"What would you like to speak about?" the hound asked, lifting himself from the bow.

Tyrus exhaled slowly and sat down on the smooth ground, crossing his legs and leaning back on his palms. He let his shoulders sag, choosing a casual pose to steady himself, though his mind churned beneath the surface. Once he was level with Eaubrus's gaze, he locked eyes with him.

It was always jarring, staring into those dark, intelligent eyes. Eaubrus may have worn the shape of a hound, but there was nothing simple or instinct-driven behind that gaze. He spoke, reasoned and acted with purpose just like any other human. For anyone else, it would look eerie, even wrong.

But the greatest complication wasn't his intelligence, but that Eaubrus could not speak to anyone but Tyrus.

Sir Geroth heard nothing but growls back when Eaubrus first emerged as a magical beast. Tyrus guessed the bond allowed others to hear him. But no, it was the same as always. Only Tyrus heard words where others heard barking or growls.

And even now, after months with this creature, one question still gnawed at him: Could Eaubrus hear his thoughts?

Sometimes it felt like yes. Other times—when Tyrus's mind was going crazy with suspicion and mistrust—the hound had shown no reaction. No subtle twitch of an ear or a shift in his eyes. Nothing to indicate he knew what Tyrus privately feared. Either he truly couldn't read minds, or he was frighteningly good at pretending.

He sighed to himself, wishing that he could ask Apostle Alaran for help on this matter, but knew that was impossible.

"Tyrus," Eaubrus said, "you've been staring at me without speaking. What troubles you?"

Tyrus narrowed his eyes. How should he approach this?

"When you were a core, I carried you around for years. I didn't know what you were. Not even the Elder Treant did, though the treant guessed you were some kind of artifact. Later on, I thought that dream with Wanderer calling the orb an artifact just confirmed it. But after you started speaking and absorbed mana inside the sanctuary, I realized I'd been wrong this whole time. You were a mana core all along."

He lifted his gaze fully, staring at the crown of his Karti Tree.

"And now you're… this. Regaining memories piece by piece. A name similar to mine that sounds like it originated in the Beastfolk Kingdom. Flashes of special places you visited back then... I don't know who you were, and I don't know what you were. And I can't assume anything."

Eaubrus dipped his head. "You have helped me make progress. For that, I—"

"No." Tyrus cut him off sharply. "That's where our similarities end."

Silence settled between them, thick as mist. Tyrus steadied himself, letting the words settle into place.

"You know, I noticed something odd. Those memories you regained... every single one happened at places tied to Mevena."

He raised a finger with each one:

"The Wildwood sanctuary, the cathedral at the pit, and the chapel where you gave that instinctive warning. And then there was the figure in vines. The one I saw when you were connected to my shadow. The one who made my pathways burn like I'd set myself on fire from the inside. You said you didn't see them, but I don't believe that anymore."

Tyrus leaned forward, voice hardening. "That figure was Mevena or something tied to her. The appearance closely matches the statue I've seen of her. It happened only because you were there. So tell me the truth about why you lied. Because if you don't, I'm going to have to take action neither of us will like."

For a moment, Eaubrus simply stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, he gave a low, amused chuckle.

"You are a strange child. Your body and age say one thing, yet your words and resolve say another. It is difficult to tell which part of you is truly the younger."

Tyrus blinked. "Thanks… I think?"

"I meant it as admiration, not ridicule," Eaubrus said more seriously. "And yes, I saw them. I assume the figure in vines was Mother Mevena, goddess of nature and health. My body trembled with a familiarity I cannot consciously recall, yet my soul recognized the weight of divine presence. I fled because instinct warned me I had no right to stand before her."

Tyrus's breath stiffened in his chest as Eaubrus continued.

"Bearer, I know you don't fully trust me. I see the questions and suspicion in your eyes, but I haven't lied about my lost memories. I won't force you to help me get them back. Something shifted when we bonded, a compulsion to serve you. I can't explain it, and I understand it even less. But I can obey it. I held back the truth for one reason only: I was afraid the goddess was still listening."

Tyrus frowned, confusion and concern intertwining. "Why would that matter?"

Eaubrus began pacing around him.

"Because she was furious, Tyrus. Her wrath, an avalanche. At first, I believed it was because of the corrupted mana I absorbed from the impurity from the wetlands and the Whispering Forest. Corrupted mana taints everything it touches, like a plague. A goddess of purity and health would find it repulsive."

Tyrus stiffened as the memory resurfaced. He had forgotten Eaubrus absorbed corrupted mana. Part of him wished that detail didn't matter as much as it likely did.

"But," Eaubrus continued, "I believe there is another reason. One more troubling." He stopped in front of Tyrus and held his gaze. "I think I may have done something to her long ago. Something that earned her wrath."

Tyrus snorted before he could stop himself. "That's impossible. Gods don't act directly anymore. That's why Apostles exist. Alaran said so himself."

Eaubrus nodded slowly. "You're correct. The gods no longer walk Dharmere. If they did, the land would shatter under their presence. But remnants, which are fragments of their will, may be bound to objects, and those sacred. When enough passion or faith gathers, those remnants can manifest. And if they hold anger, the emotion they inflict feels no less real."

"So that figure wasn't actually her," Tyrus said. "Just something she left behind."

"It is one possibility. Though remnants see as gods see. They may peer through statues, murals, anything carrying their mark. And if she recognized me, either in my current form or the soul I once held, her anger was inevitable. That is why I feigned ignorance. I feared she could harm you through me."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Tyrus looked away, unsure of how to respond. The idea of a goddess's remnant listening through Eaubrus unsettled him in ways he didn't like to admit.

"…Then why didn't anything happen at the Wildwood Sanctuary?" he asked after a moment. "If anywhere would trigger her anger, I'd expect it to be there."

"I am not sure, but the Elder Treants might know," Eaubrus answered. "I only learned about this now after encountering a remnant of Mevena."

Tyrus pursed his lips, a storm of thoughts churning in his mind. Fear, suspicion, and uncertainty warred within him, each emotion crashing into the others until they blurred together. He couldn't afford to ignore this turmoil. A decision was needed, and fast.

Before another word could leave him, the Sorcerer Plane distorted. The abyss ground rippled like disturbed water, and light flickered across the realm. Tyrus reached out instinctively, but the world slipped away from him.

His eyes snapped open just in time for his forehead to collide with the carriage's wooden beam.

"OW!"

Pain surged through his skull, and he grabbed his head while Fiona leaned over him in a panic.

"Tyrus! I'm sorry—I didn't think you'd shoot up like that!"

He blinked through the throbbing in his forehead. "It's fine… I just… how long was I in the Sorcerer Plane?"

"Six hours," she said.

His jaw dropped. "Six hours? Not six minutes? You're joking."

She shook her head. "You tell me why anyone stays in the Sorcerer Plane for six hours straight. Sounds like a boring way to pass the time."

Just as Tyrus was about to speak, a warm aroma wafted in through the carriage opening. His stomach rumbled, prompting a suppressed giggle from Fiona.

"Grant just finished cooking. Come outside and eat."

Tyrus stepped out of the carriage, the cold night air nipping at his skin.

Their camp was set in a small clearing beside the road, sheltered by low trees that cast patterned shadows across the ground. The fire crackled near the center, sending sparks drifting upward into the dark sky. Stones arranged into makeshift stools encircled the flames, and the others sat with plates in hand, their faces glowing in the fire's warm light.

Grant looked up as Tyrus approached and handed him a plate with strips of meat and tough bread with a smile.

Tyrus thanked him and took a seat, the fire warming his legs as he began eating. The edges of the meat were slightly overcooked and crisp with char, but its savoriness flooded his senses and soothed his stomach. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and somewhere deeper in the wilderness, an insect hummed a low note.

Yet even with the fire's comfort, Tyrus couldn't shake the weight of Eaubrus's words that echoed in the back of his mind. Mevena's wrath, corrupted mana, remnants of gods that may still linger through objects and places, and a past that refused to stay buried.

He swallowed another bite and quietly muttered, "I'll have to make a choice soon."

***

Morning came quietly, a thin gray light sliding across the clearing as the remnants of their camp crackled faintly in the dying fire. A cold wind passed through the area, causing the dew-covered grass and short trees to shiver.

The group moved with nimble hands. Blankets were folded, cookware packed, and stone stools returned to where they came. Their breath misted faintly in the crisp air as they prepared for another stretch of travel.

Sir Wayne took hold of the reins without being asked. The knight barely spoke as he climbed into the driver's seat, adjusting his posture with discipline.

Even after days of travel, taking watch shifts, and spending half the night awake under the stars, he showed no dark circles, slouching shoulders, or even stiffness in his movements. His expression never shifted from its stern calm.

Tyrus had always found it strange how Sir Wayne seemed both tense and relaxed at once, like a carved statue forged for the sole purpose of serving the Lockharts.

Maybe that was simply what happened when an Augmentation Sorcerer reached a certain threshold.

Exhaustion became an inconvenience rather than a limitation. If that was true, then one day Tyrus would be just like him. Needing little sleep, overflowing with energy, able to push his body further without pause. It meant more time to strengthen his Karti Tree and develop sturdier pathways. He could practically taste the strength waiting for him.

He was only an apprentice now, but judging by how quickly his progression had grown, he would likely reach the next rank by adulthood. What happened after that, he had no idea, but that uncertainty was exciting. Training, pushing limits, discovering what he could become was what he loved most about being a sorcerer.

Or it would have been, if Scourge weren't poisoning the back of his mind every waking moment! Even now, during something as simple as travel, he couldn't shake them from his thoughts.

They were always plotting. Always lurking beneath the surface of events. Even being with Blue Dawn, he still found himself glancing over his shoulder.

What if he exhausted himself in a fight and they struck when he was weakest? What if they slipped a knife between his ribs while he slept? Eaubrus would warn him, he knew that, but the paranoia stayed rooted deep within him.

Why can't they just disappear? What do they gain from any of this?

And on top of that, there was Eaubrus's confession about Mevena's wrath, corrupted mana, remnants, and a past that may have angered a goddess. That knowledge clung to him through the long days of travel, adding another layer of tension he couldn't shake.

Observant as always, Fiona noticed immediately.

She sat on the opposite side of the carriage for most of the journey, chin propped on her hand as she watched him with raised brows.

"Your face is stuck in a scowl again," she said more than once. "You look like you ate something sour by accident."

Tyrus simply answered that he was worried about the other mining towns; how many had been hit, how many were left. Fiona would stare at him for several seconds with an unreadable expression before murmuring, "You sound just like him," and looking away. She never clarified who "him" was. Instead, she shifted topics and began chatting with Grant or Reo to lighten the mood.

Tyrus usually drifted into meditation afterward. It helped pass the time and kept him focused on strengthening the main pathways connected to his Karti Tree. Even the carriage's uneven rocking couldn't break his concentration after a while.

Creatures attacked them occasionally, but they weren't enough to slow the group down. Lesser hounds prowled the edges of the beaten path, eyes shining from the underbrush before they grew bold enough to leap from the shadows.

Fiona immediately drove them away. A single sweep of her staff was all it took for flames to roar forth and send the beasts yelping into the trees. When one particularly persistent hound didn't flee and instead lunged toward the carriage, Fiona didn't even sit up straight. Almost in a bored manner, she flicked her wrist and fired a Flame Arrow directly into its eye. The creature collapsed mid-air, lifeless before it hit the ground.

Tyrus watched with equal parts admiration and disappointment. Fiona was strong and more than enough to deal with the threats, but she clearly didn't want the others to lift a finger. She insisted she had no problem handling beasts on her own, as if the fights weren't even worth considering.

They pushed through groves where moss-covered trunks stood close together, the air thick with the scent of damp greenery. The Grasskin Boars made their home there, enormous, brown-tusked creatures whose fur looked like patches of moss.

In Lethos, they were notorious for ambushing from the cover of groves. They'd wait for unsuspecting victims to wander into view, then charge, flipping them with their tusks while simultaneously goring them. This time, the creature, mistaking the carriage for an animal, lowered its head and charged, ready to overturn the vehicle.

Again, Fiona reacted first. A blazing wall of heat forced the boar back, scorching its mossy hide and making it squeal as it fled. She didn't give the rest of the group a chance to intervene.

More strange creatures appeared over the next few days. A herd of stonehorns thundered across the plains during their winter migration, hooves shaking the ground as they barreled past. Dust rolled behind them like a storm. The knight slowed the carriage, but Fiona kept a hand raised, ready to incinerate any that veered too close. None did; they followed some silent instinct only their kind understood and vanished across the hills.

Tyrus also noticed that Fiona took the first night watch every time they camped, which was something she normally left to the augmentation sorcerers. She stood with her staff in hand, staring at the bright moon long after everyone else slept, the orange glow of the fire flickering across her expression.

It was strange, but Tyrus didn't question it. He assumed she simply wanted to avoid any delays in their return to the capital and would just doze off.

On the fourth day, the Northern Mountains loomed large, and the distant hills dipped, revealing the horizon. To the right lay Wildwood, a woodland with pale green grass and slender, towering trees. Tyrus could already smell the sweet fragrance of nepora drifting on the breeze.

Smiling faintly, Tyrus shifted forward in his seat as a familiar silhouette pierced the skyline. The Grand Tower, rising like a marble spear above Valis, stood far in the distance.

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