The magnificence of Valen's personal palace was a breathtaking display of royal extravagance. Towering marble pillars that were adorned with intricate golden engravings of historical arts and legendary battles, lined the vast hallways. The floors were polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the warm glow of elaborate chandeliers hanging high above, as each crystal was meticulously cut to refract light in a dazzling display. Exquisitely crafted stained-glass window casted multicolored patterns upon the walls. Their artistry depicting celestial beings and the founding of the kingdom. Embroidered panels woven with the finest silk narrated tales of conquest and wisdom, and their edges embroidered in gold and silver thread.
Valen walked through the palace, the scent of blooming roses and lilacs wafted from the gardens outside, the aroma carried in by a soft breeze through arched open corridors. The garden itself was a masterpiece, filled with rows of lush deep crimson roses, their petals velvety and rich with fragrance. They were intertwined with delicate lilacs of pale purple and white. Exotic flora, native to the kingdom's bountiful valleys, bloomed in perfect harmony, as they were being tended to with precise care. The sound of a fountain's gentle tumble mingled with the occasional chirp of exotic songbirds resting among the emerald canopies.
Leading the way was Cyrus, her most trusted commander and bodyguard, his armored footsteps echoing through the hall as he approached a small iron door guarded by two soldiers, their expressions were stern and their weapons at the ready. Almost every door in this palace bore similar protection. The gate opened to reveal a simple, unadorned chamber, A willful divergence from the magnificence above. This room was not meant for comfort; it was meant for truth.
The chamber was dimly lit, and its stone walls rough and unpolished. A single chandelier, hung overhead, its glow casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls. A faint scent of parchment and aged leather lingered in the air, as though secrets had been trapped within these walls for centuries.
At the far end of the chamber, was a small brass owl statue rested upon a pedestal, its eyes glimmering with an unnatural sheen. Without hesitation, Cyrus placed his palm upon the owl's head, pouring his mana into the hidden device. A deep hum resonated through the room as the walls trembled. The grinding of stone against stone filled the air as hidden mechanisms groaned to life. A portion of the wall receded, splitting apart to reveal a concealed passageway. The entrance yawned awake slowly, revealing a spiraling staircase that descended into the depths below. A gust of cool air rushed up, carrying with it the damp scent of earth and stone.
Valen turned to Cyrus, her voice smooth yet commanding. "Stay here. Your presence may intimidate the boy unnecessarily."
Cyrus gave a sharp nod, stepping back as Valen, followed by Estrilda, descended the stairs. The flames from mana-fueled torches flickered to life as they passed, casting the narrow walls in a shifting orange glow. The descent was slow with the echo of each step amplifying the anticipation that hung in the air.
At the bottom of the stairs, Valen reached for the iron handle of the interrogation room and pushed the door open. The boy tensed immediately at the sight of her. Even in the dim light, she could see the wariness in his eyes. A single chair and table stood at the center, and heavy iron shackles bound his wrists, their chains rattling as he unconsciously adjusted his posture.
Valen moved with calculated grace and settled into the chair across from him. She allowed a small and gentle smile to play on her lips, her tone adopting an almost maternal softness. "Hey, little one. How are you doing?"
The boy's gaze flickered with uncertainty. His fingers curled slightly as his entire posture went tense. The heavy shackles around his wrists did little to ease the atmosphere, and Valen noted how his eyes darted from Estrilda to the doorway, as if he were calculating possible escape routes.
With a simple wave of Estrilda's hand, the shackles clicked open. Their mana-infused locks unraveling in an instant. The boy's eyes widened in shock as bewilderment momentarily overrode his suspicion. He rubbed his wrists.
Valen leaned in slightly, her voice maintaining its gentle tone. "There, that's better, isn't it? No need for restraints if you're willing to cooperate. I am Valen. May I have your name?"
She began her questioning, treading carefully at first. Starting with his name, his origins, how he had come to be in the forest. But the boy's responses were hesitant and uncertain. The more she pressed, the more she realized a frustrating truth: either he genuinely did not remember, or he was somehow immune to deception magic. The lie-detection spell embedded in the room flickered faintly but revealed nothing of use.
Valen feigned patience. She shifted tactics, her voice soothing as she spoke of safety and shelter, offering veiled promises of comfort should he comply. When that yielded no results, she turned colder, subtle threats woven between her words like silk. And yet, the boy remained steadfast, his bewilderment and guardedness making him impossible to crack.
Her fingers drummed lightly against the table, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. "Estrilda," she said at last, her voice now firm. "Bring Yavanna."
Fear gripped me as I sat there, as my wrists went sore from where the shackles had just been. The lady before me, studied me with eyes that gleamed gold. Her skin was pale, almost luminous beneath the dim glow of the chamber's flickering mana torches.
Her attire spoke of power, of nobility. A high-collared black and gold coat. It was embroidered with patterns that wove like rivers of molten metal that fit her form precisely, the fabric rich and layered. Ornate armor rested on her shoulders, etched with intricate symbols. Beneath the coat was a deep crimson tunic flowed down. An ornate belt of dark leather adorned with a gemstone the color of burning embers was clasped around her waist.
I swallowed as my throat went dry as sandpaper. I had no idea what they wanted from me, why I was here. And worse, what if they found out? What if they knew I wasn't from their world? My mind spiraled, imagining twisted fates, experimentation, imprisonment, or worse. Who was this Yavanna she had summoned? Another interrogator? A torturer?
Valen tilted her head slightly, her expression softening, "Would you like some water? You must be thirsty."
I hesitated. My lips were parched and my throat tight, but was this some kind of trick? Before I could decide, she raised a hand from beneath the table, her fingers moving with slow and deliberate grace. The air shimmered, and suddenly, water appeared before my eyes, forming a floating sphere the size of a football. My breath hitched.
With practiced ease, she guided the liquid between her hands, shaping it into a blob of water. Its surface gleaming in the dim light, before hardening into a clear, solid. The shape of a perfect glass, its edges turning into beautiful, crystalline patterns.
A sharp pain pulsed in my skull. A flash, perhaps a blurry, fleeting memory. Maybe I could do something like that too.
I nearly flinched at the thought, my hands clenching into fists beneath the table. The pressure in my head receded almost as quickly as it had come, leaving only a whisper of its presence. I forced my expression to remain neutral. She didn't notice... at least, I hoped she hadn't.
"Here you go." She offered the crystalline glass, her voice patient.
I stared at it for a moment before cautiously reaching out. My fingers brushed against the cool surface. Taking a slow breath, I lifted the glass to my lips and drank, the water sliding down my throat. It was refreshing yet foreign...
I descended the cold stone stairs. My boots echoing softly against the stone with each step accompanied by the flickering glow of orange mana-lights embedded into the walls. I exhaled slowly, my breath barely visible in the damp air. What kind of mess do I have to clean up this time?
The underground halls of the interrogation wing were always suffocating. Not from the lack of air, but from the nature of what transpired here. My distaste for Valen's methods was no secret, as our views on handling people could not be more conflicting. But that did not mean I hated her. No, hatred was too strong a word. If anything, I pitied her.
She, a princess born into privilege, had still been shackled by the expectations of the crown. And despite that, she had saved me when no one else had. When my own kind turned their backs on me, when I was captured, caged, and sold like livestock in this human kingdom, she had been the one to break my chains, to free me. She had given me a home, a place where I was valued for my mind rather than my bloodline. The grand library she had placed under my care was my sanctuary. Where I could deepen my knowledge, far from the disdainful gazes of nobles and commoners alike.
But that did not mean I would ever agree with her methods.
The iron door creaked as I pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit chamber. The boy sat before her, his posture eerily straight, his eyes devoid of life. Myston. I recognized the signs immediately. So, she had drugged him. I sighed inwardly. As expected.
Valen turned to face me, her golden eyes glinting in the dim light. "Took you long enough," she said, as if she weren't the one summoning me at her convenience.
I did not comment, only inclining my head slightly in greeting. "Princess."
She smirked, with great displeasure, predicting what was going to happen next. "Don't start lecturing me, Yavanna. We both know you're going to do your job regardless."
"One could argue there are more effective uses for my talents than delving into the mind of a boy who barely knows his own name."
She waved a hand dismissively. "He's an anomaly. I need to know what he knows or doesn't know. He may be the key to the recent disturbances. Are you not curious?", she questioned with a smirk.
I studied the boy once again. Orvyn, as I had learned. His dark hair was matted slightly, his breathing even. He was completely under the drug's influence. I pitied him. Whatever his past was, whatever fate had led him here, he had no choice in any of this.
"Fine," I said, pulling my staff forward. The crimson mana crystal embedded within its head hummed softly as I placed my palm against it. "I will see what he holds within."
Valen stared intriguingly, as I traced the air with my fingertips. I casted in ancient elven script, materializing the mana into glowing threads, swirling around me as I wove the spell. The silver lines of mana within the chamber stirred, bending to my will, converging into the doorway I sought.
As the incantation reached its peak, my vision blurred, the world around me melting away, replaced by the familiar vastness of a mindscape.
A hallway stretched before me. Endless and lined with doors of different shades and symbols, each one leading to a fragment of memory. A lesser mage would be lost here forever. But I was no ordinary mage.
I took a step forward, feeling the whisper of spirits at my side, a skill I had long ago acquired that has kept me alive. Guiding me. Searching for the truth hidden within this boy's mind.
What will you reveal to me, I wonder?