On the afternoon of the second day, their trip ended.

  The Tower had reached them long before they reached it.

  Not as a structure — as a presence.

  The land itself seemed to flatten, as if unwilling to compete with what stood at its heart. The road narrowed into a stone spine, lined with winter-worn markers etched in languages of different countries. Neru had studied them once in a dusty Frothen archive — but seeing them here, carved a thousandfold larger, made them feel less like inscriptions and more like warnings.

  A gust of cold air swept across the plateau. The mist parted.

  And then the Tower revealed itself.

  Not a spire.

  Not a fortress.

  Not anything mortal hands should have been able to build.

  “Huge,” Neru breathed. “I always knew it was big, but… this?”

  Tarth smirked. Elios didn’t look at her. His thoughts were still trapped somewhere behind his eyes.

  Neru angled her horse forward, her eyes scanning around. If Blackfeet was as reliable as her people said, she expected to encounter him again, before entering the Tower. The mount slowed without her urging. Even the animal understood holiness when it saw it.

  Elios and Tarth rode ahead, their uniforms carved dark against the Tower’s pale radiance. Elios didn’t stare long. A man raised under this shadow wouldn’t.

  The closer they drew, the longer it took to arrive. It took them another quarter of an hour and two more turns just to get to the main entrance.

  Two titanic doors fashioned from a metal she couldn’t name. Symbols glided across the surface, drifting like reflections on water.

  “Magic!” Neru whispered.

  “No magic,” Elios shook his head, and she could almost see the corner of his mouth slightly lifted into a smile. “It was just how it reflects light. Right material, right treatment process. That’s all.”

  “But it looks magical.”

  “Could say so,” Elios nodded. “Magic, in the end, is just something going beyond our common comprehension.”

  “Is that your way of calling me stupid?” Neru chortled.

  “Far from it. This place just has that effect on newcomers. Look.”

  Tracing Elios’s finger, she witnessed the transformation of the Tower under reddish sunlight.

  Runes crawled its lower surface like ivy wrought in silver, hiding behind banners the size of a sail. Windows dotted the height like scattered stars, each one burning with a different, almost impossible color.

  “Such a wonder!” Neru whispered. “Fully deserves its title.”

  At the sound of her voice, a ragged peddler sprang up from his roadside stall and hurried toward them with wild enthusiasm.

  “Ah, noble pilgrims, welcome. First time here, yes? A sight as divine as this Tower should never go unkept. Why not take a set of paintings and verses to remember it by? Only two silver a book.”

  He bolted straight to Tarth’s horse and latched onto the man’s leg.

  “You, good sir, I can see generosity written all over you. Why not buy a copy for the family back home?”

  Tarth reacted on instinct, seizing the coin pouch at his belt and shoving the man away with his foot. “Off.”

  The peddler scuttled back, then shifted targets and darted to Elios.

  “And you, kind gent—”

  Elios raised his bandaged hand sharply. “No.”

  The peddler blinked, startled, but still not discouraged. He leapt toward Neru’s horse and clasped his hands in appeal.

  “Then the young lady must be new here, surely. Only two silver—”

  Tarth looked ready to climb down and thrash him, fists clenched.

  Neru chuckled inward, but her face remained stone-cold. Though the disguise was flawless, and his acting was amazing, she recognized the man right away. She had been looking for him too.

  “All right, I will buy,” Neru cut in before the situation soured. She waved him off. “Just one.”

  The peddler grinned, slipping a small leather pouch into her hands. “Or perhaps take this one as well, miss. Last customer of the day. Three silver in total.”

  Neru sighed and tossed him the coins. The man smiled, shoved the silver deep into his coat, and fled down the road without another word.

  Tarth clicked his tongue at her. “Eight coppers at most. You let a street rat fool you?”

  Neru pulled her scarf over her face, her voice flat. “We are already too close. I have no wish to linger. The guards are right there. Drawing attention now would be foolish.”

  Elios exhaled. “No trouble. I can handle the first ring.”

  Neru blinked. “First ring?”

  Tarth gave a short laugh. “This is only the Outer Circles. We have not even stepped into the Tower grounds. There are several more gates beyond this one. What did you think this place was?”

  So this is the Tower’s domain. Neru felt the truth of it settle over her.

  Impenetrable. Layered with vigilance and technology. A kingdom inside a kingdom.

  She reached into the leather pouch the peddler had given her and withdrew the small booklet. Opening to the first page, she found a finely sketched map of the Tower’s outer grounds, marked with careful notes.

  Of course.

  Blackfeet’s handiwork. Vile in temperament, but flawless in preparation. She almost felt grateful she had spared his life at the beginning.

  Her fingers brushed something raised along the book’s spine. A slip of paper. She drew it out.

  A small note, scrawled in his hurried hand:

  “Dream dust. Five pellets in the vial. Use sparingly.”

  Neru folded the note between her fingers, her eyes narrowing behind the scarf, her dagger ringing on her left thigh like a battle cry.

  Good. I’m now prepared.

  Elios turned to her and said.

  “Calm down.”

  Then he placed his hand on her horse’s neck, stroking its mane.

  Only then did Neru realize she was accidentally scaring the beast a bit with her surge of battle aura. But Elios didn’t seem to mind that.

  The trio dismounted and approached the entrance carefully.

  The guards on duty in front òf the gate came up to face them.

  Their cloaks bore the white-and-gold insignia of the Tower Corps, not the rough black-and-silver of the field Seekers Elios led. Their faces were clean, their boots polished, their posture strict as spear shafts.

  One stepped forward.

  “Identify,” he said, tone clipped.

  Elios handed over the writ — the one bearing Viltar’s sigil and three blood-red seals. The guard’s brows jumped, composure cracking for a heartbeat before he schooled his voice again.

  “This writ only grants access for the Captain,” he said carefully, looking at Tarth. “And his Seeker fellows only.”

  A thin, cold stillness slid down Neru’s spine.

  Elios didn’t hesitate. “New member I’ve just recruited. A healer. Lord Viltar requires her immediately.”

  The guards didn’t argue. The Archon’s health had problems recently; everybody knew that.

  They opened the gate.

  Neru had expected grinding gears - some heavy, ancient mechanism - but the doors parted silently.

  They passed through the gate and onto a wide stone bridge. Beneath it, a rush of green water tore past the pillars with a roar that echoed off the walls. From atop her horse, Neru glanced at the wavering reflection beneath the bridge.

  “Deep waters,” she murmured. “And wide as well. Without this bridge, even an army would struggle to cross.”

  Elios frowned. “Not for war. This river supplies the Tower with water and drives the mills. Lord Viltar had a dam raised at the headwaters. Should be finished next year.”

  But control of water is control of war.

  A hint of doubt touched Neru’s eyes, but another thought surfaced. She turned to Elios and asked quietly:

  “Why do you keep calling Viltar a lord? He’s the Archon of the Tower now. In a few years, he won’t even be a Veyran anymore.”

  This time, Tarth was the one who spoke.

  “He was different. The path was forced on him, but his heart stayed with Veyra. He spent half his life building this kingdom, not for gain, but for an idea. A man like that would not abandon it.”

  Incredible, Neru realized. To think that even Tarth, of all people, believes in him this deeply…

  “But authority is not decided by sentiment alone,” she continued. “A man needs real strings to pull if his words are to carry weight.”

  Elios answered as he guided his horse back into line.

  “Lord Viltar always looked ahead. Long before he took the mantle, he invested heavily in the Seeker Corps, in research halls and academies across Veyra. He created opportunities for them to cooperate with the Tower. Trained by it. Working for it. In truth, he raised a Veyran force that was bound to the Tower. To him.”

  “Always have some spare pieces,” Neru said with a faint nod of approval.

  The sky was getting dark. She scouted the map in the booklet, studying the enormous structure of the Tower, asking.

  “Where does he live then? The top Level? Is it too late for today’s visit?”

  “No. He’s in the Outer Ring. He prefers the privacy in his garden. We’re going to meet him soon.”

  A simple lifestyle could tell a lot about a person. Neru found herself wondering how such a man would receive her story.

  Not the scattered truths she had offered Elios.

  The real one.

  The one she had not yet dared to speak aloud. She did not want to look like a fool.

  “Tell me,” she said, voice low as the forest wind. “If he asks who I am… what will you say?”

  Elios hesitated just enough — one heartbeat — for her to feel it.

  Then, steady: “The truth we agreed on.”

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  Not the full truth. The shared truth.

  She felt something she didn’t like: a faint loosening in her chest, too close to trust.

  Dangerous.

  She shut it down immediately.

  After crossing two more bridges, they reached Viltar’s residence. It was a well-built house, modest rather than grand, set within a vast garden, coiled around by the river. Easy to hide, easier to defend. If one needed a retreat, this was nearly perfect.

  Simple, yet smart design.

  “No flowers,” Neru observed.

  “Lord Viltar grows crops and short harvest timber,” Elios replied. “He prefers to track the seasons himself.”

  Inside the gate, a household retainer stood watch. The moment he recognized Elios, he brightened and waved. When Elios asked him to send word ahead, the man agreed at once and hurried inside.

  “You seem familiar with this place,” Neru said, measuring her tone.

  “Many assignments come to me directly from Lord Viltar’s own mouth,” Elios answered with a casual nod, though the pride beneath it was unmistakable.

  After a while, another hooded attendant approached.

  “Captain Elios Var Darien. The Archon requests your presence in the upper chamber. Immediately.”

  Elios nodded and strode ahead. Tarth leaned toward Neru and murmured, “We can follow him.”

  But Neru barely heard him.

  All her senses had locked onto the attendant who had just stepped into the hall.

  Strong. Too strong.

  Neru felt it before she saw him.

  A prickling terror ran across her scalp. Every instinct in her body screamed for her to flee. Only the stubborn fire in her Frothen blood forced her to stand her ground, measuring him in a heartbeat.

  Hopeless.

  What if she and Elios attacked together?

  Still not enough.

  If father fights this man—?

  The thought rattled her. Her father had always been the unshaken peak in her mind. Yet standing before this man, that certainty faltered.

  He looked at her without warmth, without anger, without the smallest hint of effort.

  “Aura’s too wild. Contain it. Do not cause trouble in the Archon’s rest house.”

  Neru blinked. She glanced at Tarth and found him utterly unaffected. The warning had been directed solely at her. To restrain his aura so precisely that only one target felt the pressure… mastery beyond anything she had witnessed.

  Gathering what composure she could, she managed to ask, “May I know your name, sir?”

  She bowed slightly.

  In the moment her gaze dipped, he vanished.

  No trace. No sound. Not even a shift in the air.

  Neru stared at the empty space where he had stood, mind blank.

  Elios answered in a low voice. “Name is Seraph. Lord Viltar’s guardian. Don’t mind him.”

  Neru looked at him, half a breath from shouting. In the end, she could only force a thin smile.

  “Of course,” she said. “What for? If he meant us harm, we would already be dead.”

  Her throat felt dry all the same. If the mere bodyguard inspired such dread, what would it take to stand before Viltar himself and speak? The thought pressed harder with every step. In moments, they stood before a wide chamber sealed by a door of red oak.

  Elios stepped forward and knocked twice.

  A voice answered from within, calm and measured.

  “Enter.”

  Elios pushed the door open.

  Neru and Tarth followed.

  Archon Viltar stood at the far end of the room, back turned, studying a grand map of the continent that covered the whole wall. Red lines traced borders. Blue lines traced river networks.

  He spoke without looking at them.

  “You’re late.”

  His voice was not harsh, but it carried the weight just like her father’s.

  Elios bowed — not as a subordinate bows to a superior, but more like a student to hís teacher.

  “We encountered complications, my lord. I believe you’ve received my letter.”

  “I have,” Viltar finally turned. “A brief report. There are too many gaps that need to be filled in.”

  Neru had imagined many things. None matched the man before her.

  He was not tall, not towering, not carved in heroic symmetry like Frothen generals. But his presence filled the room regardless. Grey streaked through his black hair. His face was collected, bright, and unsettlingly attractive. Intelligence radiated from him with the confidence of a man who had shaped a kingdom with nothing more than thoughts.

  His gaze fell on Neru and Tarth. It did not linger, but something told her it was all he needed.

  “You must be Noct, the survivor,” Viltar said softly. “And you…”

  He turned to Tarth. “What’s your name, Seeker?”

  Tarth swallowed hard, almost choking on his own words. “Ta..Tarth, my lord. I mean, my name is Tarth.”

  “One of the Seekers who accompanied Elios on this mission?” Viltar smiled, placing his hand on Tarth’s shoulder. “Good work, Tarth. I could only imagine the hardship the team went through.”

  Tarth fell on one knee, his fist thudding on his chest, shouting.

  “For the Corp! For Veyra! For justice!”

  Viltar’s smile turned into a laugh.

  “Hah! Such spirit! But we’re not in a parade here."

  He gestured for Tarth to stand up, then turned to Elios.

  “Your whole team will receive worthy rewards. But right now, they need time to recover. Unfortunately, I’m not done with you yet. We need to talk.”

  Elios turned and told Tarth. “Go wait outside.”

  Tarth gave a quick nod and left. Neru was wondering if she should follow him, but Viltar’s voice pulled her back.

  “Frothena, stay.”

  She froze, her heart quickened. The air stilled, as if something unseen had shattered and settled all at once.

  Viltar walked closer, boots silent on the polished floor.

  “I thought you were here to talk to me? It’s your chance.”

  He figured out a lot for someone who wasn’t even there.

  Neru bowed her head with courtesy. No point in pretending now.

  “My lord. First, allow me to congratulate you on your miraculous recovery. On the road here, I heard of you being gravely ill, confined to your bed. And yet, here you stand, full of vigor, looking no older than thirty.”

  Viltar showed no surprise. He merely turned his gaze toward Elios and smiled.

  “She is a bold one,” he said mildly. “To bare the truth like a blade and point it back at me, that’s—”

  Neru cut in with a smile. “Insolent?”

  “—Unwise.”

  The man continued.

  “We both did the same thing, but the difference was our positions. Without a strong footing, your threat holds no weight.”

  “There was no threat, my lord.” Neru politely replied. “You regarded me as the true wolf I was, and I respected you as the lion you were. Mutual understanding.”

  “You have personality and some wit to back it up. I like that.” Viltar chuckled.

  He gestured toward the great circular table dominating the room.

  “Sit. Both of you.”

  Neru remained standing. Viltar’s eyes flicked to her.

  “You should know that I don’t need tricks to have you taken down.”

  Neru recalled Seraph’s presence and nodded. Though she couldn’t see him, she had no doubt the man was somewhere nearby, ready to draw blood and break bones in an instant.

  “I’m well aware, my lord. However, as a Frothena, I prefer to sit only after business is concluded. Speaking while seated dulls my sense of urgency.”

  In fact, despite the odds, she was preparing to escape at any moment. She wouldn’t bet everything on the kindness of a stranger.

  Viltar waved a hand, faintly amused. “Suit yourself. No wonder Frothen has never truly blended with the rest of us. Elios, you have brought back an interesting subject.”

  Elios glanced at Neru, a trace of displeasure crossing his face, but he held his tongue. He turned back to Viltar and spoke with measured respect.

  “I brought back someone necessary, Lord Viltar. We have discussed the matter at length and arrived at a hypothesis. A dangerous one. I ask that you hear it before judging.”

  Viltar cast a brief glance at the map upon the wall, then turned back to Elios and gave a single, decisive nod.

  “Then tell me everything,” he said. “From the beginning. Leave out nothing.”

  Neru and Elios took a long while to piece the tale together in proper order, from Neru’s pursuit of the Frothena defectors to the moment they chose to form an alliance. The clash between them the night before was passed over in silence.

  Had it not been for Viltar, the telling would have taken far longer still. He listened with a mind that moved at a startling pace.

  Viltar did not interrupt. He did not rush toward judgment. He let the story run its course, then returned to the points that rang false, probing them with calm questions and urging them to fold their conjectures into the gaps. Each answer slid into place. Each uncertainty found its shape.

  By the time his final question fell away, Neru realized the whole picture had assembled itself, clear and concise.

  Throughout it all, Viltar’s expression never changed.

  Behind his sculpted, almost ageless features lay eyes like a hawk’s, deep and blue as the ocean. Neru’s probes, though careful and deliberate, had failed to stir even a ripple within them.

  Viltar set his teacup down upon the table and at last gave voice to his thoughts.

  “First, you have my thanks,” he said. “Both of you approached this matter with care and a sense of responsibility. Most would choose to look away rather than bear such weight. Especially you.” His gaze shifted to Neru. “To set aside the prejudice between our peoples and place your trust in us is no small thing. Tell me, may I address you by your true name?”

  Neru hesitated. There was no chance a false name would slip past him. The name itself was harmless. It was the family it belonged to that she wished to keep buried. To avoid souring the moment, she yielded part of the truth.

  “You may call me Neru, my lord.”

  Neru of the Aven clan.

  Elios gave her a quick look. Viltar inclined his head and went on without pause.

  “Then, Neru,” he said calmly, “there is something you have not yet shared with Elios, is there not?”

  Neru stiffened.

  This man missed nothing. The revelation would have surfaced sooner or later, but she had not intended to be led to it step by step like a hound. She shifted the role back toward Viltar with care.

  “My conjecture has too many gaps to speak of freely,” she said. “But if you have already seen something, perhaps you would enlighten us.”

  Viltar did not refuse.

  “Matters within Veyra are not for you to know in detail,” he said, “but I have long been aware of the rot within the Royal Treasury. On this point, I choose to trust you, Neru. And I also trust Elios’s judgment that they are merely intermediaries, tools used by another hand. What we are facing is a crisis being quietly exploited from behind the curtain. Yet if war breaks out, no one in Veyra truly benefits. They all lose.”

  Neru frowned. “Then you suspect Frothen?”

  “Frothen least of all,” Viltar replied. “I know your Emperor’s doctrine well. Pressure, attrition, exhaustion, until Veyra is forced to concede. That is the optimal path. Anyone within Frothen who pushes a total war now would be acting against imperial will. And would the exiles hiding in Veyra agree to such an ending?”

  Elios met Viltar’s gaze, solemn. “I lack insight into the inner affairs of other realms. Do you suspect another kingdom, my lord?”

  Viltar shook his head.

  “For many years now, the trend has been unity and shared prosperity. Aside from Frothen, every major power has laid deep foundations of trade and investment within Veyra, especially in the years when I still served as Chancellor. If war erupts, all that capital turns to ash.”

  Then, he pointed to the red lines on the map. “More than that, Veyra sits at the heart of the continent. Look at the borders. Eight tenths of the great trade routes pass through our lands and our rivers. Imagine those arteries severed by war for five or ten years. If Veyra is on fire, the whole continent gets burned too. Even Redstone Bank dislikes that idea, and they love wars.”

  The silence that followed was heavy.

  Elios spoke at last, his voice low. “Then who?… Maybe they didn’t do it for political power. Maybe they only had hatred in mind.”

  Viltar smiled faintly. “Too soon to conclude that. There is still one big mystery in the story to consider. The creature. What is it?”

  Elios said. “That’s what we hope to find out here, my lord. We wish to enter the Grand Library.”

  Viltar turned his gaze to Neru, waiting.

  She had no choice but to speak this time.

  “We need your full support, my lord,” she said. “If my guess is true, we’ll need to dig deeper than that.”

  Viltar smiled, shaking his head lightly.

  “You both come here for the answer. But it seems you two have different questions.”

  He walked toward the window, looking up where the gigantic Tower blocked the sky.

  “Speak plainly, Neru,” he said. “You suspect the Tower had a hand in this, don’t you?”

  Neru sighed, then took a deep breath, steadying herself.

  “Forgive my lack of candor, my lord,” Neru said. “I intended to talk about this only after finding the first clue. But yes, I do.”

  Elios glanced at her. There was a lot in that look. Viltar simply nodded for Neru to continue.

  “There is this old myth in my homeland,” She said. “Maybe you’ve heard of it. That there is a ritual that allows sorcerers to reach the ancient drovars. Some even claim it to be able to summon the drovars upon the world again. There are varieties to the story, but they all mention drovar remains—which could only mean drovar dust at this point.”

  “I know the tale,” Elios said, his voice low. “Pure nonsense. You believe it?”

  “I did not,” Neru replied. “Until a few nights ago.”

  “How?” Elios pressed. “And how does that connect to what you said?”

  Neru drew a slow breath. When she spoke, the air seemed to tighten.

  “Three nights ago, lying in that cavern, a thought came to me. Why did the abomination come after the drovar dust particularly? Was the prophecy somehow related to that? What if people successfully called out Greater beings, but what came to this world wasn’t drovars at all? Another kind of ancient horror, perhaps?”

  Elios protested. “Wild assumption. Your imagination led you too far. From what, a myth?”

  Viltar answered before she could. “Let her talk. The interesting thing about myths is that they often begin with truth.”

  Neru pointed a finger at the map on the wall.

  “I took a peek at your patrol map last night, Elios. Comparing it with the marks on this map here, the conclusion became unavoidable.”

  Her finger moved.

  “This is where the caravan abandoned the main road to get into that damned cave. And right there, not far away, a raw path. Easy to miss. That shortcut evades scrutiny as much as possible. No guard post, no toll station, no town, no nothing. And look where it led to. Right here. The Tower.”

  “Good eyes,” Viltar commended.

  Elios frowned, unsettled. “Even if it was true, the suggestion that The Tower is doing something so horrendous is—”

  Neru nodded.

  “Too hard to believe, yes. Especially to you. That was why I didn’t tell you until now.”

  Viltar lifted his hand, signalling for them to stop. He asked.

  “If I remember it correctly, Frothena worship drovars as gods. Is that true?”

  Neru took a light sip of tea before continuing.

  “We do. But we adore their might and majesty only. In the end, they were gods of ruins. When they ruled this continent, mankind crawled in the dirt like insects. We never wish for that age to return. But what if someone else does, and has found the means to bring it about? Someone with the ambition to control them?”

  Viltar let out a heavy breath.

  “I see what you mean. But then, that would change everything we talked about.”

  “On the contrary, it fits all too well,” Neru said. “War is hell, yes. But for the Tower, it is just another crisis. A price to pay. Even if the whole world burns, there are places high enough that the heat couldn’t reach. What they have always pursued— long bordered on obsession— is the summit of knowledge. Whether through sorcery or science, they have never drawn a line between the two. Something like this is well within their reach.”

  She turned to Viltar, her voice firm, stripped of hesitation.

  “This is only conjecture, Lord Viltar. But if it proves true, it will shake the world to its foundations. War is coming, our time is limited.”

  Her voice rang as a shuddering avalanche of Mount Karthos. Neru stepped forward, kneeling on one foot. She was betting her life on this attempt.

  “Because of that gravity, I sincerely ask you to authorize an internal investigation of the Tower. My blade is yours.”