The Kingdom's newest knights walked among the crowd, first pausing to greet the nobles. Their new singlets bore the emblem of a rising sun framed behind the silhouette of the capital—simple, striking, unmistakable.
Cane hugged each of them, pride glowing on his face. He remembered the bruises, the drills, the grueling sessions under Elohan's relentless watch. "You three look sharp!"
Archmage Telamon joined them, handing each a heavy gold coin engraved with the Crown's emblem.
"The Order of the Rising Sun is an extension of the King's sword—and by proxy, his will," Telamon explained. "It's a significant order. Steeped in Honor, built on Loyal service."
Clara was only half-listening. Her eyes drifted again to the float, where the felines still lounged like royalty. The beast handler, already thoroughly charmed, had promised she could pet them—on the condition that she danced with him at the ball. She hadn't hesitated for a second.
Around them, nobles watched intently. Every knight was now a possible alliance. Fergis, hailing from a prominent merchant family, wasn't blue-blooded—but his connections, charm, and performance made him a prime prospect. Lesser nobles were already mentally drafting lists of eligible relatives. Both women drew attention in their own right, each with distinct poise and presence.
And then there was Cane—linked to the Archmage, the King, and no longer a mystery to those paying attention.
He tapped his psi-rune, gently pulling Sophie from the crowd.
Cane: Time for me to head out. Will you be alright?
Sophie: Yes. I'll be with Princess Melina's party.
He pulled her into a brief embrace, kissing her softly before stepping back. Her fingers lingered a moment longer.
Fergis: Take care, brother.
Clara: Be safe, Boss.
Dhalia: See you soon.
Cane boarded the coach bound for Ironheart Estate. As they rode, he changed into his stealth gear—Salt threads interwoven with shadow, reinforced heartguard beneath.
When he stepped into the courtyard, Mori was already waiting.
She was stunning in her own way—her blonde hair swept up, chainmail blackened and marked with slender, glowing elven runes. The air around her shimmered faintly, as if the world itself hesitated to brush against her.
Without a word, she took his hand—and shifted.
The space between—what the Faye called the gray veil—was incomplete, inhospitable. A violent rift of force and echo that only the elven-born could traverse without damage.
Cane gritted his teeth against the pressure. The dissonance tore at muscle and bone, time and thought.
Mori's hand tightened. Her aura flared around him, shielding his form as she guided them through. Three short jumps later, they emerged near a distant military rift—silent and intact.
Mori placed a hand on his shoulder, her healer's senses sweeping through him.
She blinked.
"No pulse," she said. "No respiratory circulation." Her brow furrowed. "Cane… are you actively blocking me?"
"No." He shrugged slightly. "Try again."
She did. Her expression remained neutral, though her mind reeled. His ability to dampen her perception had caught her completely off guard.
"We're going to be relying on each other," she said at last.
"I know." He felt warmth and light wash over him—a soft radiance that touched every cell. His first experience of Mori's healing aura.
"Kinda pleasant," he said.
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Some find it disconcerting."
"Really?" Cane spotted the staging camp in the distance. "We can walk in from here."
Mori nodded. "Let me do the talking. You're my assistant, and we're here to reinforce the Eastern front."
Cane raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Mori noticed. "What?"
"Maybe you should be my assistant."
Her laughter burst out before she could stop it—sudden, melodic, unguarded.
Then it stopped just as quickly, her expression stunned.
"Sorry… that was…"
"Funny?" Cane offered, blinking.
"Yes." She tilted her head. "It was funny."
"A child of the Sunset Forest… interesting." Gadira's voice echoed through Cane's mind from within the ringworld. "I sense you can trust her—but she has ulterior motives."
Cane walked in silence beside Moriwynn toward the line of tents that marked the staging camp's outer edge. Their path led directly to the guard station.
He hadn't forgotten Mori's earlier admission—she did want something from him.
The guard straightened sharply as they approached, his eyes landing on Moriwynn's striking features.
"Fair One," he said with crisp respect.
"Commander Moriwynn," she replied. "Conducting preliminary scouting before Gryphon Company deploys."
Recognition sparked in the guard's eyes. Gryphon Company was new, but its reputation had spread fast—a company of elite mages, human-led, elven-commanded. Its leader was already spoken of in whispers.
"Welcome to the Eastern Front Staging Area, Commander," the guard said, saluting again.
Moriwynn walked through the checkpoint with her usual grace, sharp blue eyes taking in every angle.
Cane kept pace. "You know, it's considered rude not to respond to a welcome."
Moriwynn blinked, caught off guard. "What? He didn't ask me anything."
"Right," Cane said. "Maybe 'rude' is the wrong word. Let's go with cold. Elves have a reputation among humans."
"We are arrogant," Mori admitted easily.
"That's not a strength. It's a fault," Cane replied. "I'd rather have someone confident guarding my back. Arrogance gets people killed."
Mori narrowed her eyes. "My people aren't known for making mistakes."
"Yeah? Then why were most of you banished back to your homelands?"
Mori froze mid-step, her head tilting in silent thought. "That was... different." Then, more quietly, "No. You're right. Mistakes were made—born of arrogance."
She turned without another word and strode back to the guard station.
"Thank you for the welcome, Guardsman. Good day to you."
The guard stood slack-jawed as the two walked away.
Cane didn't smile. But inside, he was pleased.
Moriwynn stopped at the first empty tent she came to, pulling the placard from its frame and flipping it to read Occupied.
"We'll plan from here."
Cane nodded. "Let's enter the ringworld. I want to consult with Philas."
A breath later, Cane's corporeal form hovered over the expanded meadow, wind rippling through the tall grass. Moriwynn stood beside him, visibly stunned by what she saw.
HOOACH.
Pudding soared overhead with a delighted cry. From the trees, Moxie emerged, tail swaying, moving with easy grace.
Moriwynn inhaled deeply, arms out as she turned slowly in place. "So much has changed. It's bigger. Trees... a climate." Her eyes found the edge of a building peeking through the tree line. "And buildings?"
Cane nodded. "Occupied. One by a partner of mine."
Mori fell in behind him as he began walking the winding path toward the structure, Moxie padding silently at their heels.
"Partner?" she asked.
"A shadow organization dealing in information," Cane said. "Spies, if you want the short version."
As they neared the front of the small cottage, the door opened—and Gadira stepped out.
"Visitors," she said pleasantly. "How nice."
Moriwynn stopped in her tracks, staring. Then she turned to Cane, incredulous. "You brought a witch here?"
"Rude…" Gadira muttered. "Why does everyone you bring here call me that?"
Cane snorted. "Honestly? No idea. Gadira, this is Commander Moriwynn."
Mori ignored the introduction, still slowly turning, awestruck by the balance and presence of the living zone.
"I can feel the pull of nature," she murmured. "It's... remarkable. You did this?"
"Who else?" Cane grinned. "Come inside. I'll summon Philas."
A few minutes later, Philas sat comfortably at the cottage's dining table. The Book of Ironborn lay open before him, its etched pages glowing faintly with tracking energy. The map displayed the surrounding territory in high detail—including the buildings, some permanent, others temporary, where corpses had once rested.
He knew better than to mention the spiraled cold iron hidden in those corpses—not with Gadira or Moriwynn present. The secrets of Cold Iron were too dangerous, too absolute. Its power tempted even the wise.
Cane pointed to a dense cluster of glowing names on the map. "I touched this area—dozens of names popped up."
"Mass grave, perhaps," Mori said, her attention split between the map and the artifact itself. She had never seen anything like it. It tracked in real time. What were its limits?
Philas leaned back. "From here on, honest travel. Everything points to a lab or a researcher. Someone like that will have defenses."
Mori gave a faint nod, unreadable but agreeing.
"What will you do?" she asked.
Philas shrugged. "Wait here. With the witch. Ready to bring our family home when you're done."
Gadira frowned. "You could use my name."
Philas raised an eyebrow. "I could. But sometimes the wrapping is so pretty, you forget there's a viper inside."
Mori burst out laughing—abrupt, genuine, surprised even by her own reaction. She quickly covered her mouth.
Gadira exhaled sharply and fixed them both with a daggered glare before turning and stalking off.
Philas reached over and tapped Cane's corporeal form. In an instant, they appeared on the far side of the Living Zone, standing beneath the tree canopy.
"Stop antagonizing my guests," Cane said, though a smile played at his lips.
Philas gave a small nod. "Fine. But bring our people back. No loose ends."
Cane nodded. He hadn't forgotten Gadira's warning.
Philas continued, more serious now. "And use caution with the elf. It's not about trust—it's hard to deal fairly with someone who believes they're above you."
"If it comes to that," Cane said quietly, "I'll send her away and finish it alone."
Philas smiled faintly. "Smart lad."
Cane exited the ringworld in a shimmer of energy, Moriwynn emerging with him.
Overhead, Pudding soared in wide, lazy arcs. Moxie would remain behind—unless summoned.
Cane tapped the falconer rune on his hand. His eyes shifted, glowing amber.
"Scout far. East," he murmured, forming a quick union with the ringworld. Pudding screeched once, wings flaring, and turned eastward in a flash of speed.
Then Cane ran.
His body flowed with time-bound speed—light, precise, unrelenting.
Mori muttered a curse under her breath and launched after him, driving herself to top speed just to keep up.