As the sun dipped lower, casting an amber glow over the fields of wildflowers, the newly arrived representatives of House Avarnel and House Crimsonvale parted ways, each retreating to their respective tents. Unlike the rest of their kin, Magnus Raithe and Ilyra Vesryn bore no outward animosity towards each other's house. While wariness remained, it was laced more with intellectual curiosity than outright hostility.
Inside the Avarnel camp, Caelum leaned over a makeshift table, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the aged wood as he relayed his findings to Magnus. The advisor listened intently, his sharp gaze locked on the carved symbols Caelum had roughly sketched onto a parchment.
"A ruined formation," Magnus murmured, tracing the lines with his gloved fingers. "Destroyed deliberately? Or eroded over time?"
Caelum exhaled slowly, frustration knitting his brows. "I don't believe in coincidences. It's almost as if something was sealed—or worse, undone."
Magnus nodded, his expression unreadable. "If that is true, then whatever happened here might not be as simple as an abandoned orphanage. There's something buried in the past of this place. And yet, the only living witness we have is…"
Lyra.
Meanwhile, in the Crimsonvale camp, Seraphina was seated on an ornate chair, her arms folded as Ilyra sat across from her, sipping delicately from a goblet. The High Archivist had a way of analyzing people as if they were ancient tomes—turning their words and actions over in her mind, seeking hidden meanings.
"She remembers nothing of how she got here," Seraphina muttered, exasperated. "Only that she woke up in a bed of flowers."
"Which, considering the circumstances, is peculiar in itself," Ilyra noted, setting her goblet aside. "And when questioned about how she's survived, she merely says, 'The flowers took care of me'?"
Seraphina clenched her jaw, nodding. "Either she's hiding something… or something beyond our understanding is at play here."
Ilyra hummed thoughtfully. "Children are often more perceptive than we give them credit for. Perhaps she is telling the truth in the only way she understands."
As the lords and their advisors discussed their findings, Lyra, oblivious to the weight of the conversations happening around her, gleefully pranced from tent to tent. She giggled as she weaved through towering knights, tugging on their capes, asking them about their armor and laughing when they humored her with exaggerated bows. The soldiers of both houses, though initially cautious, found themselves unable to resist the infectious joy of the little girl. She was a burst of light against the long-standing shadows of their houses' enmity.
None of the lords, however, knew that despite all their efforts to uncover the truth, their separate pieces of knowledge were two halves of the same puzzle. And soon, they would have no choice but to put them together.