "I-I have two affinities too..."

Silence followed like a thunderstorm holding its breath.

Marquess Briarwood's gaze sharpened. He lifted a hand, and immediately, the roots binding Melly loosened and then fell away. The girl dropped to her knees, her body trembling violently, but she lifted her hands.

"Go ahead," Marquess whispered, his eyes glowing like a collector beholding a rare jewel. "Show me."

Melly took a deep breath, then opened her small, bloody palm.

In a second, a swirling wind began to rise above her skin. A gentle but sharp breeze spun like a perfect miniature spiral. At the same time, faint traces of lightning danced between her fingers, crackling in the air.

Two affinities. Lightning and wind.

Marquess Briarwood let out a soft laugh. "Incredible..."

He turned to Count Yilesh. "You said you didn't want her, right? Then... this little girl will come with me. Let me raise her. If she is too troublesome for you."

Count Yilesh clenched his jaw. "No. She's mine."

Marquess narrowed his eyes. "Really? Don't be so shameless, Count."

"Enough," Count Yilesh cut sharply. "We'll discuss this later. Right now... we must leave. We are late to meet Prince Mordune."

Marquess Briarwood raised his hand in surrender, though his smile remained. He then turned to Melly and spoke in a soft voice, like a father to his child.

"Very well... we won't kill your brother."

Melly was silent for a moment. Her eyes were still wet, her body shaking, but she nodded slowly, guilt pressing hard into her chest.

Marquess approached Riven, still bound and bloodied.

Without a word, he knelt and pulled Riftmaker from Riven's grip. The sword whimpered softly, as if reluctant to be taken.

"Your sword is quite good. I had my eyes on it from the start," said Marquess as he examined the blade.

He looked into Riven's eyes through the fogged lenses of his glasses. "You must feel lucky to have a sister like her. If not for her, you'd be a pile of crushed meat by now."

Riven could not reply. His mouth was still bound, but his eyes blazed. Hatred burned bright in his gaze: deep, furious, terrifying for someone so powerless.

Marquess only chuckled. He lightly patted Riven's cheek. "Don't take it too personally, young man. The world is cruel to the weak. But sometimes... the weak become strong when given a good enough reason."

The sky above them darkened. Not from nightfall, but from storm clouds quickly gathering over Glimfell.

They thought tonight would be the right time to leave the city and find safety elsewhere.

But the truth was...

Their steps had only led them to somewhere far worse.

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