“I agree with Orissa,” Vensha said, arms folded. “The rest of you should stay here till the end of the celebrations. Maybe even longer.”

They had all congregated in his grandparents’ apartment on the first stratum of the island.

“You can’t seriously expect us to wait behind, twiddling our thumbs, while you go into potential danger with both Zeris and Caen,” Grena replied.

“You’ll have to do that anyway!” Orissa said with a hand on her forehead. “Going with them won’t change that. And I don’t even think that Zeris or Caen should be there at all. This sounds terrifying. Whatever you need from Drenlin, I’m sure Uncle Vai can arrange to have it brought back to the island for you.”

“And then what?” Ergen asked. “We just remain on the island indefinitely?”

“We have responsibilities in Drenlin,” Sh’leinu added, “and won’t abandon them.”

Grena nodded emphatically, crossing her arms.

“Why am I being the voice of reason here?” Orissa groaned. She seemed so frustrated.

Caen sympathized. He had broached this privately with his parents, but they were… stubborn. It felt unsafe for them, Aunt Grena, and even his grandparents to return to Drenlin.

Then again, they were as concerned for his safety as he was for theirs. He was stronger now and could better protect himself, but they had nearly two decades of experience worrying about him. None of them knew what they were going up against, after all.

“Caen,” Orissa begged, “you can put an end to this. If you stay back, everyone else will. Please. You know I’m right.”

“You are,” he admitted easily. “But something was leaving me urgent messages, warning me of potential danger—”

“It might all be some form of… of deception, Caen.”

“True. But it might be truthful information, and I’ll never know if I don’t investigate. We asked them to wait, and they did. That implies that this… individual, whomever or whatever they might be, can be reasoned with. I’m sorry, Orissa. I have to go. This could be important.”

“We’ve taken extensive precautions,” Zeris said, finally speaking up. “Uncle Teiro will be there, along with Hshnol, Aunt Vensha, her party, and another reliable group of skilled combatants.”

“Ancestors help me. Zeris, this—”

“It’s the world we live in, Orissa,” Vensha said. “This is how things are. You can’t always run from your problems.”

“We’ll be as safe as we reasonably can,” Caen added.

“You don’t even know what it is,” she accused weakly.

“I don’t. But I have a few guesses. It could be someone else with an ability like mine.”

He hadn’t told the rest of them about Rithya, naturally, because of the contract, but there was enough wiggle room for him to reveal the fact that he’d met a fellow Xihx in the trials, which was technically true.

“Or it could just be a shadeling,” he finished.

This was very likely, if strange. But in all honesty, the possibilities were endless.

Orissa let out a very long and exasperated sigh. “I’m coming too,” she said. “I won’t know what to do with myself with all the worry I’d be feeling.”

“Then it’s settled,” Elemna said.

Niodt nodded. “We all leave tomorrow.”

***

After speaking with his family, Caen took a warp gate back to Vai’s. As soon as he appeared in the anteroom where the gate was located, he froze.

Hshnol stood nearby, his hands at his back. But there was someone else here.

Hera-Lienixur sat at a small table off to the side, her legs crossed and her arms folded in her lap. She wore thick robes and watched him with those gray eyes of hers. Now that he was so close to her, he noted the faintest marks on her face. Like deep cracks on her skin that had been smoothed over.

On the table were a steaming kettle and an untouched teacup.

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A black cord connected him to her, and another cord linked him to… a ring on her index finger. Caen briefly considered deactivating Soul-sense for the second time today, but he decided against it.

He dropped to a knee, bowing. “Greetings, Grand Elder Hera-Lienixur.”

She didn’t say anything, so he just held his position, waiting. He didn’t connect to her, though through Soul-sense, he could feel the weight of her aura on his. There was no intention to subdue behind it. She merely seemed to be observing him.

“Come,” she finally said. “Sit.”

“Thank you, Eshtr,” he said, rising and moving to the table.

“Give us some privacy,” she told Hshnol without looking away from Caen.

“As you wish,” the man replied politely with a nod and left the anteroom.

She watched Caen quietly for several minutes longer as he sat there opposite her. Out of deference, he did not meet her eyes, but he’d never been uncomfortable in silence anyway.

“I’ve confirmed that you did not subject Stormsong to any undue compulsions,” she said. “It wants to talk to you.”

His speculon caught the faintest flash of light from the gem on her ring, and Stormsong appeared on the table, which creaked.

“Go ahead,” she said.

Caen thanked her once more.

Touching the hilt would have made it much easier to channel mana into the sword, but Caen’s mana control was sufficient for the task. He sent a thin string of his mana into the humming weapon.

Even without Mimicking the sword’s lightning affinity, Caen was not assaulted by shocks. Oh so slowly and with far more gentleness than he ever had with anyone, Caen extended his existence towards Stormsong, connecting to it.

A stable cord of connection linked him and the sword.

Another cord, only slightly less stable, connected the sword to Hera-Lienixur.

And finally, the most stable cord of connection Caen had seen all day stretched from Stormsong, through the front door, and beyond.

Caen wasn’t yet an expert at using this ability, but he knew a Contract bond when he saw one.

Between his mental discipline, his high processing speed, and his Body-enhancement passive augmentations, he was able to stop his eyes from widening.

Was Stormsong bonded to someone else? Or—

“So stingy,” the sword rumbled in Caen’s mind, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Caen suppressed a fond smile, only out of concern that the grand elder would take offence somehow. He had no way of knowing if she could listen in on their conversation, but she was the creator of this sword, and it seemed… prudent to assume that she could.

“Hello, Stormsong,” Caen sent.

“You are the most compatible wielder I have ever had the displeasure of knowing since Ro,” the sword said without further pleasantries.

“I was only able to do so well in the trials because of you. Thank you, Stormsong. Wielding you was a very great honor.”

The sword was silent for a moment. Caen could sense anxiety, reluctance, and… stubbornness from their connection.

“My mother wants me to take on a new Contracted partner,” Stormsong said quietly.

Caen’s breath caught in his throat. Without turning his head, he looked at Hera-Lienixur through his speculon. Her expression was neutral and unreadable. She just continued to fix her stern gaze on him.

“I am not inclined to do as she asks, however,” the sword continued. “When some spirit tools lose their original wielders—wielders for whom they were created—they must sacrifice much if they ever intend to bond with another.

“A death of self. They lose memories of who they used to be. Memories of their previous wielder. And I… cannot… will not forget about someone who yet lives. I refuse to die before him. My brother—”

“Stormsong, that’s enough,” Hera-Lienixur cut in.

“Hmph!”

She let out an annoyed sigh, and it was the most expressive she’d been while sitting here. “I knew this was a mistake.”

Gooseflesh had spread all over Caen’s skin. Ro-Hexur was known to be dead. Commentators had reverently spoken of it with confidence. Oirick had dedicated his historic victory in the Patronage trials to fallen heroes like Ro-Hexur. There were even reliable accounts from centuries ago of the fierce warrior’s death.

All this while, a portion of his mind had been watching the incredibly stable cord of connection that stretched out between Stormsong and… someone else. If Stormsong’s original wielder was alive, why would it be kept apart from him for centuries? The awakened sword had been a fixture of the Patronage trials for as long as the event had been ongoing.

A great weight suddenly pressed down on Caen’s existence, suppressing his aura. His breathing was constricted, and he couldn't move his limbs or his spirit. Even his thoughts felt sluggish. Fear gripped his palpitating heart. The temperature in the anteroom had dropped severely.

“You will swear to me now,” she said coolly, “to never repeat a word of anything you just heard Stormsong say.”

“I swear, Grand Elder,” he rasped once she loosened her hold on him. He felt the contract constrict around his soul immediately, the relevant affinity growing prominent in his soul structure.

“Goodbye, Herb Mask,” Stormsong said just before he and Hera-Lienixur vanished.

A moment later, Hshnol rushed back in, looking very concerned. “Are you well, Ar’Caen?”

A Dream-guarding spell from the worried Percipient calmed him instantly.

Caen nodded as he rose from his chair, his mind still spinning. “Thank you, Hshnol. I think I might need to turn in early.” They had very long days ahead of them.

“That might be for the best,” Hshnol said.