The warmth of the common room greeted Elora and Rell as they entered. The fire in the hearth had been stoked, casting a flickering golden light across the mismatched furniture. Violette and Symond sat at the long wooden table, each nursing a roll of bread and a mug of something steaming, the faint scent of spiced cider hanging in the air.
Elora lingered near the door, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to remain inconspicuous. The soft crackle of the fire and the low murmur of conversation felt almost inviting, but the tension curling in her gut anchored her in place.
Rell, oblivious to her hesitation—or ignoring it entirely—strode confidently to the table. He grabbed two rolls from a basket and lightly tossed one to her. She caught it awkwardly, the crusty bread slipping in her grip before she fumbled it back into her hands.
Symond’s gaze flicked up to her, his hazel eyes narrowing as a sneer tugged at the corner of his lips. “Oh, you’re still here, huh? I thought you might have run back to Tehvan.” His voice dripped with mockery, each word a sharp jab. “How is the dear old professor, anyway?”
Of course his words hit their mark. But before the emotion could surface, she shoved it down, locking it away where it couldn’t be used against her.
Rell’s hand stilled on the roll he’d been tearing apart, his mouth already opening to retort, but Elora cut him off.
“You think I fear you?” she said, her voice steady, though her nails dug into the bread in her hands. “No. Pity, maybe. Disgust, definitely. But fear? Not a chance. You’re not terrifying. You’re predictable.”
Her chin lifted as she locked eyes with him, her cold gaze concealing the storm swirling within her. The truth couldn’t have been further from her words. Symond was more terrifying to her than Fane. But she wasn’t about to let him see that.
Symond’s smugness faltered for a split second, his scowl deepening as his fingers drummed irritably on the table.
“Good one.” Rell leered, clearly pleased with her response.
Elora forced herself to take a few steps closer to the table, her feet insisting otherwise with every inch of distance closed. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to the safety of the lab, but she refused to give Symond the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
She tightened her grip on the roll, her voice quieter but no less firm. “How are you even here?”
Symond scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an air of indifference. “You don’t get to ask me questions,” he spat.
Violette, who had been observing the exchange with growing irritation, sighed loudly. “His ship was raided by pirates,” she said bluntly, cutting through the tension with her matter-of-fact tone. “They took a few of the apprentices onboard. Symond got lucky.Managed to get away.” She gave him a pointed look. “And then I found him.”
Elora’s heart sank into her gut. She froze, her grip tightening on the roll until the crust cracked beneath her fingers.
Pirates. Apprentices.
Her friends.
“Who?” she demanded, her gaze piercing into Symond. “Who did they take?”
A slow, cruel grin spread across Symond’s face, his eyes glinting with malice as he watched her unravel. “What’s the matter, Elora?” he asked sarcastically. “Worried about your little friends?”
He laughed then, low and bitter, the sound reverberating through her bones and splintering her nerves.
Before Elora could respond, Violette’s foot shot out under the table, connecting with Symond’s shin. He hissed, glaring at her as he clutched his leg.
“Enough,” Violette said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned back to Elora. “The boss is working on it. She’s on a mission to track down the remaining apprentices. Having Empire-trained alchemists and enchanters in our ranks is a huge advantage, one we can’t afford to miss out on.”
Elora’s breath came out shakily, the weight on her chest easing slightly at the news. She loosened her grip on the bread, though her mind still raced with thoughts of the others.
“They’ll be, okay?” she asked cautiously. Her fragile emotions couldn’t handle anything else besides a ‘yes’.
“If anyone can find them, it’s the boss,” Violette replied with a shrug.
Elora nodded slowly, though her thoughts remained scattered. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but its warmth didn’t reach the chill spreading through her veins.
Chapter9
Viliam
The wind beneath their wings held stories older than memory, each current a thread in the vast weaving that connected all living things across Al'tera. Viliam felt the familiar embrace of his nightglider form as he soared alongside his kin, the four of them cutting silent paths through the morning sky.
Below them, the landscape breathed in slow, ancient rhythms. Rivers carved silver veins through emerald flesh, their waters carrying whispers from the distant heart of Mahoamorah to every corner of the sacred realm. The jungle canopy rippled like a green ocean, each tree a note in a symphony that had been playing since the world's first dawn. This was the music of balance, not the rigid harmony imposed by conquest, but the complex, ever-shifting dance of systems that had learned to listen to one another.
