As noon approached, one of Elin's subordinates knocked on his door.
"Come in," Elin said.
"Sir Elin," the subordinate said after entering. "It's confirmed, that shop is indeed an illegal gathering point."
Elin stood up and looked outside through the half-open window. He was in a second-floor hotel room. The shop across the street had been reported to host irregular gatherings where rumors about the Archbishop were spread. Since the last incident, Elin no longer personally infiltrated these locations but supervised and directed his subordinates in such operations.
The subordinate reported the investigation's findings and requested instructions.
"That's enough for today," Elin said.
"No action?"
"No. We can arrest them anytime. According to your report, the leaders are prominent citizens with businesses in the nearby area; they won't flee."
"Precisely because they have status, shouldn't we act immediately?"
"What's the rush? It's best to catch them all at once, but it's not the right time yet," Elin interrupted. "Keep monitoring them until they disperse, then track and investigate the leaders. I have other tasks and will return to headquarters. Report to me tomorrow if anything comes up."
After leaving instructions, Elin departed the hotel.
A few days ago, during a raid, one rumor spreader committed suicide. Although another agent was responsible, Elin also had to slow down such operations because this incident had reached the church and sparked Hylan's strong opposition. Hylan had publicly demanded a discussion with the Elder to "explore the most appropriate law enforcement methods for this special period." Elin didn't know the details, but it was happening today. Church representatives had likely gone to headquarters to formally invite the Elder. Remembering this, Elin planned to return to headquarters quickly. Though it wasn't technically his concern, it was a significant event he needed to witness.
For years, no one had dared to directly question the Elder about the "MI7's policies," and now Hylan, after his fast, was tackling this issue first. Considering Hylan's age, Elin guessed there might have been a previous conflict between him and the Elder, and now, with new support, he intended to continue it. The Elder's uncharacteristic silence on this matter was unusual.
Elin hadn't heard about being dismissed. He continued following the work plan set ten days ago. He suspected Jozen hadn't informed the Elder about this issue, likely due to more pressing concerns.
Recently, Elin felt Stormwind becoming increasingly unfamiliar, far beyond the physical changes caused by the earthquake. Many events had converged. Benedictus's recognition among the populace was second only to the King; his unexpected death was more than a matter of faith. Among the three candidates, whoever succeeded as Archbishop would primarily influence politics, not religion. Before this, Prince Galin's assassination and the young Queen's rule over Stromgarde would significantly affect Stormwind's foreign strategy. The earthquake symbolized and intensified these chaotic elements. The cracks and collapsed buildings were nature's way of telling people: whether prepared or not, change was surging like nighttime waves against the Shawle—no visible whitecaps, no rhythmic, beautiful water patterns, only an irresistible force. Those spreading rumors were the first to struggle against this tidal wave.
Elin believed the MI7 couldn't fully avoid the forces of change. Its internal autocracy had allowed it to develop unusually stably. Now, for the first time, someone was challenging its leader. Elin realized he was intrigued by the role he would play in this turmoil. He reminded himself that the promise made that night to those beside him was paramount. He would find a way to protect Glocara and Elaine from the oncoming waves.
As Elin neared the MI7's headquarters, he frowned and quickened his pace. The streets were filled with people emerging from buildings or halting their errands, others leaning out of windows. They all stared toward the headquarters' gates, making the street nearly impassable.
Elin pushed through the crowd and approached the front. Paladins from the Cathedral and the Royal Guard were arrayed outside the main building's door, more like a cordon than a welcoming formation. When Elin approached, a guard stopped him.
"Let me in. I work here," Elin said.
"No one is allowed to enter or exit."
"What's going on?"
"No comment. Please step back."
Elin retreated outside the walls. He looked around, spotted a colleague, and approached him, but still got no answers.
"Could they be arresting someone?" the colleague speculated.
Elin looked up at the main building's roof, then at the encircling soldiers. Their gleaming armor appeared more menacing than usual. He waited, occasionally tapping his right foot on the ground.
About ten minutes later, the soldiers at the front stepped aside, and an officer emerged from the headquarters door. He led two soldiers, followed by Jorgen, who Elin initially thought was going to meet with Hylan. However, he quickly noticed the shackles on Jorgen's hands. Four more soldiers brought up the rear.
Elin quickly approached the group. A soldier swung his shield sideways to block him. Elin stepped back, trying again, but this time two spears pointed at him.
"Do not interfere with law enforcement," the leading officer said. The two soldiers remained in place, preventing Elin from moving. The officer escorted Jorgen to a waiting carriage. During the Shawlt walk, Jorgen didn't glance at Elin. Elin's last sight of his longtime friend was Jorgen lowering his head, squeezing into the carriage, the chains jangling at his side. Once the carriage departed, the surrounding soldiers also marched away.
Elin walked to the street outside the wall, pushed aside a pedestrian, and watched the direction the carriage and soldiers had gone. He then quickly turned and entered the headquarters gate. Only a few MI7 members were in the hall, either walking around or sitting on benches, seemingly waiting for something. The room's usual gloomy tension had been replaced by a restrained bewilderment.
"Mardias. Where is Mardias?"
Elin didn't understand why he had shouted this first. Everyone inside looked at him with worried and vacant eyes, as if facing a stranger who had accidentally wandered in.
What am I doing here?
Elin turned and walked out, retrieving a horse from the stable. As he mounted, he felt a strong sense of unreality, as if the brown horse was a phantom and he was holding the reins for the first time.
He rode in pursuit of the carriage, slowing down to avoid being stopped when nearing the group. They halted at a canal dock within the city. The officer and soldiers escorted Jorgen onto a boat. Elin continued to follow from the Shawl, watching as the boat headed towards an artificial island in the canal. The island housed the city's oldest prison, once holding many of the most infamous early criminals. The boat docked, but Elin lost sight of further activities due to the building's obstruction. He only saw the prison's shadow extending over the canal, covering even the pedestrians and buildings on the opposite bank with a blue-gray veil.
An hour later, Elin met with the Church Guard's commander, who explained: Panthonia Shawl had been dead for eight months. Jorgen concealed the leader's death, hid the body, took over the MI7's decisions, and coerced Mardias into cooperation. Under pressure from Bishop Hylan, Jorgen had no choice but to surrender.
Elin recalled: eight months ago was when Jorgen returned to Stormwind from Stromgarde.
The inn's stable boy reluctantly headed to the stables. In three months of work, he had done nearly all the menial tasks, from twice-daily cleanings to washing the cook's clothes and caring for guests' horses. Recently, the influx of guests to Goldshire had increased, mostly wanting to visit the Archbishop's burial site in Stormwind, though they knew without special connections, their wish wouldn't come true—at least not soon.
The boy led a horse out, intending to hand it to a departing guest, but the guest wasn't waiting at the inn's entrance as expected. Familiar resentment arose but was quickly suppressed, as he realized searching for the guest might not be bad—he could use the chance to talk to her.
He soon found her half-kneeling on the roadside grass. Her golden-red hair was easily recognizable.
"Ma'am," he approached her. "I brought your horse."
The guest's right hand gently touched the grass, as if seeking something familiar yet fragile, fearing her fingers might crush it upon discovery.
"What are you doing?"
"Long ago," she stood and turned to him, "I buried some things here. I wanted to see if I could still find this piece of grassland."
"You're digging up old things?"
"No. They're long gone." She faced him. "By the way, do you know when the Darkmoon Faire will arrive?"
"It's supposed to be next week. But I heard it might be delayed or even canceled. The Archbishop just died, and the mayor doesn't want any big festivities."
"I see."
"You're not here just for the Faire, are you?"
"No. I should go."
She handed him three copper coins, which he took as he handed over the reins. She mounted, and from her vantage, saw the familiar white towers of Stormwind in the distance. Though familiar in color, the towers were partly damaged from the earthquake. She left Goldshire, embarking on a forest path that, while no longer familiar, she was willing to rediscover.