Jean sighed and shook her head, holding up the comb triumphantly. "I got what we needed."
Lucius snorted, amused. "Why did you bring the entire comb? Were you planning to steal her hair forever?"
"Shut up," Jean snapped, her cheeks warming with embarrassment as she walked to her desk. She carefully laid the comb down, her fingers steady despite her nerves.
Lucius didn't stop teasing. "Did you tell her why you were so fascinated with her hair? Or did you play the loyal maid card?"
Jean glared in the general direction of his voice. "I said shut up." She pulled out the book they had been working on, its weathered leather cover etched with ancient symbols that shimmered faintly.
She placed the strand of Salviana's hair on the book's center and recited the spell they had rehearsed earlier.
The room grew colder, and a faint crackling sound filled the air as the book began to tremble. With a sudden snap, it sprang open, revealing pages that glowed faintly in the dim light.
Jean leaned forward, her voice hushed with awe as she read aloud, "To know is to seek, but to seek comes caution."
She frowned and glanced at the air beside her, knowing Lucius was there. "What does it mean?"
"It's not a riddle, Pumpkin," Lucius replied smoothly. "The meaning is plain."
Jean's scowl deepened. "Fine, Mr. Know-It-All. What does it say?"
"Be cautious in your search for knowledge," Lucius answered, his tone matter-of-fact.
Jean rolled her eyes, masking her embarrassment. "You're old," she muttered, deadpanning to hide her chagrin. He knew the riddle because he was old.
Lucius chuckled softly, his voice warm with amusement. "So I've been told."
"Why bother with your ancient books, then?" she sassed. "You're old enough to know everything already."
The teasing air in the room dissipated as Lucius's tone turned solemn. "Because I can't remember anything," he said quietly. "Not who I was… or even the face I wore when I lived."
Jean fell silent, her earlier bravado faltering. "You really don't remember anything?"
"Fragments," Lucius admitted. "But I know I'm tied to Wyfn-Garde. My body… or my home. Something there."
Jean nodded thoughtfully. "How long have you wandered?"
Lucius paused, as though searching for an answer. "I believe I was summoned when Alaric was born," he said finally.
His voice grew distant as he continued, "It was a cold night. Rain and thunder. A child's cry broke the storm—the third prince, and with him, I rose. He cried for blood even then, as if recognizing me."
Jean took a deep breath, shaking her head at the weight of his words. "That's… a lot to process."
She pushed the book aside and stretched her arms, her exhaustion catching up with her. "Are you hungry?" she asked suddenly, her voice light in an attempt to shift the mood.
"I don't know," Lucius replied, a faint sadness creeping into his tone.
Jean felt a pang of pity but didn't press the issue. Instead, she asked, "Why could I feel you the other day? At the ruined mansion, I could sense exactly where you were—whether you were behind me or by my side. Why is that?"
Lucius considered her question. "Perhaps because I lay there. My essence lingers where my body fell."
Jean tied her hair back, her mind racing with possibilities. "We need to go back," she said decisively.
"Only after the prince returns," Lucius agreed.
Jean sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Of course." She glanced at the book again, its cryptic words glowing faintly on the page.
The promise of adventure tugged at her, even as uncertainty gnawed at the edges of her excitement.
They would return to the mansion. They would recover Lucius's remains, but what came next?
She didn't know.
For now, she focused on the promise of discovery, a flicker of anticipation brightening her mood.
Lucius remained silent, his thoughts a mystery. Jean smiled faintly. Whatever lay ahead, she was ready.
!
The Grand Council of Wyfn-Garde
!
The grand hall of Wyfkeep Castle brimmed with tension. Massive banners bearing the sigil of Wyfn-Garde—the black wolf encircled by thorns—hung from the vaulted ceilings, their imposing presence amplified by the flickering torchlight.
A long, polished table ran the length of the chamber, where the council members, generals, and noblemen of the realm had gathered to discuss the ongoing war.
At the head of the table sat King Gideon, his silver hair gleaming under the light. His piercing gaze scanned the room, settling briefly on Crown Prince Benjamin, who sat to his right, his sharp features shadowed with impatience.
The air was thick with anticipation as Councilman Aldred, the head of the council, rose to speak.
"The war," Aldred began, his voice steady and authoritative, "is progressing well. Reports from the frontlines indicate that our forces have driven the enemy deeper into retreat. Soon, our men will return victorious, bearing the banners of Wyfn-Garde over Fooleria."
A murmur of approval rippled through the hall, but it was muted, weighed down by the gravity of what lay ahead.
"Now," Aldred continued, "we must decide what comes next. Do we leave Fooleria to its ruin and focus on strengthening our borders, or do we take more… tangible rewards for our victory?"
The murmurs grew louder as the council debated.
"Fooleria's soldiers are scattered, their spirit broken," one nobleman said. "We could claim their women and supplies, ensuring they never rise against us again."
"Too risky," another countered. "To rule over them would stretch our resources thin. Leave them to rot in their misery; that will be punishment enough."
Prince Benjamin leaned forward, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. "Leave them?" he repeated, his tone cutting through the noise.
"Do you not see the opportunity before us? We must take everything—strip them of their dignity, their wealth, and their strength. Let them serve as an example to any kingdom that dares challenge us. Fear is the greatest deterrent."
A hush fell over the room. The king's expression hardened, though he did not immediately speak.