The ride back to Valis was rather long and tiresome. After hours of navigating the Whispering Forest and running from Wanderer's hard-hitting attacks, Tyrus's feet felt like mush. As soon as he entered one of Bonrith's carriages with the rest of Blue Dawn, his mind and body seemed ready to give out.

The trip involved two carriages, one for the detained council members and another for Blue Dawn and their provisions. The interior was dark, lit only by the faint moonlight that shined through the gaps. Tyrus leaned against the wooden frame, his head knocking softly with each bump. He barely registered the quiet murmur of conversation between Grant and Reo or the occasional groan from Igneal, who'd wedged himself into an awkward corner. Fiona was dozing off on Reo's shoulder, her head lolling every time they hit a bump, yet she never awakened.

With Bonrith as their coachman, the ride was rather peaceful in the late hour. The same couldn't be said for the other carriage. Another coachman who Bonrith knew in Lindell had taken the reins for sil, naturally, while Othelia stood watch of Nessa and the council members inside. Tyrus could already imagine the scene unfolding: Vareste's pitiful attempts to explain his involvement in Scourge despite being gagged, the other council members trying to defend themselves, and Othelia glaring daggers at them like some silent statue of judgment.

He turned his face toward the gap in the wall, letting the cool night air kiss his cheek. The rocky ground outside was uneven, and every so often, the carriage would dip or tilt at an angle before steadying. Trees had thinned since they left Lindell, replaced by stretches of rugged grassland and clusters of stone that caught the moonlight like dull teeth.

Tyrus's thoughts drifted, resisting the pull of sleep. The Whispering Forest, Wanderer's identity and involvement with Scourge, the blood sorcerer, and a talking artifact… It was all still too raw, too recent. He tried to think through it logically, to piece together the thread connecting everything. But logic was a fragile net when your mind and body were running on fumes.

He'd seen too much blood, too many scared faces, too many lies covered with polite smiles and official titles. People with power who twisted systems to serve their own ends. It disgusted him how easy it had been for Vareste and his cohorts to sell out their own town.

And Scourge, they were bigger than he'd thought. Smarter, more organized. They had roots, money, goals. He'd been noticed; "Leader" was keeping tabs on him. Wanderer had said as much. What did that mean? Would he be hunted from now on? No... should her words even be trusted in the first place?

Maybe he'll get more answers from the artifact itself. Currently, it was stashed inside his Scourge ring. Tyrus didn't want to carry it around out in the open since it was supposed to be kept a secret. So, it would stay there until he met up with Grant's father and consulted him about the situation. Handling this kind of situation on his own would be a mistake, especially if the artifact was as dangerous as Sir Geroth claimed.

A loud jolt snapped him from his thoughts. The carriage dipped sharply before leveling out again. Reo muttered something under his breath but didn't wake Fiona, whose head had merely shifted a little further down his arm.

Tyrus let out a tired breath, his shoulders sinking. He didn't want to think anymore. Not about Sezor or Scourge. Not even about what would happen once they reached the capital and Othelia filed her reports. All he wanted was to rest. To close his eyes for just a moment.

His body agreed before his mind could protest. The lull of the carriage, the hush of the night, the warmth from the others—despite the cold wood at his back—soothed him into stillness. His eyelids drooped, the last flickers of moonlight blurring as his vision dimmed. He fell asleep without realizing it.

At first, there was nothing but darkness, and not the comforting kind that sleep sometimes brought. A hollow realm that pressed against his senses with neither sound nor scent, only a cold emptiness that made his breath catch.

Unlike his usual dreams, where he drifted weightlessly like a feather in a windless sky, here he felt. The ground was real; he wasn't floating, but standing on something, though it was hard to tell because of the lack of light. Tyrus couldn't see his hands, couldn't see anything beyond the void. He reached out instinctively, groping for orientation or anything solid to hold on to.

A pinprick of light appeared in the vastness, like a star piercing the black canopy. Distant at first. But it pulsed once… then again. Each flash carved away more of the void, revealing slivers of the surrounding space. Smooth, obsidian ground beneath his feet, and endless shadow in every direction.

The light continued its steady approach, as if drawn to him, or perhaps calling him. Tyrus took a step forward. Drawn like a moth to flame, his heartbeat synced to its rhythm, thudding louder with every beat. Soon, he could make out a smooth, pale orb mottled with streaks of black like frozen lightning. The artifact. It floated inches above the ground, glowing softly.

When Tyrus reached for it, the light flared in response, and for a moment, it felt tender. His fingers were just about to touch it when the glow dulled. But instead of growing dim, the artifact changed. The black streaks shifted into a face.

Wanderer stared up at him from the artifact's surface. Her expression was void of emotion, her eyes cold and searching. As if she was looking at nothing but a mere ant on the road. Tyrus recoiled instinctively, yanking his hand back. The artifact dropped from his grasp, vanishing into the void below.

From every direction, her voice echoed, overlapping and curling around his ears like tendrils of smoke, each whisper sending shivers down his spine.

"Do not lose sight of it again."

"You are not its enemy."

"It waits for you to execute."

"Only then can the core awaken anew."

Those same four words echoed over and over, drowning out any other thoughts. They reiterated again and again, until they were all he could hear, all he could focus on. Tyrus's head pounded from the stream of words that flooded his ears, as if the void was devouring the words and transforming them into physical blows.

Even then, he croaked out a plea. "What do you mean? Why are you working for Scourge? Can I even trust anything you say?"

The words kept coming, their syllables falling on deaf ears as Tyrus tried to defend himself from their assault. More pleas slipped past his lips, but it was nothing more than adding a drop of water into a pond.

Just as it felt like his head would explode, the overlapping voices suddenly ceased. A few short moments later, another one popped up.

"Tyrus."

The darkness shattered like glass. He jolted upright, gasping. The wooden frame of the carriage was warm against his back, and the gentle sway beneath him returned. What had been solid black with wisps of light moments before now fractured into deep purples and amber, the sky transforming like a bruise healing in reverse. Birds chirped their morning song as the world outside awoke.

Tyrus blinked once, twice. Looking up, he noticed Fiona's hand was on his arm, her brows creased in concern.

"You alright?" she asked softly, her voice still raspy from sleep. "You were mumbling to yourself for a bit. And your tail was doing this funny little waggle."

A giveaway of his anxiety, his tail thrashed uncontrollably against the floor of the carriage. He tried to still it, but the tremor seemed to have a mind of its own.

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"Just a dream, I think," he managed, though his voice came out rougher than intended.

Fiona's eyes searched his face in the growing dawn light. "Must've been some dream. You look like you've seen a ghost."

More like a ghost saw me, Tyrus thought, but didn't say it aloud. Instead, he rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the phantom echo of Wanderer's words. They still rang in his ears: Do not lose sight of it again. You are not its enemy. It waits for you to execute. Only then can the core awaken anew.

What did it mean? Execute what? And what core was she talking about? Going by the words 'Do not lose sight of it again,' Wanderer must've been referring to the artifact. If so, why call it a core specifically? Was that truly what it was, or was that just a name it was referred to as when Wanderer previously possessed it?

Another headache crept up, and Tyrus bit his tongue. Believing his episodes were a thing of the past, they resurfaced at the most inconvenient times. Wanderer definitely did something to his mind and was now basically haunting him through dreams. The thought of having someone, especially someone working with Scourge, potentially having access to his thoughts even when he slept, made his skin crawl.

Either that, or his brain was so addled, his mind was hallucinating an interpretation that would soothe his troubles. Maybe the dream meant nothing at all—just his subconscious trying to make sense of the chaos they'd experienced. But the vividness and feel of it made that explanation feel hollow.

"Tyrus?" Fiona's voice pulled him back to the present. Her hand was still on his arm, and he realized he'd been silent for longer than intended. "You're starting to worry me."

He blinked, forcing himself to focus on her concerned face rather than the lingering echoes in his mind. "Sorry. Just... trying to make sense of it all."

"Was it about what happened in the forest?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, not trusting himself to elaborate just yet. How could he explain he might be losing his grip on sensibility? That every time he closed his eyes, he risked being pulled into some twisted communication with their enemy?

"Here." She handed him a small water skin. "You look like you need this."

Tyrus accepted it gratefully, the cool liquid washing away some of the lingering metallic taste from his dream.

Others nearby were beginning to awaken. Grant stretched his arms above his head with a grunt, while Reo carefully adjusted his position and rubbed his neck where Fiona had been sleeping against his shoulder. Igneal was the last to wake up, rising from a prone position as his face twisted into a grimace. He spent half a minute muttering curses about being unable to move his head to the left.

"How much further to Valis?" Grant asked, peering through one of the gaps in the carriage wall.

"The destination is near," Bonrith announced from the driver's seat. "We should reach the outer gates shortly."

The prospect of reaching the capital brought a mix of relief and anxiety to Tyrus. Relief that this quick journey would finally be over, that he could hand over the artifact to a trusted person more qualified to deal with its mysteries. But anxiety too—what would happen to them once they arrived? Othelia was surely going to have Blue Dawn give a proper run-down they have done so previously. This was a matter that involved the royal knights and Scourge, after all. It would be odd not to do so.

"You're doing it again," Fiona observed quietly.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you get lost in your own head and your ears start twitching."

Tyrus's hand flew to his ears, confirming her observation. He forced them to still, annoyed at how easily his body betrayed his thoughts.

Reo yawned. "I bet he's worried about what comes after. We're probably going to have to inform the Imperial Court about everything that happened. The council members, the forest, Scourge's involvement—it's going to be a long debriefing."

"Not to mention explaining how we stumbled into all of this," Grant added. "Our encounters with Scourge cannot be recognized as mere coincidences."

"We have Tyrus to thank for that. How many times does that make it now? Three? Four? You might be a Scourge magnet at this point."

"It's more like they keep showing up wherever I go," Tyrus groaned. The jewel in his ring sparkled as the first rays of sun beamed. "Do you think it's the ring that invites danger?"

Fiona tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hm, I never thought about your Scourge ring having a sort of tracker enchantment. It's possible, but I doubt it. Nessa is an expert on runes and such, and she's seen your ring before. She would've noticed anything wrong. Once she wakes up, we can ask her."

If there really is a tracker on the ring, would that mean I'd have to give it up? Hopefully, there's a way to remove the tracker. Having a storage ring on hand makes my life a lot easier.

Moving his gaze elsewhere, the Grand Tower of Valis came into view in the distance. Then came the palace in the northwest of the capital and the walls circling Valis. The carriage dipped and jolted as Bonrith navigated the rocky path that led to the city gate, then slowed to a stop once they reached the line of waiting carriages.

The guards were checking papers and questioning travelers with more thoroughness than usual. Other than that, nothing was different. Once it was their turn, Bonrith gave them his credentials and reason for his visitation. Afterward, one of the guards walked over to the back and took a peek inside. Once satisfied, he went on to check the other carriage. Not even two seconds had passed until he stepped back and yelped.

"R-Royal Knight Othelia!"

His voice cracked through the quiet morning air, drawing the attention of nearby guards and travelers alike. The man straightened, saluting so stiffly it looked painful. The reaction was immediate—several other guards hurried toward the second carriage as the young guard fumbled through a rushed explanation.

"Apologies! I didn't realize—please, allow me to—"

The carriage door creaked open. Royal Knight Othelia stepped down with her usual commanding presence. The guards instantly moved aside, forming a neat line and bowing their heads in respect.

"There's no need for fuss," Othelia said coolly, her gaze sweeping across the soldiers. Dark circles formed underneath her eyes. "Just inform the gate captain that I require an escort through the city. These prisoners are to be held under royal decree until a formal inquest is arranged."

The young soldier sputtered a nervous "Yes, ma'am!" and sprinted off.

Meanwhile, Fiona peered out. "Guess we're skipping the line."

"Perks of traveling with a royal knight," Reo said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Must be nice for everyone but the emperor to kiss your ass at any time."

Fiona gave Reo a quick shove with her elbow. "Try saying that a little louder next time. Maybe she didn't hear you."

Reo held up his hands defensively, grinning. "Hey, I'm just saying what we're all thinking."

"Some thoughts are best kept inside your head," Fiona muttered, though a hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Tyrus leaned forward slightly, catching a clearer glimpse of Othelia outside as she gave a quiet command to another guard, who promptly ran off toward the gate tower. The dark circles under her eyes hadn't gone unnoticed. Even someone as formidable as her wasn't immune to exhaustion, it seemed.

"I don't think she's slept," he said aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

"Would you sleep if you had to monitor corrupt officials, an injured royal knight, the possibility of outside danger, and us who slept through the entire ride?" Igneal said dryly from his corner.

No one argued with him, and no one else voiced their concern about Othelia. There was no need to. Though she seemed exhausted on the outside, here she was, not missing a beat when it regarded her duty as a royal knight of the Lethos Empire.

He wondered how often Othelia had stood exactly like this. Half-awake, bruised, probably starving, yet still armored, still dominant, still pretending like none of it touched her. How many nights had she traded sleep for diligence?

To be strong yet look weak: that was the hardest part, he thought. Anyone could scream their power or flaunt it, but to quietly bear it, to keep going even when your knees ached and your vision blurred... that was something else.

Tyrus lowered his eyes. He wasn't sure if he admired her more for what she'd done or for everything she likely endured that no one would ever know about. A tiny bit of him still hates her for outright trying to kill him, but even he could admire her traits. Not doing so would be the same as spitting on her achievements.

The carriage rolled forward with a dull rumble beneath them, the wheels now tracing cobbled stone instead of loose gravel. Tyrus let his hand rest near the edge of the window, feeling the hum of the city through the wood.

Ah, that's right. I have to ask Grant if he has a way of contacting Sir Geroth.

Everyone stepped out of Bonrith's carriage once they were within the capital. Fiona stretched and turned to Bonrith, offering a faint but sincere smile as she

"Shurauk," she said. "For everything. You didn't have to, but you did."

Bonrith simply shrugged, brushing dust off his sleeves. "Think nothing of it. Opportunities like this don't come often. Lending a hand to a royal knight is a first for me. I usually don't travel after sunset," he added, adjusting his sash. "But when someone like her needs help, well, who'd be foolish enough to say no?"

"I understand your reasoning, as I would have done the same. Building connections as a traveling merchant is nothing to be ashamed of. Refusing would be the same as denying sap from the tree of vitality."

The man chuckled. "You are as wise as the elders from Askalid. May good fortune fall upon you, Blue Dawn."

He offered a final wink before urging his avian steeds forward. They shrieked and moved onward, Bonrith disappeared into the morning crowd, swallowed up by the city's rhythm as if he'd never been there at all.

Othelia caught the groups attention when she strutted in front of them.

"Finish the completion of your contract. I will wait outside the Explorer Guild," Othelia said, her tone clipped and cool.

Turning on her heel, she headed off toward the guilds direction. As she passed through the morning crowd that parted open, people began to stop and gawk. Whispers and fingers followed her steps.

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